Thoughts

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written, but I honestly don’t feel like I have much to say. This week was just more of the same; work, hanging with friends, dodging traffic as if my life depends on it (actually, it does), and learning my way around this very chaotic town. Having little to say, here’s my warning: this is going to be a very random selection of thoughts and experiences from the past few days, so those requiring coherent transitions should probably stop reading now. For those daring enough to continue reading, I will try to prepare you for illogical topic shifts.

On Wednesday I went downtown seeking a specific printing store where I could get some manuals printed for the office. Luckily one of my colleagues helped me navigate my way through the crowds of people, the “jam” (traffic), and the little roads that all resemble one another (according to my not-so-expert opinion). We successfully made it to the printer, dropped off the project, and I went back to work. But the next day I had to find the place again all by myself. While I was successful in my endeavor, I have decided that downtown Kampala would be a perfect location for an Amazing Race reality TV show challenge. Contestants should have to travel to Entebbe airport, and from there find their way to some monument in Kampala (to be determined later). At this point they face a road block: two challenges, and they must complete one. One of these choices is to find their way to said local printer located in what appears to be the printing district of town. Once the contestants have successfully navigated the narrow, dirty, over-populated streets and found the unassuming sign for their destination, they must search the dark, hot, sticky printing factory for a single paper with the Amazing Race logo on it. Did I mention that there are hundreds of floor-to-ceiling piles of paper in this many-roomed and crowded shop?

As I was walking downtown on Thursday, I also had the opportunity to take a look around and notice the way thousands of people milled from place to place, bargained with street vendors, greeted friends and acquaintances as they passed, and avoided boda-boda and matatu (taxi) drivers who were begging to be employed. While these ordinary sounds and sights made me smile, I couldn’t help but be troubled by something happening in the midst of it all. One image that refuses to erase itself from my mind is that of a child, probably five years old (but more the size of a three-year-old), sitting on a small piece of cloth on the sidewalk. While people sitting and selling things on the sidewalk is normal here, what startled me was that this child’s limbs were severely disfigured. He had no legs below the knees, and no hands. At the end of one arm was a single finger which he held up, pleading with passers-by to put money in the cup between his thighs. He was all alone. There was no parent that I could see. He had no control over his situation. I have heard that parents here will sit their children, even infants just old enough to sit up, on the ground and walk away, leaving their child to the mercy of others. I know that these children’s parents might not be far away; just out of my sight. But who does this? Who can just plop their little baby or disabled child down on the pavement and seemingly abandon them, just for money? I don’t understand this. Maybe I never will. And maybe I can’t ever understand it. I have never been poor, starving, or as desperate as many of the people around me are. So how do I respond? What do I do with sights like these? I don’t know that I’ll ever have a good answer to these questions, and I have a feeling that in the next 11 months I will face many more situations which are hard for me to grasp. I have a lot to learn about the world and my place in it.

It’s a weird shift to make, but I wanted to express my joy at getting to experience different churches. This morning I went to an Anglican, Church of Uganda church called All Saints Cathedral. This week I was the only white person in the room (not even a white friend or coworker with me), and there had to be 600 people in that church. As I was sitting on the wooden pew, singing hymns I know from home, I was overcome by joy and thankfulness. I found myself praising God that I am in a country where I can freely worship Him. I do not have to fear persecution here or hide my faith from the government. This luxury is not experienced by people all over the world. It is such a blessing to know that I can go to one of many churches here and be surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ. I am so thankful!

Ok, big topic switch ahead. In all my running history, I have never been chased by animal or human. This weekend, I was chased twice. Not by a dog, not by guys, but by women. The first time, I was running up a hill when a woman crossed to my side of the street, just a few paces behind me. The she did what I thought, until then, unthinkable. Wearing a long skirt and flip-flips, she starting running behind me. I had my I-Pod on and figured she’d run a few steps and then stop. No, she kept up with me for probably 30 seconds. Finally she stopped when she came upon a group of people watching this spectacle, and they all laughed. As I turned around I flashed her a confused smile and continued on. 24 hours later, what I thought was a completely random experience, happened again. I was just starting my run, down the hill, when three women who were crossing to my side of the street all started running behind me. They only lasted about 10 seconds, but still—it was weird. Who knew? Maybe I should start a running club. Required apparel: long skirts and flip flips.

