radio silence

Joke of all jokes: someone from the campus maintenance crew decided, just yesterday afternoon, to install a mirror in our bathroom. As if, after this entire semester of checking ourselves out in random windows and shards of broken mirror only big enough to see parts of your face at a time, we really want to see what we look like now after our semester of dirt and greasy foods and sunburns. Very funny, UCU.

I apologize for the silent treatment I've been giving this blog site the past few days… Life has been running at rapid speed these last couple weeks that we have had on campus. Finals are over, I've started a collection box of unwanted clothing under my bed, and our dorm rooms look like the aftermath of a mild hurricane with all our clothes half packed and ziplocks suffocating all free space.

It has been a flurry of activity these past couple weeks around campus with the impending farewell looming over all our heads. I met a sterling group of individuals just about a week ago at a house party. After climbing a mountain to their place later in the week, they showed us around their used-to-be-hotel-now-rented-out-by-students apartments, took us a to a balcony of one of their friends' place to dance, and pointed out the night lights of Kampala and the dark abyss that was Lake Victoria under the moonless night in the distance. It has been a week of new friends, chilling with old friends, watching children throw stones at monkeys, laughing at the frazzled comments of all of USP students going slightly crazy here with the stress of the end of the semester, and eating all the chapati we can get our hands on- now that we realize we'll never be able to eat Rolex properly outside of Uganda. We have fought grasshoppers for showering rights, swapped clothing up and down the hallway of our dorm, said goodbye to host families, done our laundry by hand for the last time (I have decided I will pay someone in Kenya to do mine. I am so over this part of Africa!), and started going camera happy in efforts to capture all the little things we have been taking for granted all semester. There is excitement and heartache and a chaotic "cluster-cuss" (Fantastic Mr. Fox) of other emotions all jumping around our little community as sporadically and unpredictable as the twitching grasshoppers that have invaded our place like the plague of the Old Testament. (those little buggers may taste good, but I've decided that's about all they've got goin' for themselves)

Other events of the past few days:
- Read aloud at Poetry Night- the final one of the semester. We set up desks on the open porch balcony of M-block and under one florescent light at an old wooden podium, surrounded by friends and strangers I've met through the various poetry readings I've attended, I was liberated. Completely.
I read aloud two poems I'd done this semester- one that I've posted, another that I wrote that day. And received the best feedback I could have imagined, and two pieces of candy :)
- The Bemba Boys headed up to Gulu last weekend for an introduction ceremony and gave Mark and I keys to their rooms. While the cats were away, Mark took it upon himself to throw a little house party… then a whole army of us went out dancing and I had two profound thoughts in my "Friday-night-state" of my mind:
1. How many people would have to be on this rooftop club before we got too heavy for the roof to actually hold us up?
2. There is a whole level of solidarity among dancers- this out-of-world connection that is just unique to every other scenario of strangers meeting. Now I've met strangers and had the time of my life in coffee shop conversations with bikers fresh from the road, taking a break for a sip o' Joe…there were the 3 wayward pilgrims I met at the Source of the Nile…and there's the occasional meeting on various forms of public transportation…but meeting other dancing fools at clubs in Uganda- now THAT's interesting. Friday night without our usual defensive line of Bembians watching our backs left us mzungu ladies vulnerable to…well…everyone. Now usually, that's an intimidating factor- being the only mzunugu in a club draws in attention that is generally undesired. However, something must have been in the air last Friday as everyone that approached us seemed to just be chill with dancing and carrying on with the evening respectfully refraining from inappropriate comments or advances. I spent hours having flashbacks to scenes of Save the Last Dance as I kicked it with Innocent and Isaac- two random gents with impeccable moves. We literally drew a circle of onlookers. Pretty cool. But I digress, there is this whole level of understanding and communication with people here that I meet at clubs- you don't need to know anyone's name, you don't need to know their profession, nothing about them is relevant if they can move their feet and keep the beat. Beautiful. Rooftop dancers: UNITE!
- I had a pair of pants made…African style.
- Photo shoot with Lauren
- Girl-bonding night of epic proportions with my crew: Taui, Esther & Lauren. We’re like Sex in the City…or maybe Celibacy in the Jungle is more appropriate…either way, I've been elected Carrie Bradshaw. After a certain Ugandan male tried to play not just one, but two of us (what was he thinking?)- we were brainstorming what sort of vengeance to seek…and Lauren had the brilliant, overly-sweet-chocolate induced revelation: "I know! Let's pour water in his bed!" <--(meredith/heidi: you'll appreciate that all I could think of was the Kate Nash song; "intelligent input darling/why don't you just have another beer then?")…after rejecting that juvenile attempt at a subliminal message prank, I Gossip Girl style texted my sister and Lauren and I headed to town to buy a ridiculous pair of panties which we all four signed and sneakily left on said Ugandan male's pillow..."from the girls!"…an appropriate response to the nature of his douchebaggery. To our surprise, upon visiting his hostel later that evening, we found that the light socket that has been pointedly empty all semester long, of all nights, finally had a light bulb installed in it and was casting a spotlight on the panties we had left which were GLUED TO THE WALL. Ergo the new version of the phrase "Hurry up before the fat lady sings…" becoming "Hurry up, before the panties are glued to the wall." At that point the whole situation just turned a whole corner of ridiculous that nothing could be taken seriously or furiously anymore. At least we got the last laugh.
- I met another prince. That makes four.

I had to do a capstone project this week for my Faith & Action class that was done by the USP staff this semester… it was essentially supposed to be an essay asking about our experience and how we're processing our stay here in Uganda. Big fat joke. I can't even begin. Especially while I'm not even going home yet. I can't quite step back from this big oceanic mess of experiences and cultural lessons and begin to paint a serene picture of a beach sunset because I'm still swimming- I'm here for a few more days and then start my three week solo trek in Kenya. I can't quite walk away from East Africa and begin to process yet, like the staff is practically begging me to do, because I'm still in it. That's a weird feeling.

Sunday morning we leave for Entebbe for a couple days of debriefing. A Ugandan asked me what debriefing was…I just told him, "You know when you get pants-ed? And someone just rips your pants down as a joke? Ya…it's like that. But with your emotions."
Our debrief goes until Tuesday, then some of the Honours Students are coming by to wish us one final farewell before everyone flies out about 2am Wednesday morning. I will be staked out at the airport…all day… (Bea: many thanks for the Swedish Mystery Package at the hotel, I'll be glad that day to have those books you sent!)… until my flight to Kenya @ 3.00pm. Please pray that after all this my program in Kenya is not a scam and there WILL actually be someone waiting to pick me up at the airport that afternoon. It's not the end of the world if things don't work out, but it would be a hell of a lot easier if I don't have to figure something else out. :)

From here until the point that I have access to an internet café or new SIM card for my phone in Kenya, there is no communication available to me. I hereby enter radio silence.

classroom full of poetry

Today was a complete accomplishment.
As the semester is wrapping up, today was our last African Literature class with the beloved and endearing Dr. Mukakanya- gem of a man…oversized clothes, big glasses, a cane, and a voice that makes you want grandchildren just so that he can read them fairytales and short stories. The encouraging and enthusiastic professor and lover of teaching that he is dedicated this afternoon's class to letting us "perform" pieces with the whole class. Poetry was invited, short stories, even plays- though he had little faith that we could accomplish a whole play in a semester's time… the classroom that has been our academic prison all semester (hosting every USP class that we have and thus trapping us time and time again daily in it's four blank, uninspired, white walls and ink splotch under the chalkboard which never quite gets erased) today breathed life for the first time- excited, inspired, intimate LIFE expressed - raw and vulnerable- in our rhymes, our cadences, our lines, our voices. It was fantastic to have "sharing time" with the whole class. And moment of all moments- today I did the unthinkable. At the end of class, when I could no longer remain hidden in the back corner- try as I might- the professor called on me to come share with the class. I frantically whipped out a poem I had jotted down in the middle of my beloved, worn, weathered, leather journal- and I read aloud the piece that was hidden between doodles and prayers and notes which I never thought would emerge to others' ears. I've never read anything I've written (that's that personal or…poetic) aloud. Ever.
Mark Corey- the token writer of our group whom I had confided in about my shyness of my own written words- was proud and beaming like a father should at his child's every recital, sports game, award ceremony, anything.
It was exhilarating.

