Conversations over chapati

5.29

Sara let me fry up the chapati today. It actually is pretty tricky, because here in Uganda, they just don’t use many utensils, and so I was squatting over a pan on a charcoal fire, using only my bare hands and a metal spoon to spread, turn, and flip the chapati. I felt really awkward and unsmooth at first, but I could tell that I was getting the hang of it by my fourth chapati, which is a good thing because the fire was getting hotter and I had no choice but to work quicker. It all felt so… rustic. I imagined trying to make up this fried bread at home and what my family might think of me sticking my hand in the hot pan, using my fingers to twirl the dough around and flip it to its other side. “Don’t burn yourself!” I imagined my mother warning me just as Sara said it. “I’m trying not to!” I escaped with no burns… and some delicious chapati. Now I only need to master the art of making the dough—I never have been good with a rolling pin.

It was interesting that when the chapati was finished, Sara brought out Abdu’s dinner to him—he ate in a lounge chair by himself while Lauren and I ate at the table, by ourselves. It’s typical that Lo and I eat separately from the family. This was a disappointment to us and continues to be—because we really do enjoy spending time with the fam—but by now we expect it, and realize that it must be a cultural difference that the guests eat separately from the family. (Plus, they eat their dinners much later than we do—after 10:00 pm, which I’m no stranger to after having spent a semester in Spain, but I’m grateful not to have to revisit that particular custom!) This ‘cultural difference’ was affirmed for me today when, as I slipped into the kitchen to spoon myself up some more beans, I saw that Sara was sitting at yet another table, eating chapati by herself. I haven’t really noticed that Abdu is served apart from the rest of the family until today, because we rarely see Abdu as it is; he usually arrives home late. I figured they all waited till he got home and ate dinner all together. How strange that husband and wife eat in separate rooms from each other?

Actually Sara shared some tribal traditions with us recently. Sara is from the Hippo clan and Abdu is from the Mamba clan, All of their children are also Mamba clan, and cannot marry another Mamba or Hippo. Sara’s mother and father are not allowed to enter Sara’s and Abdu’s house. In fact, Sara’s mother can only greet Abdu, but very quickly and with downcast eyes and without physical contact. As Sara explains it, “my mama rahns from my husband.” Sara must do the same for her father-in-law: “I rahn from Abdu’s dahdy,” In fact, she must be very well covered when he comes to visit, presumably to discourage any coveting of his son’s wife. Both Abdu’s parents are welcome to enter into Sara’s and Abdu’s house. Sara was surprised that we have no such rules in America. Thank heavens, because, (and this one’s for Dominy:) “I do what I want!”

Tugudeo!

5.28.08

(Tugudeo, luganda: We are back!)

After a brief safari intermission and two days of business in Kampala, we were back on the boda bodas for research for the first time in a week. Weird that I really feel back at home on the boda boda. I loved riding around. Today I didn’t have Johnny, my usual driver; our partnerships were switched up with the school assignments for today, so I had Ahcef (really have no idea how to spell that) drive me around. Ahcef is hilarious, and thinks I am too, so it was a pretty good match. He speaks more English than Johnny, so he’s able to teach me some more Luganda phrases. He’s pretty chatty actually, and didn’t like it when I got quiet. “Bethan, are you sleeping?” he would ask intermittently. “Nope, Ahcef, just… y’know… lookin’ around…” (There’s only so much to say during an entire day on the boda boda, Ahcef, cut me some slack! Plus, I don’t like having to shout to be heard and have you repeat everything you say since I barely catch anything after the collective filter of your accent, the wind at 20 km/hr, and the fact that you’re facing away from me as you speak. Could you wait till we’re still and facing each other? Ha.)

So even though tomorrow will be my one month mark here in Uganda, this week is the first week that we’ve been able to visit schools that are in session and full of students, since our first couple of weeks happened to be when the schools were on holiday. What a difference it makes when they’re full of kids, because these schools are pretty dang depressing when they appear to be abandoned. And lemme tell ya, some of the schools we’ve managed to track down look like they haven’t been in session for ages, let alone just on holiday for a few weeks. So today we visited a pretty humble highschool of about 200 students in the neighboring town of Seeta. The headteacher who we spoke with was very amiable and eager to help us with our research, and afterwards, requested that we make the rounds to each of the classes to… well, we weren’t quite sure…introduce ourselves and say hi? We didn’t exactly know what the headteacher wanted from us, because he would interrupt a class, explain that he had some visitors, and then motion for us to come in, at which point Lauren and I would greet them in Luganda (which they definitely get a kick out of—they always do. I’m not sure if their surprise is a function of the fact that a white person is actually speaking in their native tribal language, or the fact that we probably sound ridiculous. Maybe both). We told them our names, explained that we were university students from the United States and that we came to Uganda specifically to visit their school. We told them that we loved their school and that we also love to study and were so happy to see so many dedicated students, encouraging them to continue to work hard. This seemed to be enough, because although Lauren and I may have anticipated a room full of blank stares, at this point the room would erupt in monstrous applause….