Love to you all! Have a wonderful week!

Potholes: Windows into Kampala

There seem to be potholes all over this city and they characterize each neighborhood. I have seen a neighborhood's social status plagued by the depth and frequency of its potholes. But potholes have also shown me that joy can be experienced in spite of inconvenience. Yesterday, as I walked across the property of my new apartment complex, I watched two little boys around three years old splash and dig their chubby little hands into the grime of a puddle that had formed in none other than a deep pothole. The boys were not worried about the hole's potential damage to their parents' car; they simply thrived on the thrill of splashing in the puddle.

Potholes have also taught me something about Ugandans' values and views of heaven. Last night friends of mine and I were discussing the innumerable potholes left unfilled to the detriment of bodas, taxis and pedestrians alike. Then one of my friends brought up a Kampala preacher, who, speaking on the subject of heaven, said, “In heaven, there are no potholes!!!” to the great excitement and cheering of his congregation. Ugandans aren’t asking for streets of gold in heaven, they’re just asking for smooth asphalt.

I have been here for three and a half weeks now, and I think I am slowly getting used to life in Uganda (potholes and all). I even moved into my own apartment on Monday, which was a cultural experience in and of itself as I was basically hit over the head with the concept of “Ugandan time, or “it’ll-happen-when-I-feel-like-making-the-effort time.” Kristen and I arrived at our apartment on Monday with all of our luggage only to discover that our landlords had not only not moved out, all of their stuff was still in the house, the promised painters had yet to arrive (and never actually did), a plumber had been called, and the house was a mess. So we dumped our stuff and headed into the city seeking mosquito nets, sheets, and a decent pillow. When we came back at 5 p.m. most of our landlords’ things had been removed but the painter never came, the plumber was pushed until the next day, and they “forgot” to mop up the mud they and their friends and mucked through the apartment all day long. But boy was it sweet to finally lie in my new bed, under a new mosquito net, on a new pillow and sheets. It was good to be home.

As you can see, I am still getting situated in Kampala. There is a lot to get used to here, not only in living here but working here. Now that I’m in my third week of doing my job all by myself (anyone else hear a chorus of “I’m a big girl now”?), I am feeling more confident at work. But this job has its frustrations. Nothing is easily accomplished. Calling a recruitment candidate to tell him/her that we have received his/her application for employment seems easy enough, but there’s the culturally gruff “hello?” to get past, the accent barrier to overcome by repeating myself and speaking very slowly (Ihn-tur-nah-shu-nal Jus-tis Mish-un), and making sure that the many “sure’s” and “yes’s” coming through the receiver actually mean the listener understand me and isn’t just telling me what I want to hear. And this is just a confirmation call; now imagine trying to plan a party or a prayer retreat….Work here simply has ten more steps and takes ten times longer than in the US. If I don’t come back to the States with more patience, please ask me what I did learn while in Kampala.

Last night was one of the first indications of my settling into a state of normalcy. Soon after I came home from work, Kristen and I were invited by our friend Meredith to meet her for dinner on the other side of town, in Old Kampala (identifiable by deeper potholes). So Kristen and I hopped on a boda-boda and headed downtown. (One unique factor was riding the boda on the sidewalk for the first time.) We safely reached our destination, a small restaurant that serves a variety of cuisines seemingly mixed together—American, Italian, Ugandan, and Indian. I had my first Tilapia, the fish found in Lake Victoria. It was covered in marinara sauce, exemplifying the aforementioned “mix.” But aside from the new food and wild boda ride, last night felt normal. As afternoon settled into dusk (and the dust of the road just settled) we sat on the outdoor patio, watching people pass in the street. It felt so natural to sit with these two friends, exchanging stories and observing Kampala around us. I never had to remind myself that I was in Uganda—I just felt right about being with my friends at dinner downtown. The fact that all of this happened in Uganda is almost irrelevant; that’s how normal it was.