My heart grows fonder, still, but weak-
weak from the always present
state of caring
observing
feeling.
When this, my heart, was designed
did the Craftsman know
to what aches it would be subjected-
what great cares it would carry?
But carry it must
must carry on, carry on
on to the finale,
on to the finish line (then)
line them up!
All the burdens we've carried
(my heart and i)- all this way…
that was the only way… to carry the loss
carry the pain
carry the cross
carry the shame
carry the joy
joy to the world,
world without end:
You carried my heart, again and again.

swing life away

So let's pack our bags and settle down where palm trees grow.
We live on front porches and swing life away…

I have tried to refrain from blogging mundane activity, as I don't think most people would find daily things very interesting to read about. I try and capture beauty and accentuate it by sharing beautiful experiences on here, but to be fair: I find just about everything beautiful… ergo a slightly less exciting, but nonetheless meaningful few days to share with you:

This post coming to you from my perch on my bunk-bed; where I have spent the past few afternoons since it is literally too blazing hot to be outside in the mid afternoon. (conveniently I don't have classes at this time, so I get a few hours of relaxing, reading-- Stieg Larsson currently- and taking in as much water as I possibly can) Today I'm finally coming down from an exciting weekend that really stretched to yesterday (it feels like) in exhilaration and exhaustion simultaneously.
Last Thursday was Lauren's birthday- thus warranting another night spent out on the town with some USP & Honours alike friends. Friday class was converted to a theater for the filming of Cry the Beloved Country (a film severely lacking in creativity as far as dialogue was concerned…) and after that class I received mail from my beloved Roommate Heidi back home-- a card complete with bits of dried lavender from the flower shop she is currently working at back in Massachusetts. I stuck the pocket of lavender into my journal - now riddled with the scent. Beautiful. I think if I were ever to actually sit down and record an album of my piano music, I'd name the album Dried Lavender. Just throwing that out there.
Friday night was another epic adventure with the boys from Bemba Hostel. There's nothing like dancing on a rooftop under the stars. And there's nothing quite like the smells of a night at an African club:
The smell of cologne and perfume mixed with that slightly sweet and ever so familiar scent of body odor (not the stinky kind of body odor like you smell when that one gross kid walks into a classroom full of freshly showered people, but the sweet kind that just happens out of your pores as result of a fun night of dancing, or when you've been running, or just moving…)
Cigarette smoke (the un-suffocating kind that allows you to pick up the waspy aroma but still breath clean night air)
Beer on the breath of whichever mzungu-stunned guy comes over to dance with you (because as one of the two mzungu in a crowd of at least 200 Africans…you're kind of a novelty)
The ever present smell of trash burning in the distant- a sweet musk of wood, citrus, nutty smells and potatoes…? Maybe…
All the enticements of the senses just produce the sort of night that makes you catch your breath in the abrupt, overwhelmingly lovely realization that "O my gosh…I'm in Africa". ((this is what dreams are made of))

Saturday was almost less of a productive day than Friday, and then Saturday night was a night of pure glamour. The 5th Annual Honours College Alumni/Reunion Dinner was hosted at the Red Rose Hotel in Kampala. It was a marvelous afternoon of getting back in touch with my feminine side (a nice break from Spartacus) as Esther dolled me up -complete with eye make up, Heidi be proud!- she and I and Taui all swapped dresses and earrings until we could passably make ourselves look cute in all each other's clothing. Then listening to Eminem and wearing a bakini top in rebellion of putting on clothes while there was still preparation to be done for Lauren, I sat and stitched up a dress for her to wear that night and just nearly pierced my lip with the sewing needle for all my loss of common sense in my deep, rap-music-induced concentration. Finally, all of us ready- we jumped ship and went to grab coffee before the dinner…but coffee turned into the best milkshakes of our lives!- then we joined the dinner of all our friends from Honours in their absolute best dress. It was a fun night, but at one point I leaned over to Mark to express with agony how old I felt… There we sat, at a dinner with a high table and honoured guests giving speeches…making announcements about marriages, engagements, and births of the past year and giving recognition for career advancements made in the past year (including appointments to the top gas & oil company in Uganda, International Justice Mission, and the United Nations- no small feats) and asking alumni to donate money to this and that for the college… it was the sort of dinner that I only ever had seen in movies where the socially and financially elite attend and carry shiny little clutches and scrape liver pâtés around on their plates until the speaker is done and the classy music starts up… I just felt so old being old enough to sit with my peers as they talked about career advances and babies popping left and right and pulling at the purse-strings of alumni. When did this happen? I miss the sort of dinners where I was pushed over to the kids table, expected to do nothing less than fling food, cause raucous, and try and wipe my mouth on the table cloth instead of my napkin…who am I kidding… I totally wiped my mouth on the tablecloth Saturday night, let's be real.
After the dinner a whole crew of us went out to meet the Bemba Boys at a club in Kampala, where Esther and I both lost 20,000/= to a pick-pocketing fat man in a white sweatshirt. So today I spent the afternoon sewing a pocket to the inside of my jeans…complete with a button. Ain't no hands rippin' me off while I'm bustin' a move again. Nuh uh. We literally danced until 6am… I think I may have sat down on a bar stool for 1/2 a song. Maybe. Between climbing these hills and this mountain that I live on multiple times a day just to get back and forth from class to my room I'm building up rock-solid calf muscles and with all the dancing, my legs have never been in such good shape. Shazam.

Today was just a relaxing, breezy day. Class was cancelled so I thoroughly enjoyed tea time with Tony & Esther - complete with INCREDIBLE instant coffee mix from Starbucks (thank you Mona). In the States, I would have scoffed at the idea of this VIA coffee, but here- combined in milk tea…it's just about the most sacred thing around. Hallelujah for caramel flavoured coffee mix and fresh boiled milk :)
Spent the rest of the morning curled up in a nightgown (because yes. Those are normal here.) eating Swedish fish, stitching up my pants, and doodling cityscape concepts for painting when I get home. Note to self: start bringing acrylics with me everywhere- no matter what.
Walked down to pick eggs with Tony for our baking date later today; there is a massive Thanksgiving feast (expected 70-80 people) for all USP and the ex-Pats on campus tomorrow so the job of the USP students is to provide desserts. Tony, Mark & I made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies this afternoon with real pumpkin listenin' to the beats of Citay and Bach. It's a long way from recipe-testing these kinds of cookies with Allison Kavin year after year in preparation for the staff-Thanksgivings we always have at the Phed Farm. Kavin- I'll miss experimenting with spices with you this year.
I'm dreading leaving the simplicity of life here. Where afternoons are casually spent on hostel balconies listening to jams, looking out at the sunset over the valley, chatting with anyone walking by on their way to and fro the local well at the bottom of the road. Where time is spent gently swinging on the swings up the hill, or walking about ten minutes or so to get a cold Fanta (which just somehow tastes so much better in a glass bottle), or doodling and listening to De Capulet (you're welcome, Hannah).

of pianos and proposals

Yesterday was Eid al-Adha- the Islamic holiday celebrating the story of Abraham and honouring his willingness to sacrifice his son before God. The holiday is dependent on the moon cycle, so it was not announced that this holiday was actually occurring until yesterday, Monday night. Gwyn had all of us USP students over to her place Monday night for a feast of desserts (chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and delicious, dark chocolate brownies) and a game night. After this, Lauren and I strolled down to fetch rolexes and came back to sit and read our Eat.Pray.Love books in each other's company.
We brought in the Muslim holiday with our form of indulgence and recognition of sacrificial living. We jumped a taxi into Kampala and promptly went over to the Serena Hotel- Kampala's (and for that matter, I think Uganda's) only 5 star hotel. The place was an absolute palace of beauty and warmth and relaxing, spacious architecture. We had been told by a friend that he plays piano there occasionally and so I went in on a quest to find my heart and soul back in the eighty-eight. We traipsed all through the upstairs lobby in search of this piano, which was rumored to be in the lounge, and finally I spotted it. I kid you not- my heart stopped. It literally did a little flip- the likes of which my full body has only ever been able to replicate on a trampoline with the assistance of serious spring action. Before annoying all of the hotel- I went up to the woman sitting at a table near the lounge and asked, "Nnyabo, could I please play (quietly!) a bit?" and she smiled and nodded, "Kale, kale. Is ok." I gingerly lifted the cover, took the felt strip off the keys, and sat on the small, squeaky, undersized-barstool style seat.
In a flash second when my fingers touched the keys I remembered freshman year at Gordon when I discovered the magnificence of the recital hall in Phillips. I vowed not to play in that hall until the first snow- so that I could fully embrace the majesty of that place overlooking the pond with perfect floor-to-ceiling windows and it's high, intricately designed ceilings of perfect acoustics. The first time it snowed, as luck would have it, I was working a six hour shift in the dining hall and couldn't get to the piano. By the time my shift was over it had rained and all the snow was gone. But the second time it snowed- by God- I raced down there and just let the perfect winter envelop my soul through the snow on the pond, the snow falling, the snow still stuck to my shoes as I kicked them off to sit at the grand and lose myself in playing. The scene should have been in a movie.
All this jumped across my mind in a split second and then the noise. All the noise. I forgot how much of a power surge it is to sit, quite still- straight, controlled- and produce such sound with the very many delicate flicks of one's fingers. I could have balanced M&Ms on the backs of my hands all the while filling that whole hotel with a small interlude in the key of D that made many fine suited young businessmen come to stand and listen with polite interest. (Mary, my piano teacher when I was 8, would have been so proud…I was always more interested in eating those M&Ms than balancing them during lessons)
It was a miraculous, emotional, holy few moments of reuniting my heart and soul- as I feel they've only been drifting aimlessly from each other since being here and having nothing to ground them. Once I felt like a whole person again, I closed the lid and stood, the miniature barstool creaking obnoxiously, announcing my finale. Lauren and I went to the bar downstairs and had a lovely chat with Richard the amicable bartender, and ordered Irish coffee- which was complimentarily served with a small array of olives and cheese. So classy. As we sat amidst the leather couches and polished wood and classy African stone carvings on the wall, delicately sipping our Irish coffees and occasionally pretending like we had the attention span to get through our copies of Eat. Pray. Love., Lauren piped up: "You know, I'm not ready to go home yet, but this is so nice!" <-- just the ability to be in a Westernized kind of environment where there were Americans and Brits in business suits, a fully stocked bar with familiar libations, and a general air of comfort. That is not to say that everything in America is comfortable, or by any means that Uganda is not comfortable (I actually am more relaxed 95% of the time HERE than in the States), but just an acknowledgment that, like it or not, we were both born into Western society and (quite unfortunately…or maybe not) that is what puts us at ease now- the going back to that sort of familiarity. While it is not with an air of self-sacrifice that we have come to Uganda, we are slowly realizing all the things that we have indeed given up in coming here. It is yet undecided in my mind if I feel like these are sacrifices are detrimental to my mental health (or physical health), but living without such things as used to be staples (easy transportation systems, ever available caffeine, reliable communication systems, certain appliances) is taking it's toll. Again: not in a sad or painful way, just in a noticeable way. I do, however, stand by my former declaration of loving life without a mirror here. In my building the only mirrors around are the small hand held mirrors that individuals have purchased themselves in markets, or even just broken shards of mirror. I never considered myself a very vain person before coming here, and never wore make up so there was no cause to ever really look in a mirror that often, but even so- I find a massive relief and self confidence in not knowing what I look like everyday. I also have this immense sense of self confidence that is just paired with living in a culture where self image is not about your face but rather how you conduct yourself socially. In addition, I (and other USP girls I have been talking to) feel, for quite honestly the first time in a long time, completely content with being single here. With the extreme taboo of public displays of affection here, there are no couples making out on park benches or even holding hands here- and with that total void of public emphasis on relationships I find that I don't feel pressured at all to be in a relationship- which I can't say I've ever felt in America. For the first time in years I feel like no one is pushing me to rush into some relationship, yet on the flip side- a good chunk of African men are indeed begging for me be in one with them… strange paradox to be in. I will say, on that note, that it will be a self esteem shock to go back to America where every other man is not proposing to me from the side of the street. Ah well.

