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!”