So since schools are back in session, about half the people in our house are gone. This makes things around the house a whole lot quieter, and Lauren and me sad. Things are pretty much uneventful around here, except for something that happened last night. Lauren and I had come home from our day and were sitting in our room working on some things for research when we heard a debacle between some of the girls outside. Since just about any conversation in Luganda is shouted and thus sounds like an argument, we didn’t think much of it initially. Things seemed to be escalating after a few minutes, so we came out to the balcony to check out what was happening below. Latifah, seemingly the sweetest, shyest, most quiet 14-yr-old girl I have ever met (she averts her eyes when I look at her and refuses to speak to me) was really going at it with this other girl who we had never seen before. All of a sudden this girl started swinging at Latifah, who had a large knife in her hand—she was preparing dinner. Latifah stood up and began swinging too, and I panicked because there were several others—including small children—standing around. The knife went flying and Madinah, a house servant, quickly darted across the cement to swipe it. Fatumah grabbed Baby Nasser to take him a good distance away. 4-yr-old Hamzah began to cry and tried to come to Latifah’s rescue. No one tried to step in. Before I knew it, Lauren had turned around to go down stairs and get involved, and I followed. I don’t know exactly what came over me, but I apparently adopted my most angry-Ugandan-woman voice when I came through the door upon the girls and screamed at them. I suppose I thought that if these girls saw that their (white) guests were present they would knock it off. Lauren told me later that I scared her, but unfortunately I didn’t have the same effect on the thrashing girls, because Lauren and I struggled to tear them apart from each other. They were actually pretty skilled at not hurting us as they attempted to continue swinging at (or hurling shoes at) one another. I’m actually not sure our interference did much. As Lauren and I left the compound, they were still shouting at each other in Luganda. When we came back later that night, we asked Fatumah what had happened, but she didn’t seem to know what the disagreement was all about. In fact, no one did, and we were told that Latifah would not open her mouth about it to anyone for about a week. We know that if we approached Latifah about it we wouldn’t get an answer out of her—she’s extremely good at evading any sort of verbal interaction—so we have been begging the other girls to get the story, which we feel we’re owed. It became our business once we stepped in, and we can’t for the life of us imagine what would have driven either one of the girls—but particularly Latifah—to fight the way they did.

English phrases commonly heard in Uganda:
“Safe journey!”
“Nice time!”
“You are very welcome,” (as a salutation, not in response to “thank you”)
“Yes please,” (a solitary “yes” is rarely offered, as in, “So, if you could put your signature here—” “Yes please,” “Are you a private school?” “Yes please,” “Do you have flushing toilets?” “Yes please” And then I think to myself, Okay, so wait. Yes you do have flushing toilets, or yes you would like to have flushing toilets? “Um, do you have pit latrines or flushing toilets at your school?” “Yes.”)

and my favorite:
“Nice church … wait can you say that?” –Jamilah
“Well, you can say: Have a nice time at church,” –me. Actually, the rest of the students and I have started to adopt these abbreviated phrases. Sometimes “Have a nice time at church” just takes too long to get out—why say something in six syllables when two get your point across just fine? :)

S is for Safari

S is for Safari
Rhinos – our first stop was to a rhino reserve. Apparently the reserve is funded by Disney and all eight of the endangered rhinos in Uganda reside there. Apparently many animal populations are still suffering due to the fact that a few decades ago, Idi Amin’s army ate the animals of the land with no reservations or temperance. (This is why, for example, there are no zebras left in the country.) Anyway, after driving for a while on the reserve, and walking a bit on foot, we were led to where we could observe five of the rhinos at extremely close range (the rhinos are under constant surveillance by armed guards with GPS units). One of them, we are told, is from Florida. Ironic that we came all the way to Uganda to see these endangered rhinos, and she was bred in the United States. Ha.