of instant coffee and swedish fish

hands down: best package sender award hereby goes to Mona & Michael Holsapple.
all USP girls of Josephine Tucker Hall thank you- not only for the beautiful American delicacies which were sent that we are all enjoying- but we thank you immensely for the atomic BOMB of explosive joy that rippled through the building as we unearthed, together, all these tasty gifts. there has not been such screaming, shrieking, laughter, and overwhelming ecstasy in many moons here!
thank you M&M :)
much love.

a somali coffee conflict

Mary Oliver talks of red bird; a story set in timeless beauty from its origin in Ohio to the reading aloud of itself under a great, indescribably awesome tree in an African backyard.

I will try.
I will step from the house to see what I see
and hear and I will praise it.
I did not come into the world
to be comforted.
I came, like red bird, to sing.
But I'm not red bird, with his head-mop of flame
and the red triangle of his mouth
full of tongue and whistles,
but a woman whose love has vanished,
who thinks now, too much, of roots
and the dark places
where everything is simply holding on.
But this too, I believe, is a place
where God is keeping watch
until we rise, and step forth again and-
but wait. Be still. Listen!
Is it red bird? Or something
inside myself, singing? (Mary Oliver)


Got in a heated discussion yesterday that just nearly broke my heart to pieces. I went out with another USP girl and Ugandan guy… we went to this great Somali petro-station/restaurant (sounds like such a Maine thing…where you find businesses that offer ballroom dancing and printing services in the same venue, or hardware stores selling jewelry…) for lunch and coffee, and as we were chatting, the conversation turned to the issue of the Homosexuality Bill attempting to be passed in Uganda. Basically, this bill permits the public punishment/hanging of outed homosexuals in Uganda. I pray to God that human rights groups are as on top of this as I think they are and thus will prevent it from going through, but still- the threat is there for horrific bill to go through sometime in the coming year here in Uganda. In this conversation- Lauren and I stand firmly AGAINST this bill, each having multiple homosexual friends and in general a Western-tailored tolerant view on this lifestyle --- at the very least to the point where we would never dream of execution (public or otherwise) being a reasonable or lawful response to this lifestyle. However, our male accompaniment at the table stated with such a rueful passion and intensity in his voice and eyes that he very firmly agrees with this bill and thinks it only morally right that it should be passed. "Why should we allow them to live in our society?" <--is the general Ugandan attitude towards homosexuality. In this debate, the general opinion is that homosexual individuals should not even be allowed to be in society- they are not just ousted from churches or religious institutions, certain schools or workplaces, No- society as a WHOLE. "No room in the inn" for social deviancy of this nature. As he sat there spitting about the "disgraceful" and "disgusting" practices of "those people" and adamantly - with furrowed, serious brow and PIERCING eyes (a term I feel I've never understood until yesterday) - condemning these PEOPLE, not their decisions or lifestyle or sexuality as separate entities from themselves, but the very PEOPLE: somehow God granted the grace to keep my hands solidly in place on my lap and not assailing his face with my fists in rage. Somehow. (and people say miracles don't happen anymore…) At one point he even asserted that "public hanging is not enough. The punishment deserves to be more severe- they should be boiled in hot oil."
At this point, I asked him if his opinion would change were it to personally involve one of his friends.
He looked at me, annoyed, thinking I was bringing up some outrageous hypothetical "what if" point that would of course change his views but had an impossible probability of ever needing to be considered realistically. I stopped him as he smiled and shrugged, undoubtedly thinking "none of MY friends would ever be homosexual, so I would never have to think about this situation you're proposing."
I stopped him by pointing out that a good friend of his is a lesbian. Here at UCU, a close friend to many Honours Students is a lesbian. I told him "She hasn't told you that, but she's told me. What now?"
He placed his hands on the table, flat and firm, looked me directly in the eyes without blinking and responded "No difference. She is no exception."
At this point I looked away and flatly suggested we all pay and leave.

A while ago I was out to lunch with this same gentleman and a few of the other Honours guys and they were discussing the story of how a few years ago in Mukono a serial rapist was caught in the street and a group of boda drivers (notoriously rough-around-the-edges kind of guys) beat him in the middle of the street and burned him alive in front of the church which happened to be on the other side of the road. In a society where the police force is pretty difficult to mobilize and where communal living provides it's own social security, this was a natural thing to happen- but the guys retelling me this account were still raising their eyebrows at the fact that he was burned alive outside the church! How inappropriate! They asked me what I thought of the situation, one asking me "what do you think? Was what the boda drivers did to him appropriate or just? Should they have burned him alive- outside the CHURCH?" - my response being "I would have burned him on the very altar of the church. Of course it was appropriate."
The group was incredulous. They thought my response was the harshest ideology they'd ever heard in concerns to this case.
While I understand my response was hasty and maybe (I haven't quite decided) exaggerated, I would certainly stand firm on the death sentence for anyone who has committed such a fantastic crime as multiple rapes. It may not be Biblical or loving, but I can't see past the emotions that are stirred in me concerning that sort of act. And here I sat, judged and bemusing all the men with my harsh convictions- men who think a man that says he loves another man should be tarred and feathered and hung out to dry in the public square. Literally. There are some parts of this country that still strike me as backwards, in ways I don’t know that I could ever understand.
A shout out to American tolerance. I never thought I would truly know how to appreciate freedom or our very many rights and privileges. I'm trying to roll with the punches here on two levels;
1) Level headedly, that I may seriously try to understand and recognize these views which rub my heart raw and
2) Convicted; that I may still speak for my views without being arrogant and unreasonable, but not backing down from my convictions and passionate beliefs in equality and human rights (in terms of gender roles and homosexuality here). That I may defend my friend here at UCU who has hidden her sexuality from all but a handful of people in her life for fear of her life and for fear of being cut from family ties, but that I may also not judge this guy at lunch for his closed mind- but rather try and nudge the door open a bit at least in showing my willingness to disagree but still hear him out.

In other news, had a girls night in Kampala with Esther, Taui & Jen --- tiramisu, Indian cuisine complete with sweet lassi, UCU basketball game (we won!) at which I met a famous baller who calls himself "Jordan" (of course), and $4 perfume called "Feminism". Perfect.

panty perspective

Hazards of doing laundry outdoors:
Bird might fly into the tree above you and crap into your bucket of just-soaped clothing.
Just saying. It can happen.

On another laundry note- I had a striking realization while doing my laundry the other day regarding wealth in the West vs here in Africa. As I was washing my underwear, the Ugandan girl Brendah across the hall made an obervation: "Oh, Victoria's Secret…rich lady!"
I have never thought of my old VS panties that I got on clearance as a sign of wealth. They're not a scandalous style that most girls my age don, they were definitely on sale, and they're a plain colour. I have definitely never thought of myself as someone with money when I wear them. It was incredible to realize that a brand name from the West can carry so much implication as to my social status here in a "developing country". Even the things I can only afford or justify paying for if they're on clearance or from a thrift store speak volumes of the wealth of our country in the context of living in Uganda where I can buy a pair of panties at the supermarket for the equivalent of about 30 cents ((and they're lacey and cuter than any other pair I own)).


My darling roommate sent me an incredible package today :) Justin Beiber silly bands, curiously strong Altoid mints, and CHOCOLATE :) Love you, Shmeidi.

This past weekend I was introduced to the guys Bemba hostel- down the hill and through the jungle of banana trees growing outside of campus. My friend Mark took me there for a truly "cultural experience" of a rooftop party and told me as we approached the steps of the building, "Oh, by the way- you're about to be seriously out-gendered…" Story of my life. It was an incredible chill time of kicking back on brick-pile-seats, listening to crunk music the likes of which would have made my sister proud, looking at the African night sky so bright with stars silhouette the monkey trees all around the hostel. Gorgeous.

