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.”