The next morning we loaded in our vans and drove to the Nile at sunrise (I have some awesome pictures, which I unfortunately can’t post yet). We crossed the river on a ferry to the opposite shore where throngs of baboons were waiting to greet us. I’m sure these baboons are pretty accustomed to the arrival of the morning ferry, which they associate with food, because they were pretty fearless. In fact I was trying to get a picture when all of a sudden I heard someone call my name. I turned around to see that a male baboon of considerable size was approaching me. I got nervous. I froze. “It’s okay Bethany, just take a picture.” I’m so sure. The baboon was fixated on me and I was afraid to break eye-contact. He made this barking noise and kinda made this full body hop in my direction. I imagined looking into the view-finder in just enough time to see a blur of baboon fur and fangs hurling at me. We started drawing a crowd of other camera-clad humans. The baboon made another move towards me, and I slowly took some steps backward and managed to slip away from it safely. Whew.

I won’t attempt to convey the grandeur of the sights on the safari—any descriptions that come to mind seem completely cliché and would be far too inadequate a portrayal to merit. We saw lots of giraffes, hippos, crocodiles, warthogs, and water buffalo (which inspired the classic Veggie Tales song, “Oh everyone’s got a water buffalo, yours is fast but mine is slow, oh everyone’s got a water buffalo-ooooo!”). I was maybe most excited to see the elephants, but unfortunately we only got to see their behinds. My favorite part of the trip was the hike up to Murchesin falls, where the huge Nile is forced through this tiny pinch and considerable drop. The falls were a magnificent sight. During the hike up, a light rain was falling and I was inspired to sing Toto’s “Africa”. (Actually, that song is in my head quite frequently around here…and it makes me think of you, Rauna and Jill!) Lauren has a nice description of our weekend: for an account of our adventure, read Lauren’s blog-post about it here. (I tried making a link, but alas, Africa internet strikes again: go to laurenhagee.blogspot.com, or click the link on the right-hand side of the page.)

We came home late on Saturday night, and I think Lauren and I expected that our arrival after a few days’ absence would be a disruption to the family; I imagined they had enjoyed our being gone and would be disappointed to see their time without us was over. On the contrary, we received a huge welcome home. Even Sara came to us with arms outstretched and entered our room to shoot the breeze. The kids were so so happy to see us. We realized later that night that the family really must have missed us while we were gone. I think they must have been bored. We really do provide the entertainment when we’re around.

Tugende!

(Tugende! : "let's go!" -- what I say to Jonny when I hop on the back of the boda-boda)

I’ve been meaning to mention Prossie, a girl my age who I met on only my third day in Uganda. I had a lovely time talking with her, and I was really amused at the “American” phenomenons that she asked me about, such as rushhour traffic, the Pentagon, camping, and picnics. She asked me if I like exploring and climbing mountains. “Well yes, in fact, I do!” What else does she learn is “American”, I wonder? I told her I was excited to try the fruit in Uganda (the pineapple rocks, the mangos are awesome), and she explained that her favorite was “wotahmerron” (not quite having adjusted to the accent, it took me a minute to figure out what she meant).

She also asked me about the taxis in America—“can you fit 18 people in your taxis?” Ha. You see, there is no public transportation system in Uganda, even in the large capital city Kampala. Instead of having bus routes, the roads are overwhelmed with VW-van-like taxis. Other than being painted with a blue checkered strip that runs along the side of the van and a blue T inside a circle which designates the registered vehicle, all taxis are privately owned.

I had to explain that our taxis were much different than the Uganda taxi vans which have four rows that can each fit up to 4 grown people, not including the front bench with the driver. While capacity is officially (and legally) 18, many more children can fit in there when piled on the accompanying adult’s lap. Our friend David recently was in a taxi which broke his record from personal experience—24 people. And that wasn’t including the chickens—inside the taxi. (Seriously?)

.............


Recently two girls from our group were traveling on a boda-boda when a Ugandan police officer pulled the boda-boda driver over. The Ugandan officer was very friendly with the girls, asking them if they were enjoying their time in Uganda. “You know, two passengers at a time are not allowed on a boda-boda, why do you not want to take two separate bodas?” This is the first any of us have ever heard about multiple riders being illegal—like I have mentioned in other posts, I’ve seen entire families on the bodas, and even livestock being transported on laps (desperate times, desperate measures, I guess). The girls explained that he was a contracted driver they had hired for the day, and that they preferred to travel together. The friendly Uganda-copper didn’t give them much of a hard time, but wished them a safe journey and let them go on their way. Later when one of the girls was telling her host family about the event, they explained that the copper had been especially nice since she’s a white person. In fact, apparently Museveni, the current president of Uganda, recently passed a law which includes a 6 month penalty of imprisonment for “frustrating and investor.”
“What the heck does that mean?” I asked.
“Upsetting a Muzungu (white person).”
Woah. I was so stunned I didn't know what to say.