Saturday I went to the local hotel with a couple girls to go swimming and do homework by the pool. At the mention of Thanksgiving I was nearly sick as I realized that it is in fact November and I spent the day lying around in a swimsuit and shades sippin' cold drinks by an unheated pool that was definitely warmer than the showers I take everyday. I am SO looking forward to whatever blustery weather Sweden is having when I get there in January, and to return to the snow banks I know will be piled in my driveway upon my return home. I fully intend to be a small child with my snowy antics when I get home: snow forts, snow angels, catching snowflakes on my tongue… these are the things I dream of here in the mid-afternoon heat as I sit sweating and sipping my tea (even African heat does not dissuade true Ugandans from the all holy Tea Time).

Yesterday I went running up Monkey Hill and nearly slipped all the way down a massive stretch of red dirt and stones as I skidded through some mud from the afternoon rain in borrowed shoes a size too big for me. I was only grateful no one was watching the clumsy Mzungu. However, all hopes of going through my running routine unnoticed were shot straight to hell when I agreed to go meet Esther at the track to finish up laps with her after my own run. I got to the track and there were 2 soccer games going on in the center as we, the only white girls to be seen at all within the vicinity of the field, breezed our way around the track. With every lap around by the stone bleachers some odd-ball called out "go Mzungu!" as we passed… great. Just great. Anyone who tells me again that their excuse for not going to the gym back home is that they're uncomfortable being stared at should spend an afternoon trying to go unnoticed at the gym or track here. You'll be the only white, almost always the only girl, and definitely the most uncoordinated person present. No exceptions. The trick is to just embrace your minority status, crack a few jokes with the guys- show 'em you mean business, and just make yourself a kind of novelty to have around. If they're going to notice you, you may as well own it. :)

RECIPE

(they blindfolded her and spun her in circles so she would find her way here by no other means than her intuition)

INGREDIENTS:
1. Save your Scissors- City & Colour
2. Waiting…- City & Colour
3. Call it Off- Tegan & Sara
4. Combat Baby- Metric
5. Tiny Vessels- Death Cab for Cutie
6. Blood Bank- Bon Iver
7. Kinghts- Minus the Bear
8. Be Still my Heart- The Postal Service
9. Lover I Don't Have to Love- Bright Eyes
10. Monster Hospital- Metric
11. Boy With a Coin- Iron & Wine
12. Just for Now- Imogen Heap
13. No One Really Wins- Copeland
14. Sleeping Sickness- City & Colour
15. The Ice is Getting Thinner- Death Cab for Cutie
16. To Be Alone With You- Sufjan Stevens
17. The Con- Tegan & Sara
18. Re: Stacks- Bon Iver

- Rainy day
- Book/poem by Saul Williams ",said the shotgun to the head"
- Bag of cracker jacks your grandma mailed to you
- Cozy sweatshirt

INSTRUCTIONS:
Gather first group of ingredients. Push play and let stand for as long as the playlist lasts.
Gather second group of ingredients. Begin with putting on the cozy sweatshirt, then gradually add the rainy day. crack the poem by Saul Williams and slowly take it in- cover to cover. Mix in the bag of cracker jacks (amount dependent on what you gage to be appropriate).

END RESULT:
Re-centering of self.
If you have been forgetting the words (to your favorite songs, to the names of towns your friends live in, to vegetables you used to eat on a daily basis, to describe beautiful scenes without using the word "beautiful", etc.)- this may help slow you down enough to recover some of the vocabulary of your mother tongue which has felt oceans away the past few weeks. ("they'll never find the words to say which would completely explain just how I'm breaking down")

If you have been forgetting the peace (of your home church, of bundled up fall days with cider, of coffee culture on Cabot Street, etc.) - this may be just the right dose of "indie" life your heart has been going stir-crazy for, what with lyrics like "Like the sea, constantly changing from calm to ill, madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide could swallow me whole, oh! How I'm breakin' down!" and words from a poet like,

forgive me father
for I have sinned
 
i prayed to you
and cupped
 
the wind

and in doing so
barred her entry
into a century:

100 years
of solitude
 
(yes, the wind is the moon’s imagination wandering)
 
i will now pray
with my hands

outstretched
with these psalms
 
e t c h e d
into my palms

feminism: destroyed.

The key to surviving in the African bush is to first- abandon all feminism. Better yet, discard all understanding of Western feminist theory you have at all; there is no context for it there.
The second is to bring skirts with an elastic waistband; your family will feed you more in a day than you typically eat in a week.

Friday morning all USP students set off in a coaster towards the eastern village of Soroti. Those of us living on campus went towards Soroti while the off-campus students headed a bit in another direction to the mountainous region of Kapchorwa. Our group stayed at the beautiful Margaret's home in the hills of Soroti deep in the bush…and I do mean literally the bush. Like…there were bushes whacking our faces and arms through the bus windows as our bus created its own trail to get from the road to her home. We pitched tents, did some hiking to see over the valley which allowed us to see THE WHOLE WORLD- from Lake Victoria to Mt. Elgon anyway. We ate a beautiful dinner and finished only just as the torrential downpour rushed in- sending us all to her living room for the evening to bundle under sleeping bags around a lantern and play mafia and laugh away our last night of being together. I went hiking (maybe this wasn't the wisest choice, in hindsight) in the dark with Mark, Rachel & Becky through the rain and thunder to the top of the hill to watch the lightning bar its way across the sky over the valley--- there was dancing. :)

In the morning, they piled all but two of us onto The Orphan Train of a bus and put Lexi & Leah in the Land Cruiser to head the other direction to their host families…as the Land Cruiser then caught up to our parked bus in town later, we noticed the ominously empty back seats where we had last seen Lexi & Leah and someone gasped "oh my gosh, they're gone!"- at which point the subtle panic set in. Slowly and painfully they detracted us from our cluster of familiarity and comfort and sent us out in groups of two and three into separate smaller vehicles to go to our families. And of course- I was the last one to be dropped.
I was left in a home with the beautiful Mama Janet, my older sister Esther, and my two younger teenage sisters Naomi & Luy. My younger brother Dan and nephew Tony proceeded to just stare at me for the entire week I was there. My family had a new brick kitchen being built, a brick one room building for Dan & Tony, a cement house with a small living room, bedroom and two storage rooms for all the food my family grew (rice, papaya, oranges, millet, sim sim, beans, g nuts), and four small circular mud huts with straw roofs. The place was beautiful, simple, and peaceful with small goats running around, chickens invading the kitchen hut (bold move for a chicken likely to be eaten for that night's meal, I thought), and lizards everywhere. I helped my mom clean g nuts and pick greens for dinner and enjoyed the slightly awkward broken-English, laughing conversation. Just as I had settled in and was feeling comfortable, in walks Papa Stephen.
My week became a feminist's nightmare.
While my days were spent lovingly and relaxingly with my wonderful host Mama and sisters, the evenings were the most challenging hours of my life. Stephen was the farthest thing from my understanding of what a father should be. Rude, condescending, dominating, mean, arrogant patriarchal method of running a household… and had the audacity to demand I call him "papa" (which I would not). With every passing hour my deep appreciation and LOVE and respect for my real parents grew massively- especially for my father. It was like living with a sixteen year old punk with a major macho complex all week- the way he would come home and ask pointedly why I was not kneeling to greet him or serving him tea the second he walked up the dirt driveway and if I had actually done anything useful that day. Monday night I resigned myself to survival mode and became like a zombie for the hours that he was home: I allowed myself no emotion, no feeling, no frustration, I did not look him in the eyes, I did not verbally respond to his tormenting, and for all intents and purposes separated my body as far from myself as I could. The duality and degree to which I was able to actually remove myself from the physical situation was astounding and painful. I knew that if I allowed myself to feel frustration, to feel the homesickness, to admit to loneliness that I would not make it through the week. So I bit my lip and when it got especially difficult retreated to go take another bath under the stars. ((which, btw- there is nothing quite like standing in a cement walled structure, naked, half soaped, under the stars and rushing wind of the African village night)). Stephen introduced me to Mama Janet as "this is housewife. She cooks." and spent more time talking to me about one of his orange trees in the orchard than he did introducing me to his entire family.
All week I kept imagining pulling through until pick-up on Friday morning… being able to step onto the bus full of other USP students and just be able to cry. I looked forward to crying all week long. Because in the company of my family- of the other students here- I knew that I could safely allow myself to break down, to process, to detox. I kept envisioning giving my friend Tony a hug at the end of the week. as it turns out, my friend Lindsey went through an almost identical experience and also kept envisioning hugging our dear Tony upon pick-up. After close analytical discussion last night we unearthed our reasoning for seeing his scruffy face in our mind's eye all week: Tony respects women. He is a teddy bear, brotherly type full of joy and genuine appreciation for people and a truly respectful attitude towards women especially. After our week of living in a home where the father-figure was either emotionally abusive (or drunk, in her situation), all we wanted was a personality to redeem that, which we saw in Tony.
There is no context for feminism in the bush. This week shattered my world views of gender roles, of equality, of dominance, of patriarchy, of oppression. I feel as though all the views I have developed over the years of studying sociology and feminist theory and gender differences/psychology were broken down this week to the point where I'm not sure how to reconstruct them in an appropriate context. I suddenly realized that many things I once considered universal, once considered true, can't even be spelled in this context. What do I do with that? Still unsure… Maybe in a few days I'll come back to this and elaborate and be able to actually spell out my head-on collision with redefined gender roles and everything else around that this past week, but for now: I'm still not quite able to process it all.
Pick up was a breath of fresh air.
The driver picked me on Friday morning and took my swiftly away back through the bush to the waiting bus full of all the other students (I was the last one picked, naturally) under a tree by the side of the road in town. I got out of the small Rav4 that picked me from Kyere and was ushered into the hugging mama arms of Margaret as other staff members grabbed my gum-boots, sleeping bag and backpack and tossed them down the assembly line of arms on the bus. I stepped onto the bus, saw an empty seat next to Lauren in the very front, asked if it was free, and before my butt even hit the seat the waterworks set off.
I lost it.
Completely.

