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.