Now that's what I call a double-stuffed oreo!

5.14.08

Everyday when I come home, I run up the stairs to the bathroom sink to wash my hands finally with some soap. I am always amazed so see the streams of brown running down the white porcelain into the drain. I just can’t ever seem to get clean here. Our shower has such low water pressure that it is barely more than a trickle, so I seem to perpetually retain that Ugandan clay caked into my skin.


So, the moment that takes the cake today: After arriving at our first school this morning only to be told that none of the administrators were around for us to talk with (which itself is a frequent event), a teacher offered to accompany us back into the town from which we came—a few kilometers away—since none of them could be reached by telephone. Usually when this happens, we have the teacher explain in Luganda to our boda-boda driver how to arrive at the destination in question. I’m not sure exactly why this didn’t happen this time, but for some reason, the teacher needed to come along in order to guide us directly to where an administrator might be. Here was the problem: we came by boda-boda, Landon and I. Boda-boda capacity is typically 3, including the driver, although this rule, just like any other in Africa, is relative—sometimes you’ll see entire family crammed on to them, for example, a brother, mama holding a baby, the driver, and a small child in front. Yesterday two of my research colleagues saw a cow being transported by boda-boda on someone’s lap. I honestly couldn’t picture this, even after they had described it to me. Apparently the cow was not happy.
Anyway, we had a slight predicament, and Landon asked if I would prefer to stay behind at the school and wait or go with the teacher on the boda-boda. Then teacher-man piped up,
“we cahn mahnage!”
Landon and I were both confused.
“On the boda-boda?”
“Yes, we cahn mahnage!”
We made our way over to the boda-boda and when teacher-man proposed his idea to the driver, he didn’t blink an eye—just swung his leg over the saddle and kick-started the engine.
“The madam fahst, please.” Teacher-man gestured to me. So I got on, followed by Landon, and teacher-man somehow “managed” to squeeze himself in on the back. I really don’t know how we all fit on there, and we were definitelycrammedtogetherlikesardines. I’m talking full-body contact and keeping your head to one side only. Landon and I were both stunned and laughed out of disbelief as we started going forward.
Then came Landon’s funniest line all day:
“Now this is what I call a double-stuffed oreo!”
!
All things considered, we got off to a smooth start. But we couldn’t have gone more than about 2 km before there was some sort of popping noise, some grunting from teacher-man, and Landon’s subsequent yelps to stop. Actually, I’m not sure which came first, it was all coming from behind me and I clearly did not know what was going on. Turns out teacher-man’s shoe had gotten caught in the spokes of the back wheel, and we had gotten a flat tire. We all got off the bike. I told you boda-boda capacity was 3. We walked the rest of the way into town.

Speaking of boda-boda adventures….
Africa has made it’s mark on me. Quite literally. Last week as I dismounted the boda-boda after a long ride home, my leg ever-so-lightly brushed the exhaust pipe. YEOUCH! Now I’m sporting a nice pink burn the size of two quarters on the back of my calf. I’m already anticipating being asked about my future scar: “Where did I get it? Oh you know, just from riding around on a boda-boda in Africa, no big deal.”

Ah, this is too good:
A few days ago, Lauren happened to see someone wearing a Texas shirt, and commented that it made her feel close to home. One of the other research assistants said, “Actually, you couldn’t be farther. In fact if you tried to get any farther, you’d be closer!”

Seeta branch: the Church in Africa

I think as a whole, the ten students that came to Uganda assumed that we would walk to the LDS branch that meets here in Mukono every Sunday. Turns out that all the research assistants have been paired and assigned to work in the Primaries in different branches around Mukono. Sweet deal, I thought, we get to sing and play and have an all around great time with little kids for two hours. I’m totally down! I’m assigned with Caleb (who served a mission in this area), and we’re in the neighboring Seeta branch. We arrived there early on Sunday morning and the branch president who was expecting our arrival invited us to join the leadership meeting he was holding with the missionaries and the rest of the branch presidency. After we introduced who we were and explained our assignment, the branch president said that the little branch was really struggling and that while our assistance would be appreciated in the primary, there were other areas that needed our service. Caleb emphatically offered our help wherever needed it most. I nodded my head in agreement.