I spent the next hour on the bus in between staring motionless with furrowed brow out the bus window and just sobbing, finally letting myself feel all the emotions I had denied myself all week long.
After letting myself react and calm down, we finally reached Sipi Falls and met the rest of the students in Kapchorwa. We stayed in cabins on the side of a mountain at the Sipi Falls Resort and enjoyed a weekend of luxurious rest, catching up and swapping stories, hiking through the mountains and behind waterfalls, drinking stellar coffee (which was made on the mountain opposite the one we were residing on), and just generally informally debriefing from our weeks in the bush.

HIGHlights from the bush:
Learning to make cassava chips. So good :)
Balancing a jerry can of water on my head all the way back from the local well.
Meeting Lucy- a neighbour with downs syndrome. She came over for lunch one day and I went over and peeled her an orange… a half hour later she returns with a massive jerry can of water on her head and explains to my sister Esther in Ateso that "she paid me kindness, so I have brought water to pay her kindness." Most precious thing ever.
Hiking with my host-cousin Robert- a former Honours College student who graduated last year. Rock climbing in a skirt…it's a skill. That's all I'm saying.
Bathing outside.
Milk tea :)
Having fresh popo (papaya) at dinner…there is no taste like a freshly picked and cut papaya.
Laughing with my sisters and having my seventeen year old sister Naomi ask me to teach her Spanish.

The weekend was incredible. I stood on top of the world and in caves behind waterfalls and was recaptured all over again by how intense of a Creator our God is. Hiked through coffee plantations and fields of banana trees and corn on small footpaths and over rocks we had to boulder across through the blazing sun that made us sweat until we were soaked through and then through rain and hail that beat down on our heads and sunburnt necks. Watched the sunrise over the mountains and sang worship songs overlooking the valley, swung on a swing hanging over a ledge on the mountainside, and snuggled our way through all night conversations inside the warmth of shared sleeping bags sitting around a small lantern in the lodge. It was a beautiful time of community and adventure and caffeine to be all together again at the resort after our week of isolation, of awkwardness, of life in the village.
Here's to peanut butter pancakes, to the forceful spray of waterfalls just feet away from your shivering body, and here's to a new perspective on family.

Beans to Bald: revised

Monday nights are alright for shaving.
After a beautiful day yesterday of getting back into classes and entering school post-relaxing weekend, dinner kicked off a most interesting sequence of events. Went to dinner with the girls- always a riotous and adventurous choice. And somehow the topic of shaving heads came up…naturally. Now I have been considering shaving my head since Mona did this summer. And I figured what better way to support her than join her in Paris this August ALSO sporting a buzz with big hats and stylish scarves. I was debating when to do it- thinking sometime before rural homestay when Becky on the other side of me looks over and says "I'll do it if you do it." So we shook hands over our rice & beans dinner and off we danced to the dorm to grab scissors.
Every USP girl on campus last night took turns in taking pictures and snipping chunks of our hair with scissors. Becky and I sat side by side with towels around our shoulders, smiles on our faces, and Paramore blasting into our ears.
There is no bonding experience quite like putting a bunch of girls in a room and subjecting two of them to scissors.
The whole event was masterfully completed with Matt showing up with his razor to buzz the rest of our hair off…and carve a few crazy designs in the process. We swept up all the hair and Becky and I had a blast running up and down the hallway just to feel the wind on our scalps (pretty much the best feeling ever).
Waking up this morning I am happy to say that I wasn't filled with regret, but I was cold. Anyone looking for care-package ideas should send a beanie…cuz now I'm freezin' if the sun isn't out! One of the best parts was going to breakfast with a hooded sweatshirt and pushing the hood off casually and just watching the double take of some of the Florence Hall comrades as they didn't realize until they were mid-tea that my hair was g o n e.
I'm glad that over the past couple months I have grown accustomed to everyone staring at me for being white because now I'm not self conscious at ALL about people staring at me. Also there are not enough mirrors around here for me to have a chance to regret this decision :)

Benefits to having a shaved head:
Big earrings look seven times cooler :)
I don't need a million bobby pins
Washing my hair takes 2 seconds
Shirts don’t get caught with my hair when I change
I feel like Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta all the time

Sad parts of having a shaved head:
Can't keep my glasses stuck in my hair
Can't keep pens stuck in my hair
…basically I just used my hair as an extra place to keep things…

Ah well. Here's to a new style, the second half of the semester, and communal activities :)
Cheers.

jewels

1. Fred
2. White Horse Inn- Kabale, UG
3. Agatha
4. Rwandan cactus
5. Birthday Girl... 87 yr old Efulansi Nkonko

movie nights and market days

Last night was the viewing of Out of Africa up in the common room of my darling Josephine Tucker Hall. So much fun to just sit in with the girls and watch Meryl Streep being amazing at life in a movie taking place in the country next to where we currently reside--- in Kenya. There was chocolate. There was instant freeze-dried Arabica coffee with cinnamon. There were BBQ pringles. There was Robert Redford being a fox. There were tears. Classic movie night combo. After so many weekend trips and adventures all around this beautiful country, it was nice to just relax and have a sense of being "home" for the weekend. You know you have adjusted to a new place when Friday nights bring no desire to hit the town or jump in a bus to travel to some new place, but to just relax from the mundane bits of what is now familiar life and watch a movie. By the end of the film as Meryl precious is saying goodbye to her Kenyan friends and household helps we were all about gushing over at the realization that in just a couple months we too will be setting our compasses in new directions and walking away from all that we have come to love here- people, customs, habits, routines. I will miss peeling dead lizards off my doorframe, washing my laundry by hand (maybe I won't miss that one too much…), walking to the market to bargain for bananas and tangerines, and looking forward to walking up the small hill to Josephine and not being able to reach the top without someone yelling "Spartacus!" to get my attention.
But I still do have these two months :)

Today Lauren & I went into Kampala in desperate search of sweaters. Hannah- you'll be so proud: I refrained from old lady sweaters. It's been so cold here in the mornings and at nights and next week we head north for our rural homestays, where it will only be colder. We stumbled around the streets from the takisi to find Owino market--- a shanty town of bargains. It was a tight maze of dirt floors, vendors yelling "yes! Sister come and look!", and piles of clothes and shoes with paths only wide enough for one person to walk down and canopied completely by tin roofing and newspaper clippings. It was incredible. Previously to venturing into this dark little rat maze market, USP staff had advised us to go with a Ugandan and Ugandans had turned their noses up completely at the thought of going in there. Too crowded. Too much stuff. No organization. Too much haggling. You'll get mugged. So of course we went as just the two brainless Mzungu.
Plenty of people, all very nice.
SO much stuff.
Organized like a thrift store. Aka… you see it- it's there. Don’t see it- move on.
Haggling = cheaper prices :)
Didn't get mugged. DID get a phone number ;) ha ha ha
It was such a cool experience to go into this market and I'm hands down going back. It was an entirely other subculture hidden in this market. It was like the underground club of African market places. I fully intend to become a regular.

loaves in wonderland

Norah Jones, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin and ol' blue eyes are the soundtrack of the day in IMME Quarters today.
(IMME= the USP kids living with families for the semester…they have their own headquarters complete with office space on campus…which is consequently where the only internet has been for about 4 days.)
I went running up Monkey Hill (the mountain that we live on here, stretching out and behind campus above my dorm) last night at sunset…just about the most beautiful thing I've seen since coming here. Running up the hill, feeling like my legs were made of lead and my lungs were going to collapse in the African heat- the sun was setting out over the town as I looked out and saw through jungle trees the red clay roofs of Mukono. It was amazing to see the organization of the city from such a massive elevation, when walking around town is like a whole other jungle in and of itself…trying to cross the road, standing between the two unmarked lanes of traffic threatening to run you over should move your toe a bit too far to one side…it was beautiful to get that new mountain perspective on my little town of mazed foot paths and boda drivers rerouting your every step with caution and dodging.
Wednesday was Agape Wednesday- we had a brilliant potluck style breakfast instead of the usual worship service on Wednesday to all start the day with a feast and fellowship. There is nothing that brings people together more than lawnchairs and music outside with tables full of sweet breads, bananas, sour oranges, and milk tea with cinnamon. Such a beautiful time of breakfast, laughing, poetry shouted from the steps, shared insight, and just pure fellowship of friends. There was even a cake, which I dubbed an unbirthday cake to satisfy the confusion of many USP students who just couldn't accept that cake without occasion should be present at breakfast- very Lewis Carroll. With a combination of an unbirthday cake and the way that we made so few loaves of bread spread between the mass of people that we did- we added a second name onto Agape Wednesday- Loaves in Wonderland, as a mixture of the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 and Alice in Wonderland… is it alright to put Jesus & Carroll in the same association? Ha ha ha… might be good for ol' Lewis...

the age of hunger

Ronald J. Snider's Rich Christians in an age of Hunger
I can't say any of these things better than he did. And these should be nailed to the doors of every Christian home and every church building. Luther style.

