One. Year. ONE YEAR!! To commemorate this special occasion, I first considered listing all the things I could have been doing this past year instead of being stared at in Uganda. After jotting down a few possibilities (starting a nursing career, earning half a master’s degree, opening a smoothie stand in Portland’s Pearl District, learning to juggle kittens) I started to shift my thoughts and reflect on the many things I’ve learned over this past year. For example, I’ve learned a great deal about Ugandan culture. I’ve learned to appreciate the subtle qualities of banana wine and to kill spiders with my bare hands. I’ve learned to speak like a toddler in not one but two languages. Milk. Water. Give me. And you might not expect it but I’ve actually learned some interesting if not questionable things from Ugandans about my own culture. Therefore, I’ve decided to take this opportunity to relate the very best of what I’ve learned about America to you.
Did you know…
…in America, nobody is fat?
…in America, you start training for your job when you begin primary [elementary] school? Which does help to explain all those 9 year old nurses.
…in America, healthcare is free? Go ahead, run to your nearest ER for that yearly check-up! Or hell, go in style- call an ambulance.
…in America, college is free?
…in America, nobody is jealous of other people?
…in America, we work with one heart? (I can’t be sure but I think they were referring to “cardiomegaly,” or enlarged heart. It’s actually quite dangerous and affects approximately 100,000 Americans per year. Luckily, these huge-hearted Americans receive free healthcare for all ailments in addition to government-sponsored bi-yearly pancake breakfasts. That Obama loves his pancakes.)
In all seriousness, if I’ve learned anything this past year it’s this: I don’t know a whole lot about my own culture. So get out there! Explore! Learn for free! Eat with no fear of weight gain! Embrace your giant hearts. I won’t be jealous. According to Ugandans, I can’t be jealous. I’ll see you at my smoothie stand in one…more………year. There, I said it. Banana wine smoothies are going to be a hit.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
july 15th: the day my legs died
A long, long time ago, I can still remember when I thought it was a good idea to climb a giant volcano. As if I were a caveman! As if there was some sort of dignity or pride to be gained by being completely drenched in my own sweat, tired, grumpy, and blowing my nose into my shirt! For the record, I’m not talking about a discrete nose wipe on the lower-third of the sleeve, the classic ‘Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just sort of brushing my very ladylike hair out of my very ladylike face’ tactic when really I’m catching a very un-ladylike trail of snot on my cuff. I’m talking about the kind of passionate nose blowing performance sane people, the ones who don’t climb volcanoes, dare to do only behind closed doors, the kind that can shatter superficial friendships and cause post-traumatic stress when witnessed by small children.
Muhuvura, if anything you taught me a few important life lessons. For example, if you must pretend you’re a caveman, always bring a large, sympathetic man who doesn’t fear snot so he can help you climb down the volcano when your legs completely stop taking orders from your brain and instead begin to imitate Elaine’s awkward dance from Seinfeld. That way, if you’re not embarrassed enough already, he can also offer to carry you from the base camp at the foot of the volcano down to the car at the end of the day. And make sure he has a good sense of humor because when he tells you to jump onto his back and your brain jumps but your body just sort of hesitates momentarily and then dramatically slumps to the ground, it’s good to have someone to laugh with before the crying ensues.
My experience reminded me man has evolved and with that comes real responsibilities. For example, in lieu of climbing volcanoes, I should stick to refined, dignified acts such as: sipping coffee at one of those trendy cafes that also displays local art depicting wholly uncivilized volcano mishaps, eating civilized doses of chocolate volcano cake, and brushing my very ladylike hair out of my very, very ladylike face.
Muhuvura, if anything you taught me a few important life lessons. For example, if you must pretend you’re a caveman, always bring a large, sympathetic man who doesn’t fear snot so he can help you climb down the volcano when your legs completely stop taking orders from your brain and instead begin to imitate Elaine’s awkward dance from Seinfeld. That way, if you’re not embarrassed enough already, he can also offer to carry you from the base camp at the foot of the volcano down to the car at the end of the day. And make sure he has a good sense of humor because when he tells you to jump onto his back and your brain jumps but your body just sort of hesitates momentarily and then dramatically slumps to the ground, it’s good to have someone to laugh with before the crying ensues.
My experience reminded me man has evolved and with that comes real responsibilities. For example, in lieu of climbing volcanoes, I should stick to refined, dignified acts such as: sipping coffee at one of those trendy cafes that also displays local art depicting wholly uncivilized volcano mishaps, eating civilized doses of chocolate volcano cake, and brushing my very ladylike hair out of my very, very ladylike face.
museveni, you can take my breath away
A few weeks back, President Museveni came to Kisoro wearing his infamous safari hat.
Background: If the volunteers in my group have enough energy and enthusiasm left to be obsessed with anything these days, anything at all, it’s probably Museveni’s safari hat. In fact, the generous Oreo giver’s core service objective is to steal that hat, which I’m predicting will end in a tragic Oreo-themed funeral. I like the irony of a funeral theme which is both tasteless and delicious but I also hope it will distract from the misfortune of death-by-spear… it’s a rough way to go.