Then president Okello dropped the bomb on me. “We really need someone in the Young Women’s.” Yikes. I wasn’t expecting to have any responsibilities with anyone over the age of twelve. Just short of being called as the president (who hasn’t attended church for the past several weeks, I am told), I was called as first counselor, and am basically the YW everything. President Okello gave me a manual only minutes before class started. Of course I masked my overwhelment, fear, and feelings of inadequacy with a smile. On top of this, he asked us to “introduce” ourselves in sacrament meeting which would be beginning almost immediately after our leadership meeting, and gave us up to seven minutes to do it. So, next week I should probably come prepared to be the main speaker in sacrament meeting, because I seriously feel that pres. Okello could at anytime ask me to pitch in. Ha. And what was the Young Women’s lesson on this week, you may ask? The organization of the Church. Ironic, huh? Man, does God have a clever sense of humor.

boda-boda blues

5.11.08

We ditched our boda-boda driver. He simply wasn’t delivering. In the last post I explained our frustrating second day of research. Well, the next day was worse, and I realized that we may not have been getting reliable information from our driver, Geofrey. Here’s the deal. In these extremely rural areas that we’re traveling to there are no road signs. The only way to know if you’re going the right way is to shout at someone at the side of the road for verification. Often there isn’t any sign for the schools we’re looking for, even right in front of the buildings. We think our driver wasn’t able or willing to find the schools, and so he either told us they had “collapsed” or that they had changed names. The fact that a school has closed isn’t exactly that uncommon; since the vast majority of the schools in Uganda are private, the turnover is depressingly high, and many schools—especially small ones in rural areas—close after only a few years of operation, if they even make it that long. L

But it is suspicious that this would be the case with 7 of the 9 schools we attempted to track down in one day, when the other research teams had much higher success rates. Well, we are out in the middle of nowhere, Martha and I thought, maybe we happen to be in a particularly difficult area. But then add to this the very subtle things like the fact that Geofrey was never please with the very fair fare we offered, and always tried to bargain with us at the end of each day when our professors had explicitly informed us that we were in no position to be negotiated with, as they had arranged the boda-boda drivers as contracted work and previously agreed on a set hourly wage. To my credit, I was very firm (bargaining isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m getting better). Also Geofrey was asking for money for food in the middle of the day and making us wait while he took a break on the steps with the local fellas. I finally drew the line at this; Martha and I don’t make him wait while we go get lunch—we don’t even take a lunch. We bring bottles of water and our Nice biscuits (kinda like coconut flavored graham crackers), which we shove in our mouths intermittently while on the boda-boda between interviews, and we’re lucky to grab a banana every other day. While other research teams raved about how great their drivers were, we were left wondering if we could really trust ours. I didn’t feel like he was on our side. And I wondered what his conversations were like in Luganda when Geofrey would pull over to a boda-boda stage to ask directions from other drivers—I knew they were talking about us Muzungus on the back of his bike, but what they were saying I obviously didn’t know, and I wondered what advantage Geofrey might take of that. Geofrey frequently got honks, beeps, and thumbs up from fellow boda-boda drivers—presumably in reference to his passengers—and he returned the sentiment. I finally realized on the long ride home of an even longer day that Geofrey didn’t take pride in his job. I didn’t appreciate how we were treated, and I felt I held him up to no higher standard than I hold myself, so we dropped him.

The good news is that our new driver Jonny is much better, doesn’t do the things that made me suspicious of Geofrey, and is more competent. In fact, he’s down right awesome. The bad news is that the new boda-boda isn’t as powerful as Geofrey’s, and Martha and I are frequently left to climb big hills behind the exhaust pipe.

"Mujebaleko!" from one Muzungu to a whole bunch of Muzungus back home

(Mujebaleko!: Hello!)


I am thoroughly exhausted and utterly frustrated from our day of research. Despite having washed it this morning, my hair is a tangled enigma I may never figure out. And I’m not sure the red/brown of my skin is from the sun beating down on me all day, or from a fine layer of red Uganda clay coating my arms and legs. Oh what nine hours on a boda-boda does to you. Nine hours. And I thought a five hour layover in the Nairobi airport was rough. Ha.

Martha and I set out with our driver this morning (I was sandwiched between them for the entire day) on our boda-boda, which is a mix of a motorcycle and a scooter, towards Jinja from Mukono, with a big list of schools to tackle. Yesterday—our first day of research—was a pretty successful day for us, so we felt prepared, ambitious, and excited for the day that lay ahead.

