A few weeks ago I moved to a place called Kisoro. Any map will tell you Kisoro lies in southwestern Uganda on the border of the DRC and Rwanda but... I don't really believe in cartography. There's just no proof. Phones, now phones I believe in. On my way here I recieved a message from my phone network, MTN, which read "Y'ello! MTN Uganda wishes you a safe and pleasant stay in Rwanda. Dial *125# for the International Roaming Guide." First of all, y'ello? Secondly, Rwanda?? I knew I couldn't trust maps. Thanks for telling me about my transfer out of Peace Corps Uganda, phone! If only my Peace Corps bosses had that same courtesy.
Kisoro isn't unlike Mbarara...or...no, it's completely different. I was momentarily confused by the double negative. Kisoro is really a step down from Mbarara. I'm not talking about a latitudinal step, not that I believe in latitude. And don't even get me started on longitude! What I mean to say is the change is similar to the one someone would experience moving form Portland to Eugene. Compared to Portland, Eugene has less people, less pavement, more colorful fabrics and nothing's really happening after 7:30 pm. It's really the same story here in Kisoro. Then there's the whole language barrier to worry about; the language here, Rufumbira, is similar enough to my last language to sound warmly familiar but different enough to confuse the hell out of me. Sort of like how in Eugene they'll say "granola" instead of "cheeseburger" and "run" instead of "ride the streetcar." Like I said, confusing as hell.
Since my big move to Rwanda I've been on the lookout for signs of welcome and good luck and just yesterday, a moth landed on my shoulder! If you had been there you might have interpreted the incident as more of a brutal moth attack than a sign of good cheer but I know for a fact a moth-shoulder landing is the African equivalent of a butterfly-nose landing. Don't try to Y'oogle that. It's more of an oral legend. Sure, moths aren't as pretty as butterflies in the western sense, especially the kind that swarm my house at night, and one could argue my house's moth infestation is actually a sign of quite bad luck. But I don't really believe in infestation. My house is simply a densely populated hot-spot for moth nightlife. It's actually quite flattering when you think about it. I try not to.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
son-of-a coupon clipper
I recently realized I've acquired some pretty useless objects throughout my service; my lazy teapot never quite reaches a full boil, my towels are apparently of the nonabsorbent species and my ironic soup ladle droops as soon as it touches something warmer than room temperature. Each night I politely decline a rash from my wool blanket but for some reason wholeheartedly accept the henna-esque facial indentation that only a night with my lumpy, clothes-scrap-stuffed pillow can provide. My mattress, now in its late stages of Alzheimer's, entirely forgets to hold me up as I drift not so softly to sleep and into the hard bed frame below.
In Ugandan product market defense I also brought my share of useless items from home, namely Chaco sandals. If you're lucky enough to fall within a sub-sect of people which doesn't include Oregonians, hippies, Oregonian hippies, river guides, Peace Corps Volunteers, Peace Corps hippy river guides from Oregon or any other inevitable overlapping of these populations, you may have never heard of Chacos. If this is the case I strongly suggest you stop reading here lest you be tempted, in a fit of rebellion, to run to your nearest REI and spend the worst $100 of your life. Of course that's assuming you didn't invest in a set of state quarters ($12.50) in commemorative casing with certificate of authenticity ($87.50)
Chaco sandals are the anti-shoe. Sure, the website may let you flip through varied colors and single versus double strap designs but this is merely a ploy first to distract you from the ugly and second, to distract you from questioning the real value of the Chacos. $100 is a lot to spend on any shoe, let alone one designed to resemble the last remnant of Chinese foot binding mixed with a Goodyear tire. Then again, old meets new style is very in right now.
The real problem is Peace Corps Volunteers get a 50% discount on Chaco brand so any son or daughter of a coupon clipper, thanks Mom, inevitably thinks they're getting some Black Friday trample-a-grandmother deal. Chaco, I 'm offended you would play on the cheap-ass heartstrings of Peace Corps Volunteers to sell your lousy product! I secretly applaud you for your genius and am brainstorming ways to rip off Peace Corps hopefuls when I get home, but I'm nonetheless hurt. The hurt is really more of a bleeding, weeping physical pain than any kind of emotional worry. Or at least that was certainly the case after my latest hike. But because I like to live my life disregarding all problems, carefully documenting all highlights and turning my back on misfortune, I didn't think to take a picture of the latest Chaco massacre on my feet. That and my camera batteries were dead. I'll just say the experience was just like walking on clouds if that's anything like what walking on blood feels like. And believe me, I'd post that vivid description on the customer review section of the Chaco website if I didn't think I'd be suckered into something stupid like buying Bono's It's a Beautiful Day Red Edition Chacos for $200...although I do get that discount. I can only hope the proceeds go to orthopedic surgery.
In Ugandan product market defense I also brought my share of useless items from home, namely Chaco sandals. If you're lucky enough to fall within a sub-sect of people which doesn't include Oregonians, hippies, Oregonian hippies, river guides, Peace Corps Volunteers, Peace Corps hippy river guides from Oregon or any other inevitable overlapping of these populations, you may have never heard of Chacos. If this is the case I strongly suggest you stop reading here lest you be tempted, in a fit of rebellion, to run to your nearest REI and spend the worst $100 of your life. Of course that's assuming you didn't invest in a set of state quarters ($12.50) in commemorative casing with certificate of authenticity ($87.50)
Chaco sandals are the anti-shoe. Sure, the website may let you flip through varied colors and single versus double strap designs but this is merely a ploy first to distract you from the ugly and second, to distract you from questioning the real value of the Chacos. $100 is a lot to spend on any shoe, let alone one designed to resemble the last remnant of Chinese foot binding mixed with a Goodyear tire. Then again, old meets new style is very in right now.
The real problem is Peace Corps Volunteers get a 50% discount on Chaco brand so any son or daughter of a coupon clipper, thanks Mom, inevitably thinks they're getting some Black Friday trample-a-grandmother deal. Chaco, I 'm offended you would play on the cheap-ass heartstrings of Peace Corps Volunteers to sell your lousy product! I secretly applaud you for your genius and am brainstorming ways to rip off Peace Corps hopefuls when I get home, but I'm nonetheless hurt. The hurt is really more of a bleeding, weeping physical pain than any kind of emotional worry. Or at least that was certainly the case after my latest hike. But because I like to live my life disregarding all problems, carefully documenting all highlights and turning my back on misfortune, I didn't think to take a picture of the latest Chaco massacre on my feet. That and my camera batteries were dead. I'll just say the experience was just like walking on clouds if that's anything like what walking on blood feels like. And believe me, I'd post that vivid description on the customer review section of the Chaco website if I didn't think I'd be suckered into something stupid like buying Bono's It's a Beautiful Day Red Edition Chacos for $200...although I do get that discount. I can only hope the proceeds go to orthopedic surgery.
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