Happy Wednesday!

This was written on Sunday but we lost power, then lost power again then lost power again. The only time I had power was intermittently at school and there the internet is so slow that there is no chance of posting anything. So this is a few days old but so what?

Happy Sunday from Home!

The laundry is spinning, the drobos and bulbuls are chirping, the wind is blowing and Ross is singing the same song at his keyboard to the Hallelujah masses. It is a typical Sunday. We’ve been here just over 4 months now and I feel like I am settling into, and seeing, real life. It’s like anywhere else that you move to where everything starts off as new and shiny and you don’t know where to look because you don’t want to miss anything. Then you start to remember patterns and locations like the furniture man who is across from the Barclay’s Bank and the I Feel Like Chicken Tonight that is next to the Kampala International University. Then you start to really see.

I’ve been to Uganda 6 times. I have seen  the poverty. I have worked with people who have nothing. I am not talking about having had blinders on to the way some people have to live (although that will get its own blog post because it’s not what you think) but I mean actually starting to see the day to day happenings within the community. I feel like Uganda is starting to reveal its nitty-gritty self to me.

Our weekly commutes always take us through the community of Kabalagala. This is an area where you can spend your money very easily. There are tons of bars, eateries, gambling halls, shops and other ways to spend your hard earned shillings.

I notice the same young men standing outside the gambling halls, waiting to bet on the football (soccer) matches. “Where do they get their money?” I ask Zipola, the office manager at the school. “They get their school fees from their parents and then don’t pay them. By the time the parents find out that the school fees haven’t been paid, it’s half way through the term and they have to find the money again or else their son gets sent home.” Lots of boda drivers also bet because they have small monies to use from their services. It’s all young men and they are there even before the halls open. I have even seen some young men sleeping at the door of these places.

I notice the same young women, scantily dressed, chatting up the men walking up and down Muyenga Road at all times of day. The same bars are still filled with people at 9am on a Saturday morning. The same men are staggering up the street with a half drunk bottle of Warangi (Uganda Gin) that comes in a plastic pouch with a straw.

And don’t even get me started on how they treat their dogs. That has to be one of the most difficult things for me.

These are not issues that are only in Uganda obviously. But these are things that I notice more and more as the surroundings become more familiar.

It’s not all “bad” of course. There are also things I notice like the Cleaners Store  (that’s its name) down the street that has now become a dried beans seller. A new furniture salesman has popped up with some great looking furniture. A couple of new restaurants have opened. The wood carvings on sale on Gabba Road have changed motif.

And fruits are seasonal here, just like at home. Now maybe you are saying to me, “Of course Erika.” But when you are in a tropical country where it is always hot and there is an abundance of fruit and vegetables picked fresh daily for sale at the local stands, you don’t really see that there is a change in what is being offered. But there is and we are starting to be able to tell by the taste as well. For example, I can tell you that pawpaw (papaya) is getting to the end of its season. The ones we see now are ginormous and the last one we bought didn’t have much flavour. It’s like these are the leftovers that have been on the tree too long. However, mango, avocado and little bananas are now back in season. This means they are easy to get, less expensive and oh so delicious!

What’s interesting is that my perception of myself has changed as well. When we walk down the street in Buziga, our district, or along Gabba Road, or in the downtown core, I don’t feel like I am out of place. I don’t feel self-conscious anymore. And it’s even jarring when I see a mzungu walking along and there is a split second before I remember that I am a mzungu too.

People know us now and greet us. One man on Lumwu street downtown who sold me a back pack asks me every time he sees me, no matter where it is, how the backpack is. The DVD man on Lumwu always greets us when we come in. The ladies at Buziga market even smile at us and say hello. You have no idea what a big milestone that is.

The local tailor has hemmed three pairs of pants for Corey and it cost 10,000 ($4). Our rice cooker broke yesterday so we are going to ask about getting it fixed. We are heading to a local performance with one of the teachers this evening in a hall on the way to the airport.

These are the types of things that can’t happen in a 2 week stint. I am truly feeling like this is home.

The power has just gone off leaving us with one plug running from the solar generator. Can’t complain because we’ve had 2 weeks of almost uninterrupted power but this outage started at exactly 8:30. You can’t tell me that isn’t a planned brown-out! We’ll probably get it back by about 5:30 tonight so I’ll post this then.