Let me give you a brief rundown of the research we are doing:
This is a longitudinal study sponsored by BYU and conducted by professors in the Department of Educational Leadership and Foundations. Not only does the Ugandan Ministry of Education support the study, but they want to get funding from the world bank to expand to cover the entire country of Uganda (!). Our team of 10 research students—5 teams of two—has a list of nearly 300 schools to survey in the district of Mukono, Uganda (I think the district is comprised of about three counties, it feels like a really large area, more on that coming up…). When we arrive at the schools we ask for an administrator and introduce ourselves, our research, and where we’re from (who we’re associated with). After they agree to participate, we perform a survey that includes questions about student demographics, teachers, funding, facilities and resources, and GIS info. That’s all for the field part of the research (what I’m actually doing). Later the information that we gather from the surveys (along with the coordinates we get with our GPS units from visiting the schools in person) will be used in conjunction with student and school performance (information that our supervising professors are obtaining separately) to identify which factors are related to academic achievement. Interestingly enough, in years past, our professors have found that the single most important factor in academic performance is availability of flushing toilets at the schools. And you wouldn’t believe how many schools here don’t have them (well, I don’t know, maybe you would). You may wonder why it is necessary to physically visit each school on site. Why not call? Why not send the survey in the mail? A few reasons: (1) We can’t call because we don’t have phone numbers for any of the schools, and believe me it would be great if we had phone numbers, because then we could arrange an appointment beforehand and not waste our time arriving at the school when no one is there. (2)We can’t mail the survey because we either don’t have an address, or even if we did we would most likely never get them back. (3) Part of our research includes getting GIS coordinates at the site, which will later be used to map out where the schools are located, since no such maps exist. (Ever tried looking up Mukono on GoogleEarth?) (4) Research is better in person!
Man, I love parenthesis. ;)
Okay, back to my day:
The road we initially started driving on is the one and only major highway between Nairobi Kenya and Kampala Uganda, which is amazing because it’s only two lanes (although they manage to cram in about 2.5-3 lanes) and there is constantly foot traffic, bicycles, and the occasional livestock on the shoulder of the road.
So we set out to a beautiful day, and Martha and I both were taken aback by the beauty of the coutryside; this was the first time we were out of the more populous area between Kampala and Mukono town. I thought Mukono was a village, but it gets way villagier than that. It took us about an hour and a half to get to the first school. An hour and a half of bumpy, dusty back roads, chickens scurrying out of the way, passing men carrying large loads of bananas on bicycles. An hour and a half of friendly strangers verifying that we were headed the right way (or that we weren’t, in fact), and scores of kids running out to greet us/stare at us/shout “Muzungu!” at us. But this first school was a bust—no administrators around for us to survey. Our bad luck continued for the next seven schools, with only two exceptions and large amounts of time in between each stop which included the aforementioned shenanigans and then some. First “the exceptions”, then the “and then some”:

The exceptions:
(1)At our second school, we were delighted to be directed first to a teachers’ office. They very warmly welcomed us, but when an administrator could not be found, a student was instructed to lead us to where an administrator would be found. One of the teachers explained, “Eet ees ah walkable distahnce from heah.” Well ‘walkable’ is apparently a relative term, because he took us back down to the main road, down the main road and then down another side road quite a ways before reaching the “new” campus. After a very successful survey (and a job offer), we were left on our own to make our way back. It’s a good thing I knew where we were going—I had a feeling things may turn out that way, so I took note on our trip there.



(2) Towards the end of the day we located a school that seemed completely abandoned. It was hard to believe that the school is ever in operation, let alone just on holiday. (This might be a good place to provide a possible explanation for our bad luck; turns out for the first 3 weeks of our research the schools are on holiday, so most of the students are at home. Sometimes the administrators are at the schools, but in most of our cases, not. Hence the frustration in the opening of this post.) But, a neighbor explained to our driver—in Luganda—where the headmaster lived, and we were able to track him down. This was interesting, conducting the survey where he lived, with many onlookers, young and old, and very interested in Martha and me. In fact, an old woman with only a few teeth asked us “Mulimutya bannyabo?” (How are you madams?) When I responded “Bulungi nyo” (very good/well), the entire crowd erupted in laughter. They must not have expected me to reply in Luganda, and I imagine I may have been the first Muzungu ever to speak even just that one phrase of Luganda to them. In fact, I swear we were in places where the Ugandan villagers—especially the children—have never seen a white person in their lives. I know only enough Luganda phrases to get me in trouble; yesterday when I greeted an office staff at one of the school in Luganda and they continued speaking to me only to find out that I didn’t know anymore, the Deputy (assistant principal) said to me, “You don’t know how to finish the conversation you started!” So I learned a new phrase: “Syimanyi Luganda!” (I don’t know Luganda!)
There was also an intermission to our day: our boda-boda broke down and we were forced to walk a ways to a mechanic. Sitting at that mechanic’s gave new meaning to the middle of nowhere. At this point we were in the town of Ngogwe maybe. Maybe, because I’m not sure this three-way intersection/six building compilation actually qualified as a town. (Then again, I have been to Warren, Idaho, pop. 8, and that was probably including their dogs, so I suppose where we were was it’s own town.)



