Kampala-bound

We just drove by a lady balancing a jackfruit on her head. Wikipedia jackfruit. It’s sticky sweet, reminiscent of fruity Smarties and texture-wise like hard boiled egg white (without any other sensatory implications).

Yesterday I rode a boda boda 21km from Annah’s home to our meeting point in Busia. My driver had a helmet, I did not, and I was sitting sidesaddle with 2 bags balanced on my lap. Pretty sure that’s what the mother meant during the “no motorcycles” instruction when I was younger. Once I found my balance, driving the narrow roads was an “I’m in Africa” moment. The sun, the landscape, and the mixture of confusion and amusement on the faces of people I waved to in passing (plus the absurdity of riding a motorcycle in a dress with a full LLBean backpack) were collectively captivating. And it was spectacular.

The whole excursion week has been like a long and welcome vacation. We didn’t stay in or originally planned hotel because, as our director informed us just before we left, it burned down. So we stayed at Noah’s Ark (no animal theme, sadly) but at lunch at our intended destination twice. They had pancakes and I’m not certain whether they were really fantastic or I’m very baked-goods deprived, but I know I’ll be experimenting with cinnamon, ginger, and Bisquick in May. The 2 hikes to Siipi Falls left us terribly dirty but engergized, excited to have some exercise, and gave us a chance to climb rocks and pass precarious bridges. We hiked the first trail at dusk and because it’s dry season saw a fine mist of a waterfall that was simple and unjustified in pictures. The second day we did another few hours of misting falls and cool (literally) caves. At the Ark, a common dining room/reception area was the perfect place to gather and watch tv. We managed to pick the, like, most mzungu movie ever: Clueless. The best part was Cher’s description of her ex-stepbrother’s “post adolescent idealistic phase,” which we can probably all identify with a bit.

From Siipi Falls we were dropped at our rural homestays in pairs of 2 and were told to research a topic within the village. Tom and I wanted to visit a school, so we picked education and went with our neighbor/translator/friend (who called my cell within 3 hours of me handing over my number) to many homes. At each we were invited to sit in the main room or hut depending on set-up and income level could be gauged by the presence or quality of seat cushions on the angular wooden chairs. Décor consisted of old calendars: the 2006 Presidential Candidates calendar, 2003 Give a Cow program calendar, 2007 The Rise and Fall of Sadaam Hussein calendar. Political print ads, especially for Museveni, dominated the remaining wall space, with an odd ABC poster here or there. I looked at the “Our Beloved Presidents and their Wives” each night at our homestay but Museveni in his goofy safari hat on the front wall was my favorite.

A close second was the amount of pink in the village. Not even the pastel Rwandan prision uniforms prepared me for the dozens upon dozens of kids in buttons up shirts or dresses in varying styles but identical color. Many young me also wore the color either because of the material’s abundance or as remnants of their past days in school. I’m grateful to whatever whim inclined the school to institute this color; the black white and pink pictures I took striking.

On one of our walks, Ben told us “life is good here. Except for the poverty.” Life was indeed different, but crops grew, kids ran around, and people were overwhelmingly friendly. Going to rural Africa and sleeping in a thatched hut for 3 days is as novel and entertaining as it sounds. But living with a family and being so obviously an outsider requires careful consideration of every conversation and action. I never forgot that my backpack contained more possessions than most homes we visited. The experience gave me good insight into the way many Ugandans live outside of Kampala; that said, 3 days is only enough time to being formulating questions and wishing for the time to get answers.