Museveni was scheduled to turn up in Kisoro mid-day, a deceptive Rufumbira word which roughly translates to: anytime between noon and tomorrow. So, after waiting in that crowd for two hours with all that entails- the pushing, the staring, the peddlers pushing their top of the line Museveni gear- I began to distract myself with the weird and wonderful fashions of Uganda, or more accurately, the fashions began to hypnotize me separate of my own personal will. You should know the highlight of the afternoon was an eye-catching, lime green, short sleeved turtleneck number in a delicate, artificial velvet. Now this is obviously a piece that can stand alone, but when paired with camouflage pants? There are no words. In other fashion news, the event confirmed the classic rifle-on-khaki combo never goes out of style.
As the minutes dragged on, the combination of scorching sun and crowded bodies began to overheat my brain which in turn caused me to seriously consider buying a safari hat souvenir bearing Museveni’s name while simultaneously experimenting with mind control in an effort to trigger a rainstorm. You see, if there’s anything Ugandans fear more than personal space and order, it’s rain. Yes…it soon became clear to me rain was the answer to all my problems. Rain would both cool me down and clear out that crowd in a second. Perhaps it would even deter the child attempting to crawl up my back. I started to imagine myself standing solo, poetically, in the middle of the football field in the pouring rain when Museveni arrived. Of course he’d be so impressed with my stamina and dedication he’d invite me into the Land Cruiser for some warm bushera (local millet porridge) and an invitation to serve as his press secretary in the upcoming elections.
After I snapped out of my heat-induced fantasy, which oddly enough had a one song soundtrack of ‘I Can Be Your Hero, Baby’ by Enrique Iglesius, I had ample time to ponder the meaning of life and more importantly, to ponder the meaning of that safari hat. It’s certainly not a fashion statement, although the juxtaposition of the hat next to Museveni’s Fauxmani suit and pimped out Land Cruiser does make for an interesting photograph. But I think the hat is more than that; I suspect we have a Ratatouille situation here. Believe me, there’s no shortage of rodents in this country to discredit my theory and it does help explain the sometimes jerky and relentless thumbs-ups. I’ve therefore begun investigating discreetly; a rat scandal like this could change the whole election and would undoubtedly make my first run as top press secretary disagreeable. If you have any information on this or other scandals, want to talk Ugandan fashion, have a Bradelina update, want to reminisce about the good ol’ days of Starbucks hazelnut lattes and/or sidewalks or need the name of a superior safari hat retailer, please don’t hesitate to contact me immediately.
Background: If the volunteers in my group have enough energy and enthusiasm left to be obsessed with anything these days, anything at all, it’s probably Museveni’s safari hat. In fact, the generous Oreo giver’s core service objective is to steal that hat, which I’m predicting will end in a tragic Oreo-themed funeral. I like the irony of a funeral theme which is both tasteless and delicious but I also hope it will distract from the misfortune of death-by-spear… it’s a rough way to go.
Museveni was scheduled to turn up in Kisoro mid-day, a deceptive Rufumbira word which roughly translates to: anytime between noon and tomorrow. So, after waiting in that crowd for two hours with all that entails- the pushing, the staring, the peddlers pushing their top of the line Museveni gear- I began to distract myself with the weird and wonderful fashions of Uganda, or more accurately, the fashions began to hypnotize me separate of my own personal will. You should know the highlight of the afternoon was an eye-catching, lime green, short sleeved turtleneck number in a delicate, artificial velvet. Now this is obviously a piece that can stand alone, but when paired with camouflage pants? There are no words. In other fashion news, the event confirmed the classic rifle-on-khaki combo never goes out of style.
As the minutes dragged on, the combination of scorching sun and crowded bodies began to overheat my brain which in turn caused me to seriously consider buying a safari hat souvenir bearing Museveni’s name while simultaneously experimenting with mind control in an effort to trigger a rainstorm. You see, if there’s anything Ugandans fear more than personal space and order, it’s rain. Yes…it soon became clear to me rain was the answer to all my problems. Rain would both cool me down and clear out that crowd in a second. Perhaps it would even deter the child attempting to crawl up my back. I started to imagine myself standing solo, poetically, in the middle of the football field in the pouring rain when Museveni arrived. Of course he’d be so impressed with my stamina and dedication he’d invite me into the Land Cruiser for some warm bushera (local millet porridge) and an invitation to serve as his press secretary in the upcoming elections.
After I snapped out of my heat-induced fantasy, which oddly enough had a one song soundtrack of ‘I Can Be Your Hero, Baby’ by Enrique Iglesius, I had ample time to ponder the meaning of life and more importantly, to ponder the meaning of that safari hat. It’s certainly not a fashion statement, although the juxtaposition of the hat next to Museveni’s Fauxmani suit and pimped out Land Cruiser does make for an interesting photograph. But I think the hat is more than that; I suspect we have a Ratatouille situation here. Believe me, there’s no shortage of rodents in this country to discredit my theory and it does help explain the sometimes jerky and relentless thumbs-ups. I’ve therefore begun investigating discreetly; a rat scandal like this could change the whole election and would undoubtedly make my first run as top press secretary disagreeable. If you have any information on this or other scandals, want to talk Ugandan fashion, have a Bradelina update, want to reminisce about the good ol’ days of Starbucks hazelnut lattes and/or sidewalks or need the name of a superior safari hat retailer, please don’t hesitate to contact me immediately.
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