Guidelines for Living:
1. Move toward a personal lifestyle that could be sustained over a long period of time if it were shared by everyone in the world
2. Distinguish between necessities and luxuries; withstand the desire to indulge regularly in luxuries and resist the inclination to blur the distinction
3. Distinguish between legitimate and nonlegitimate reasons for spending/buying
4. Distinguish talents and hobbies from a curious interest in current fads. Allow spending that will develop talents & hobbies, but don't indulge in all the latest recreational equipment simple because it is popular with those who seem "successful". Each person has unique interests and gifts. We should be able to express our creativity in those areas. But if we begin to justify lots of things in many areas, we should become suspicious.
5. Distinguish between occasional celebration and normal day-to-day indulgence.
6. Resist buying things just because we can afford them. The amount we earn has nothing to do with what we need.
7. Seek a balance between supporting emergency relief, development, and broad structural change. Emergency food is important when people are starving. But more money needs to go for long-term community development so folk can feed themselves. It is especially crucial to give to organizations that increase understanding and promote just public policy and structural change.
8. Do not neglect other areas of Christian work. (Holistic programs are the ideal- the incorporation of spiritual and social outreach)


Some Practical Suggestions (for Christians/anyone to get involved in alleviating the issue of poverty)
"The following are hints, not rules, for living more simply. Freedom, joy, and laughter are essential elements for responsible living."
1. Question your own lifestyle, not your neighbour's.
2. Reduce your food budget by…
a. Gardening
b. Substituting vegetable protein for animal protein (cookbooks like Recipes for a Small Planet and More with Less Cookbook = delicious, meatless meals)
c. Joining a food co-op *(if there's none in your area, write to The Cooperative League of the USA for materials on how to start one. Look into your local CSA)
d. Fasting regularly
3. Lower energy consumption by:
a. Keeping your thermostat at 68 degrees F. or lower during winter months (layer up, drink tea, sit close to one another- it's cozy. Enjoy the season.)
b. Supporting public transportation with your feet and your vote
c. Using bicycles, carpools, and your own two feet
d. Making dish washing a family time instead of buying a dish washer
e. Buying a fan instead of an air conditioner
4. Resist consumerism!
5. Reduce your consumption of nonrenewable natural resources by:
a. Resisting obsolescence (buy quality products when you buy)
b. Sharing appliances, tools, lawnmowers, sports equipment, books, even a car (this is easier if you live close to other Christians committed to living more simply)
c. Organizing a "things closet" in your church for items used only occasionally such as edger, clippers, cots for guests, lawnmowers, camping equipment, ladders, etc.
6. Determine how much of what you spend is for status and eliminate such spending
7. Refuse to keep up with clothing fashions
8. Enjoy what is free
9. Live on a welfare budget for a month
10. Examine Shopping for a Better World from the Council on Economic Priorities and Alternatives Celebrations Catalog published by Alternatives. It provides exciting, inexpensive, ecologically sound alternative ideas for celebrating Christmas, Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving, etc.
11. Give your children more love and time rather than more things.

My last plug is for community living. When I talk about community living a lot of people criticize saying that the whole ideology behind it is just hippie-mindest, weird, inappropriate or immature…what crap. It's not being a "hippie" to want to be ecologically responsible and craving community with those around you in sharing responsibilities, tasks, costs, facilities, appliances, etc. That kind of community life is Biblical, not "weird".
From Snider: "Housing, furniture, appliances, tools, and cars that would normally serve one nuclear family can accommodate ten or twenty people. Communal living releases vast amounts of money and time for alternative activities. Some Christian communes have been initiated as conscious attempts to develop a more ecologically responsible, sharing standard of living. "
(A shout out to members of Community House in Beverly, MA. Well done, guys. You've got the right idea.)

you are welcome

This weekend there was a circumcision ceremony in Mbale that almost all the USP students went to. I said no thank you and went four wheeling instead by the Nile. Joel and I left early Saturday to head to Jinja and go four wheeling through village trails and ripping through banana tree plantations and dirt compounds to the ridge of the Nile overlooking a dam. It was beautiful. About halfway down the first trail I just started giggling to myself behind my bandit mask thinking "what the heck…I'm on a four wheeler…in the jungle of Africa!" For the win.
After biking we headed up to his home he built in the village to be able to celebrate his jaja's (grandma's) 87th birthday with her today. So after church a few people came over and celebrated with us in wishing jaja a happy and treasured birthday with cake and Fanta. Birthday ritual here focuses on the cake- first the cutting of the cake and then the serving. The birthday person cuts the cake with the assistance of an honoured guest or family member much the same as a newly wed couple cuts the cake by both taking hold of the knife. So jaja asked her firstborn daughter and me to help her cut the cake. It was such a huge honour and just such a precious moment I could have cried…but it would have gotten the cake wet, so I tactfully refrained. Second is the serving of the cake, equally as important. The chosen assistant of the cutting of the cake is also expected to cut the cake into small pieces then put them on a plate for the birthday person to serve everyone else a piece of cake before taking one him/herself. So I diced through a hunk of the cake for jaja to serve everyone and then proceeded to crack open everyone's Fanta or Mirinda drinks. It was beautiful. Everyone was happy, everyone loved the cake, and one woman was so joyfully helpful in directing me through my tasks (seriously- so grateful she was there!). After the birthday party as I was leaving the family just so joyously thanked me for being there and for recognizing jaja's birthday with them all and I nearly cried tears of gratitude and satisfaction as I tried to express how grateful and honoured I was to have been there with them all for such a huge event- seeing as how the general life expectancy here is about 45 years old- this was an epic event.
Something to note from my time in the village: hospitality knows no fake smiles here.

Now this is not so typical of my own home- as the camp staff and friends of us kids just pop in unceremoniously on a regular basis- but in general: I feel that in America many people make quite a fuss about company coming over. The house is made sure to be extra clean, food is ready, and people generally know when to expect a visitor. Here that is sooooo not the case. Anytime you enter a home here, expected or otherwise- you are most welcome. While in America there are physical preparations made to make the guest feel welcome, here welcoming is a tone of a voice and a sincere openness of heart. There is a gentle excitement in every home that I have entered by the people who have greeted me that just ushers me into the house, shoes outside on the mat, hand clasped gently, cheek kissed occasionally, presence acknowledged in a kneel on the knees in quite a few cases, and a gentle murmuring of "yes, you are welcome" in every instance. Here people welcome you into their home by simply expressing "you are welcome" or "yes, you are welcome here". That's all. A few words. Standard. Yet the effect of such a simple, genuine gesture is flooring. Every time I enter and receive this salutation my heart melts a bit as I feel so genuinely welcome into the home. It's beautiful.

feminism in East Africa

Whoever thought that I would ever be discussing feminism or body image issues from a cross cultural perspective in Uganda?
Tonight after dinner, Esther and I found ourselves stumbling into a conversation with a few of our male Ugandan friends from Honours College that ranged in topic from female circumcision to Arab country legal perspectives on genital mutilation to breast implants and what exactly is the best approach to sex education. I blame the Reverend whom teaches my African Traditional Religions course. This is all his fault.
This coming weekend USP students have the "opportunity" to go up-country and witness the circumcision ceremony of the Gisu tribe. No thank you. I won't be attending. That was the topic of dinner conversation which transpired over into casual chit chat leading back to the dorms with Esther. A few of the HC guys told us they made a presentation video last year in which they demonstrated what a circumcision ceremony generally looked like (emphasis on the dance). So we went back and watched this hysterical video in which certain actions were mimed and laughed at and then the conversation erupted like so many volcanoes all choosing to explode at the swelling of a symphonic moment- like they had been waiting and were all cued at this precise, epic moment to make themselves seen.
I never thought I would find myself sitting in the heart of East Africa discussing feminist viewpoints on body image portrayal in the media- though it was my academic focus for a concentrated semester in college. Nor did I ever think that sociological theories of cultural norms and legalities would ever be sound ground for a cross cultural debate as to whether or not is in fact ethical to encourage protection rather than (just) abstinence from a Christian point of authority. And I'm quite certain the many people that innocently stumbled into the common room of Florence Hall tonight never imagined as they ate their rice and beans tonight that they would walk into the middle of a conversation about breast implants after their supper. (my apologies)
In any case: I wish my English teachers who taught me to debate throughout the years with a level head, open mind, ready ears and thoughtful tongue to know that you trained me well. And to my many sociology professors and advisors- I wish them to know that I am in love with sociology all the more for coming here, as I truly see all that I'm learning back home playing out in real life even across the ocean. This is what it's all about. This is the real world.

maps, a mountain range & a piggy bank

officially started my application to the Peace Corps today.
shazam.

of charcoals and horn bills

Sunday morning:
Went running- which, after spending most of the past 2 weeks with constant dizzy spells and mostly lying down, felt amazing. Thank you God for borrowed running shoes and a generous roommate :)
Had a horn bill attacking my shower window the entire time I was in there. Stupid thing just kept hurtling himself at the glass pane over and over again, banging his big beak against the window, flapping away, then winding up for another round attempted entrance.