There was a little toddler that was so thrilled at the site of me: he had a grin so big I could see every one of his teeth, and his eyes were popping out of his head as if I were Santa Claus or something. He would try to sneak up to me, behind the boda-bodas in the shop, and when he caught my eye he would run away shrieking with excitement. Another little girl just stared at Martha and me from only about an arms-length away, never cracking a smile. At one point, these two dragged their friend of about the same age over to greet us—it seemed like an unspoken dare—she was happy to see us at first, returning our waves, but as the other two brought her closer to us, panic flooded her eyes and she suddenly broke into a scream, ripped her little arms from their grip and ran away from us. What a spectacle we were. And we were just sitting there in the shade, trying in vain to cool ourselves and avoid the noxious fumes from the boda-bodas directly around us. Makes me wonder what they would have done if we had gotten up and started singing and dancing. They may have exploded, so I’m glad we didn’t.

5.04.08 ...And I was Daphne Natka

Dad, the reason we need flashlights is because of the random power outages. In fact, I’m sitting in the dark on my bed under a mosquito net with my headlamp as I’m writing this. Don’t worry, I don’t go traipsing around outside in the dark.
I moved into my own room today, much to Fatuma’s delight, I’m sure. And much to mine too. I didn’t mind sharing with Fatuma at all, but Hamsa’s snoring was loud (as if I needed something other than the roosters to wake me up at 3 am).


Yesterday at the dinner table, we had a long talk with Baker and Bam, the two oldest brothers of the Mayanga family (ages 23 and 22). We talked about their studies in the university, the LRA and Joseph Kony and a little about Museveni, and a whole lot about R&B and Hip Hop music. Akon, a Senegalese-American artist is coming to perform in Kampala this week, and we were debating about going. I talked to Hasifa today about it (she loves Akon) and I think I won’t be going—she says Kampala is dangerous at night even for her, and especially for Muzungus like me. Also, it’s apparently difficult to procure taxis back to Mukono at late hours of the night.


We had a great day today, but it kind of got off to an awkward start. Patrick, the PhD candidate I mentioned earlier who was also staying here at the Mayanga residence, left today—this morning as he was carrying his luggage downstairs, Mama Sara mentioned that she had prepared a big breakfast for us. Patrick declined and said that “we” would not be eating today (I overheard this conversation from the top of the stairs, out of view). I thought that maybe he was only referring to himself, since he was on his way out the door, but when Sara asked about the rest of us, he included us, explaining that we fast every first Sunday of the month. It was only as he was saying this that I remembered what day of the month it was. My heart sank; first of all, I was worried about how Sara might take it. It was our fault that we had forgotten to mention anything to her the night before, and she had already prepared the meal for us, so in this case, we probably should have shrugged our shoulders, said oh well, and eaten anyway. Second of all, I woke up with my stomach growling, and I had very much been looking forward to eating. So I was a little perturbed about how Patrick was handling the situation, ESPECIALLY because he was leaving, and would no longer be guest of the Mayangas, leaving us three girls to have to deal with the results of his meddling. Sara was a little weird about it. Before we left she told us that we would all have lunch together at 2pm, since it was Sunday and no one was working (we usually eat our meals separate from them). She was very emphatic about this—as she usually is about any information she gives us—and not only repeated it, but asked us to repeat it back to her. “We eat et two…waht tiem do we eat?” “At two.” But when we came home after church, just shy of 2pm, she asked us what time we wanted dinner. “At 2:00, right?” “No, you ah fahsting todeh, waht tiem do you want dinnah?” So we settled on a much later hour. I was famished and broke into my stash of chocolate that I had just purchased at the market when I went for water, which was disappointing, but still appreciated. (Chocolate just isnt’ the same here, but I’ll take what I can get. Or at least I’ll eat what I bought. And while most everything here is cheaper than the states, chocolate is more expensive. Maybe I’ll just stick with the fruit.)