Got to go into Kampala yesterday and successfully did business with taxi drivers completely on my own. No Ugandan friends went with me to help me along navigating business with small shop owners or drivers. I found a secret to not being heckled about the price I suggest to merchants/drivers: big sunglasses. I guess if they can't see my eyes, they can't tell that I'm not 100% confident in what I'm saying. On sheer intimidation I was able to power my way into Kampala, not get ripped off, and get home safely with three other Mzungu ladies tagging along. (and in shorts, no less!)
Yesterday I also thought it would be good to get some charcoal to draw with. You would think that in a country whose cooking rides on the back of charcoal stoves and charcoal fires a person could find some charcoal to draw with…not so. But I'm not giving up the hunt.
In thinking about the past month and all the things I've seen other USP students craving and dreaming of here in remote Uganda- I've been trying to think of "what are things that are essential to living anywhere else?"- what is that I must have in any new place I live that just…can't be replaced by local brands or local customs. It's not peanut butter, not clothing styles, not communication. It's chocolate.
My life has become that simple.
All my comfort and feeling of attachment to home boils down to one simple thing.
Chocolate.

Life in Africa feels normal. It feels the way my life should have always been. We had a movie night Friday and watched Ferris Bueler's Day Off projected onto a yellow wall of the common room of my building. Watching the cityscape on the wall shine and glimmer and rise and fall amidst a crowd of semi-homesick Americans and Ugandans who have never been to America was interesting. I just kept thinking of all the movies I saw that took place in Africa before coming here. Seeing huts and dirt trails and bright coloured dresses on women balancing mounds of laundry on their heads- these were things I'd never seen and that still took me slightly by surprise when I actually arrived here. I just kept thinking what movies like that must look like to Ugandans who have never been to an American city. Kampala and Entebbe certainly have nothing like those sky scrapers with which a Ugandan could identify. How weird it must look to see such an organized, shiny, clean cut city on a big screen and have no concept of what that looks like in real life.


In other notes: Bon Iver is the playlist dominant this week…can't get him out of my skull. And I'm learning to play guitar :) for real, this time.

of kings and kingfisher

Playing volleyball with a soccer ball all weekend takes a serious toll on one's arm muscles…
The Honours College retreat @ Kingfisher Resort in Jinja was perfect. The weekend was kicked off at an ice cream social at Mark & Abi's house on campus (USP staff), followed by an epic night game of capture the flag and the night ended with an astounding birthday/fruit/dance party. Spice cake plus pineapples & sugar cane plus Shakira equals best evening ever. :) The whole point of the Kingfisher retreat was for the USP and Honours College to finally all have a great get-to-know-you weekend of bonding. After a dance party like that though, perhaps Kingfisher was a bit obsolete… when the bass is pumpin' you really get to see personalities break out- that's all I'm sayin…

Kingfisher was SO beautiful and relaxing. I didn't realize how badly I needed a weekend away to relax til Saturday night after our first full day of group games (hello, camp flashbacks), swimming in the glorious outdoor pool (complete with chicken matches), and incredible coffee served at tea time. the lights of fishing boats on Lake Victoria at night were breathtaking; bobbing across the brightly moonlit horizon. I was homesick for North Harbor as I walked back up from the beach Saturday night to find a few other HC people playing guitar and running through worship songs for Sunday morning. It was so fulfilling and peaceful to be by the pool with the almost full moon reflecting light on the water and every other smooth surface as we sang Holy, holy holy- is the Lord God Almighty- who was and is and is to come…With all creation I sing- praise to the King of Kings! You are my everything, and I will adore you.

from armchairs to jungles

Fiona apple: slow like honey

My two week home staycame to an end this morning, my last night with my Kisitu family last night. I have been named Nanteza and I feel I will keep the name at least as long as I am in Africa. Nze Nanteza. Nze Alli. Nze Spartacus. Nze loca. (a rose by multiple names maybe smells sweeter?)
My sister Racheal painted my nails HOT PINK last night…I've decided to just be ok with it since the robust colour reminds me of Hannah :) And to top it off I painted my toenails crazy blue today. When all your skin starts to own the dust and sweat and burning peanut smell of Africa, you have to jazz yourself up somehow to still feel like you have some control over your appearance, especially when you don't have a mirror anywhere around to even have an idea what you look like. (I find it shocking to walk past car windows that reflect the sun just right to catch my image… the thought usually goes through my head "oh that's what my hair looks like today?!" and then is gone as soon as I hear a boda honking for me to move or be crushed)
I'm going to miss my dirt path walk home past the hostels and cows and children yelling "Bye Mzungu!" at the top of their lungs, walking me hand in hand half way home. I'll miss tea time waiting for me at the table with Mommy and Racheal - boiled milk with tea and veggie samosas. I'll miss evening prayer time and Hidden Passion. I will not miss the screaming puppies, the screaming baby, and the screaming next door neighbors at all and every hour of the night that has prevented me from sleeping for the past 2 weeks. For those reasons, I am very excited to return to campus.

Campus sightings:
- A monkey ran across my path yesterday between classes. Commonplace.
- My elephant and giraffe doodles have gotten nearly professional looking, for all the zoning out in class I do.
- African professor's skin plus white chalk dust equals the most absurd, wonderful contrast for my artist eye. Another distraction from notes in class…
- Honours College birthday tradition states clearly that birthday boy/girl is to be "showered" on his/her birthday. Thus this morning was the showering of Erisa; drug from his bed by about six or seven other HC men, carried kicking and fighting to the front lawn, and drenched with about 5 buckets of soapy water. Happy birthday, Erisa ;)
- Quote: "I'm the chairman of the shower club"- Joel
- Mark made a Tony's mom comment in class…in Luganda…and we all understood enough to laugh :)

Without a piano, a Jeep, and a swimming pool to blow off steam/center myself/retreat and relax, I have been forced to get creative in seeking an alternate "outlet" here. I now even more fully support "creative" downloading routes for music as I have only found true solace in my hefty music collection when the moments hit that I just need to be away and get lost in something. Today, I'd like to thank the academy, as well as Jeff Buckley, Fiona Apple, Björk, Mazzy Star, Iron & Wine, Cat Power, Beck, Wilco, Feist & Imogen Heap for pulling me through with clear head, even breathing and calm spirit.

I've been reading the Primal Vision by John V Taylor for one of my classes here, and I have to say- as outdated as some things seem to be in the book from the 60's, there are other parts that are standing out so profoundly in the book:
"Let Western minds make their inductive and precious generalizations; Africa, if she is true to herself, remains stubbornly inarticulate."
---this has been ringing in my head ever since class last week when we discussed the quote as it was brought to the conversation. In coming here, I knew the typical perception of Africa that Americans in general had, and I tried my best to reject it (pretty successfully, I think). And in coming, I was encouraged by one Ugandan student to write home and work to dissuade that perception; by another the other day I was encouraged to not write home often so as to allow everyone else the same opportunity I now have to develop my their own views. The second told me it was their responsibility (you readers) to travel here yourselves and discover what is true, what is bogus, what is unclaimed. I'm also finding that even my African professors, in trying to convey their lessons to our class, give sweeping generalizations of East African thinking, EA lifestyle, traditions, typical behaviours- and each professor seems to have a vastly different idea of "the norm" than the next. In light of these incidents, I am falling ever in love with this piece from Primal Vision in finding that Africa, in everyone else's attempts to articulate her, is "stubbornly inarticulate" in her uncanny ability to evade description, explanation, and even common observation among people of her own nation, to people of every other nation; from armchairs to jungles she remains mysterious, evasive, confusing…and therein lies her beauty.

And…
"The isolated individual self is an abstraction. We become persons only in and through our relations with other persons. The individual self has no independent existence which gives it the power to enter into relationships with other selves. Only through living intercourse with other selves can it become a self at all."
--- Here, here! And I raise my glass.

calendar marks

Calendar marks by My Favorite Highway. Hannah(s)--- check it out. You'll love it. You're welcome.

I love my Ugandan family. We watch a marvelous Spanish soap opera called Hidden Passion that's dubbed over with terrible English every night as a family. At first I thought it was a good laugh, but now I find myself anxiously watching the kitchen clock for 8pm every night to go see what Franco will do next! My sisters are hilarious and loud and beautiful. :) Feels like home to walk there every night to tea time and conversation, Spanish soaps and visitors popping unceremoniously in and out always.
Typical morning in my Mukono home: instant coffee.
Reading the 6th Harry Potter as a nice no-brainer way to get myself going. Don't judge. I know you all love those books too.
Mosquitoes that never actually land on you/bite you.
Bread and butter.
Greeted in the arms of whatever fool HC boy is out of his dorm that early in the morning when I walk back to campus with a "Welcome back, sister!"