But yes, we spent lots of time with the family today—I think it was helpful that Sara was out of the house—she can be a bit overbearing. But with her gone, we felt much freer to shoot the breeze with the siblings, who are wonderful. I even played a game of Parcheezi—they call it Ludo in Luganda—with Has and Hajara, with Latifah looking on and Hamsa rolling the dice for me. Hamsa drew me pictures of Spiderman ‘Taata’ (daddy) and Spiderman’s Kid. He is a little chatterbox, but it’s mostly in Luganda, so I have no clue what he’s saying until he throws in an English word like ‘Spidahmahn’.


My most memorable moment with Hamsa today: he can’t write yet, but he can make out the letter ‘b’, which he remembers this way: “A stick and a stomach.” Maybe that’s how I should clarify my name from now on, since ‘Bethany” is proving difficult to convey to Ugandans; they all want to call me Daphne, which is apparently easier to pronounce. “No,” I may correct them, “Bethany with a ‘b’, a stick and a stomach.”

Have U ganda Uganda?

It’s barely past eight pm Uganda time, and I am utterly exhausted. Landon, Stephanie, Lauren and I took an overnight flight from London Heathrow to Nairobi. We spent five hours in the Nairobi airport before our flight to Uganda, where I met George William who was very interested in why I was coming to his home country of Uganda. He was on his was back from India where he’s finishing his second year at university. I shared a few Lugandan phrases with him that I had been practicing, to verify that I was pronouncing them correctly. He was surprised and said I was picking up the language quickly! I asked him to teach me how to count from 1-10, and he did:

1 emu
2 bili
3 Satu
4 inya
5 tano
6 mukaga
7 musavu
8 munana
9 muinda
10 kumi

We arrived in Entebbe about noon, in desperate need of a meal and sleep. It would be a while before we got either—We loaded up our luggage into a typical rickety African van with our professor Steve Hite at the wheel. As we started barreling down the “highway”, squeaking, clanging, lurching all along the way, I realized that driving on the “wrong” side of the road was the least of our worries. Ocassionally we screeched to a halt for deadly potholes, and we constantly had other vehicles, bota botas, and humans to dodge. In fact, our side mirror clipped the handlebars of a man on a bicycle after he suddenly swerved to avoid a pothole, and the loud thump against our van startled us all. Busy city.

This is interesting: we passed a billboard in Kampala which had the following written at the top: “Would you let this man sleep with your teenage daughter?” Underneath the writing was a picture of a middle aged Ugandan man, and below that was “Then why are you sleeping with his?” Our professor Steve explained that Uganda is facing the challenge of quelling the myths surrounding AIDS, one of which is that sleeping with a virgin will cure you. Amazing that such myths are still widely believed. However, Uganda is apparently the top nation in Africa for having done as much as they have in the fight against AIDS.

When we made it to Mukono (after an hour or two?), we walked around to get ourselves oriented and acquainted with the area. I love this neighborhood!!! There are so many people out and the little children run up to greet us, laughing, waving and shouting “Muzungu! Bye Muzungu!” (White person) Apparently, we are quite the novelty here because the children treat us like celebrities. I try my best to respond in broken luganda: “”Mujebale! Oliotya? Welaba!” (Hello to all of you! How are you? Bye!) but I feel terribly inadequate in my use of the language, despite Geroge William’s former praises.

We met our host family and moved into our rooms. After my first experience with a squatter toilet, I was relieved to see that we have a flushing toilet here in the house. Hallelujah!

I’m still trying to meet everyone in the house, and so far there’s:
Sara (the mama)
Steve
Bam
Fatuma
Gemela
Hajara
Hasifa
Hamsa
Baby Nessa

I’m not sure who all are siblings or cousins, or even what their ages are, but add to that me, Lauren and Stephanie (two other research assistants from BYU), and Patrick (another American PhD candidate from BYU) all under the same roof. There might even be more. And I plan on finding out in the daylight. I’m so excited to talk with them! To roam around the neighborhood, to get comfortable with my surroundings—if at all possible; that may be an ambitious goal. But for tonight, let’s hope I can just get some sleep with Hamsa, a 4-yr-old(?) boy with an asthmatic snore in the bed next to me (he’s such a cutie).