Speaking of family: Honours College is most definitely family now. Can't really say much else, other than I find the relationships there completely unlike any other and so welcoming, so intentional, so comfortable. I'm blessed.
I got to get into Kampala the other day (finally!) with a bunch of the IMME (students living with families for the whole semester) kids. We went to the New York Kitchen in Garden City for good ol' American pizza. Beautiful. I hit up the book store on the way out and just the smell of books took me back to Borders… LYNNSAY: I miss you desperately. You and our book dates. People here think I'm crazy. They're all homesick for foods and family members- I miss books and snow. Dear January: I will see you in the Bangor Borders. Every day. Open to close. ALSO was escorted over to a legit coffee shop with real coffee for a latte and slice of chocolate cake. I miss coffee. And coffee shops. And coffee culture. But as much as it was nice to indulge in an American day in Kampala, I think I'm all set for the rest of the semester with spending that much money just to "taste" home. Rice and beans are fine with me.
Went to the consecration of the new Bishop of Mukono on Sudnay. 8 hours of my life I'll never get back. Did get to see the President though- when he showed up about 5 hours late with a car as a peace offering and congratulatory gift for the new Bishop (aren't things like that illegal during election season in the US?).
Nanny sent me a package of peanut butter chocolate chip granola bars the other day. No note. No letter. Just pure grandma love in chewy bar fashion. Perfect. Nanny- if Sue or Mom pass this honorable mention on to you- may it be known that you're the favorite grandmother of every USP student since there was enough to share and you knew just exactly the way to our desperate-for-chocolate-hearts. Thanks :)
Note: if anyone would like to compete for that title…feel free to send packages :)

Uganda Studies Program
Alli McPhedran
Uganda Christian University
PO Box 4
Mukono, UGANDA

I read this last night in a poetry book from my African Lit class:
Epilogue by Grace Nichols
I have crossed an ocean
I have lost my tongue
From the root of the old
One
A new one has sprung



You have my attention like a shout through an empty sanctuary

Speak but a whisper...

stream of consciousness

The best way to sum up the past few days is just a stream of rambling… embrace it.

My friend's mother passed away on September 9th and I was asked to attend the burial in Eddie's village of Palisa on Saturday. I joined some other Honours College and mass communication students (his major) for the long ride to Palisa to go support our brother in the burying of our mother, Oketcho Jen. It was nothing like attending an American funeral at all. The women closest to the late mother were in traditional Buganda dress with bright colours and just mass amounts of fabric arranged in such an intricate, voluptuous way around their bodies. There were people there asked to speak on behalf of full groups of people that came to support the living family members- that was something very moving to see, the support for those that were in mourning. I was the only mzungu there and someone even formally directed the entire crowd's attention and gaze to me specifically at one point in his speech. It was an honour to be there and I felt so welcomed into the HC family (though I wish my induction could have been under lighter circumstances).
Classes are in full force. I'm trying to learn Luganda…but the professor is going at lightening speed. Grammar lessons that took three years of Spanish classes to build up to in Luganda are only taking three days. Anyone ever heard of suffix infixes? Blowing my mind.
I was dropped off at my family's house on Sunday. For the next two weeks all of us USP students are staying with host families at night and over the weekend to get a real African-family-living experience…or something like it. I feel right at home :) I was driven there in a Jeep (making me miss ol' Campy…) and introduced to my mom and dad who are (go figure) a teacher and pastor. I have a younger sister Phoebe who is ten, Irene is about 17 or 18 and hysterical, and Racheal is about 20. My sister Tabitha lives out of town with her husband, but her son Emma (Emmanuel) lives with us- he is 2 years old and terrified of me and Jen (the other USP student at my house). Emma screams when we're in the room. Hopefully he'll get over that in the next couple weeks… between him and the roosters screaming at 4am I'm not sure how in the world I'm going to survive these next couple weeks. My family is beautiful though; Racheal is so sweet and Irene taught Jen and I a beautiful song in Luganda which we sang around the kitchen table by candlelight as we were playing cards (power outage).
Went into town with Eddie yesterday afternoon for cold pineapple drinks and ice cream. It's the simple things around here that keep my grounded, remind me to just slow down and enjoy Africa. Three months from today I leave Uganda. :( already SO not looking forward to that. I can't believe it's already been a month since I've been here. Fahad and Eddie walked me home last night from campus through all the twisty dirt paths littered with banana peels and cows, and Fahad pulled his mocking voice out to bid me well at leaving me on my doorstep- saying how oh! So proud he was to see me growing up, leaving on my own! And I thought of Daddy saying goodbye at the airport and didn't realize just how long ago that actually was.
I miss snow. If anyone can find a way to mail me some snow… that would be lovely. I had a vision the other night…of getting home to Boston, driving up to Maine and just laying down in a snow bank in my driveway in mid January when I get back.
HC truly does feel like home. It's wonderful to walk back to campus these past couple mornings to come to class and hear someone yelling "Spartacus!" or one of my many other names as I walk down the path toward HC dorms. Cards and rolexes and walks into town with my brothers, sharing bananas and small-campus gossip with my sister Brenda across the hall… running into familiar faces in canteens and on the hill to town--- infinite moments (hannah).
From "The Primal Vision": 'The African reading the Bible is glad to find a civilization which marches to the same rhythm as his own. No obsession with efficiency, , but life as it unfolds is qutie simple in its tragedy, its hopes, its slow rhythm, its cruelties, too. Christ walking through the dust from one village to the next, drinking water from the same wells, delighting in the movements of the sower, the radiance of the setting sun, the flowers of the field, talking at great length to crowds- in this we find reflected the black innocence, the irresponsibility of Africa, her timeless existence, her freedom.' <-- this is for Mallory. your email was perfect, and in response to it's subject "You belong to Africa now." i can only say that this is the wonder i feel in thinking of my east africa and this is how i quietly agree with your title. thank you, mal.

emirembe. peace.

quick

not enough time to post a lot, thank you very much multi-thousand member campus using internet instead of going to community worship...
mama: don't worry. i'm safe. trust me.
dad: Norton stuff...? my email isn't working so i can't even open the link to get to the antivirus stuff... call me later so i can write down the link.

more later on the burial and my new family that i'm staying with for the next couple weeks :)
much love.

and super loud shout out CONGRATULATIONS to Hannah Nicolet on being freaking ENGAGED!!!!!!!! wooo! you better not get married til i'm home!

Source of the Nile. Source of Life.

So who knew, when I was young and in grade school learning about the world's most famous body of water (The Nile River) that I would ever stand on a small cement outlet at the very source of it, near where Gandhi's very ashes were poured in? I sure as hell didn't. But yesterday, as God would have it, was full of surprises.
After class I stripped off UCU dress code, threw on my walkin shoes and jumped in the car with another Honours student- Joel - to go and visit a school where he sponsor's an 11 year old girl (Brenda) who is an orphan from his village. On the way through we were stopped by some police and a soft spoken conversation and 2k shillings later from Joel into the discreet hand of the police woman, and we were back on our way with no penalty. (if only it were that easy to get out of tickets and fines in the US!) We drove through past Jinja to a small village where there are multiple school compounds and had to go through two of them before finding the newly placed Brenda with her beautiful smile and soft voice. Joel- in the middle of supporting himself through university here studying Law is also fully covering four children from his village to go to school through the end of secondary (high school) as conviction of repaying the favors done to him as a child by his extended family. (( in hearing multiple stories like his, I'm thinking I would love to take these young African men home to slap around some of my guy friends. Step it up world. If this "developing country" or "third world"s young adults have it figured out- what's your excuse?))
On the way back towards Jinja Joel's car broke down, thankfully right next to a mechanic. So we grabbed our jackets, left the car, and went for lunch. I thoroughly enjoyed that we were sitting inside while the downpour started, and that we had entertainment of watching another muzungo fool on the other side of the road trying to wade through torrents of rushing street water in flippy floppies. (ha!) Jumped a boda boda to the Nile River and as we were sitting on a tiny cement jetty in the water, three other muzungo showed up and started up conversation. James and Chris- two Canadians- have been travelling for the past 3.5 months throughout Africa, starting in Capetown and jumping all over the continent, working their way to the Mediterranean. They picked up a lone ranger from New York- Erik- who I believe they met hiking Kilimanjaro (something I desperately want to do). So the three gentlemen joined us for drinks on the Nile and we sat- Ugandan, American, Canadian- united discussing the two subjects you should absolutely never bring up in conversation with strangers and employers: politics and religion. There is something so vivacious about conversing with strangers- the freedom to know that everything happening is ultimate and beautiful and fresh and there will be no pressure to try and create more than what is going on RIGHT THEN when the interaction naturally wears off into the evening and your individual paths. We all went to grab dinner together and exchanged blogs and emails and blessings and wishes for safe journeys all around and our vagabond troupe dispersed into the Jinja evening covered by freshly bright stars- the kind of bright that you only notice after too many cloudy evenings in a row.
However- the night wasn't over. The car broke down again on the road home…which only preceded me drifting in and out of consciousness on the side of the road while Joel and various other mechanics pointed and shouted in a few different languages at whichever car part they suspected being the source of our troubles. Left the car in a garage, jumped a taxi, met two guys that had been robbed on their previous taxi at gunpoint, reached Mukono, jumped a boda boda and through the gates we collapsed in laughter, relief, exhaustion, and elation- the kind of ALIVE feeling that only comes after such a ridiculous day of unpredicted, unexpected adventure that you just had to greet with a shrug of the shoulder, a smile, and a soft mumbling of TIA baby, TIA. (this is africa).
Welcomed home into the laughter of a couple other girls fresh back from Kampala with adventures of their own, and the worried arms of Eddie and his bemused smile at my ability to just embrace the day. If there is anything I have learned in life that has best prepared me for Africa- it's this:
In 99% of situations you are faced with, worrying will get you no where. So just go with it.
*Someone asks you to go meet a child: you jump at that beautiful opportunity.
*Car breaks down: slip your shoes on and find some food.
*Cell phone runs out of air time: may as well just wait for someone to call you, and enjoy the time in the afternoon you have being fully present in the human interaction directly in front of you.
*Meet some guys on the Nile: grab a beer and share travel theories, perspectives on Africa, spiritual differences, laugh, kick back, enjoy the freaking Nile!
*Car breaks down again: take a nap, let the men work (feminist views fading..what?)

*USP gives you some rules: bend them a little bit for sake of humanity and growth. :)