Close Encounters

This week I had a couple of my favorite cultural experiences thus far, and would love to share them with you all.

In the role of executive assistant to the director of the office in which I work, one of the “hats” I wear is that of party-planning extraordinaire. On Wednesday I threw my first two parties, one right after the other. The first was a goodbye lunch for our legal fellow who is leaving tomorrow after serving in our office for a year. The second party was held after the goodbye party, and was in celebration of a very important (but confidential) event in our office. What made this party so wonderful had nothing to do with my planning; it was the presence of an elderly client and her daughter. The staff went around and shared memories of the past year, praising God for His faithfulness in the case of this elderly widow. Then the client’s daughter told her mother’s story and thanked our staff for their dedication to her mother’s case. After an emotional hour in which I learned all about this courageous woman and the incredible work of God, I couldn’t have imagined things would get any better. But when everyone was done sharing, the group got up to sing praise songs—and dance. There in the little reception area of our office all 19 of us crammed together, sang at the top of our lungs, raised our hands in their air, and danced about. I hope I never forget the image I have of our little client trying to jump up and down with us as she praised the Lord. It was such a great experience of how Ugandans worship, and I learned that I can literally use my whole body to praise God.

Another favorite experience this weekend was church. I went with my boss, Ally, to Kampala Pentecostal Church (KPC). It was held outdoors under a tent and there had to be seven or eight hundred people in attendance, which, according to Ally, is a small group. Usually the tent is packed with 12 or more to a pew, and we comfortably sat no more than eight. The entire congregation was Ugandan, and while I searched for more white faces aside from mine and Ally’s, I saw none and relished in the thought that I was experiencing a real, fully Ugandan church. The church service was upbeat and exciting with an energetic choir and passionate preacher. But my favorite part had to be the three little kids sitting next to me. The eldest girl, who I took to be around six years old, originally sat down about 2-3 feet away from me, but within twenty minutes was sitting directly next to me, arm to arm. I could not help but look at her and smile, which she quickly returned with a big grin (minus her top two front teeth). I held out my hand to shake hers, which she gladly took, and I held it just for a moment. Over the next forty minutes we exchanged many smiles and giggles. She quickly became more daring, and after a little while touched my very pale arm and pointed to my freckles, looked up at me, and in her smiling expression communicated a wondering at what those weird dots were on my arms. It was absolutely adorable, and I just loved the silent exchanges we had throughout that hour of church.

Outside of these great cultural encounters I had this week, I also enjoyed time within the expatriate community. As time passes I am slowly getting more comfortable and familiar with the people in Kristen’s circle. On Thursday we enjoyed a home-cooked meal at the home of a new friend, followed by indulgence in frozen yogurt from the nearby pizza stand. Friday night was spent walking forty minutes to the aforementioned pizza stand (for pizza this time), devouring the pizza in the comfort of our “home” at the guesthouse, and watching none other than the girliest movie ever, Titanic. It was really fun. And Saturday I hung out with more friends at a Mennonite Potluck (not many Mennonites actually in attendance…don’t ask about the name—I don’t know), where I met more expats living in the area. And today after church I spent more time getting to know my boss on a more personal level, which I loved.

Tomorrow I am moving into a new apartment, which I am thrilled about. I took a day off work to move and go shopping for essentials like sheets, a mosquito net, and hand soap, among many other necessities. It will be so great to have my own place, and this is my first apartment, so I’m stoked to decorate!

Some of you may be wondering if life here in Uganda is really as peachy as many of my stories may indicate. If you’ve been wondering this, the honest answer is no. It is hard to transition into a new job in a new country. Everything I do at work seems to take ten times longer simply because I do not know my way around town or the cultural expectations for all that I do. And in trying to live here, I have obviously had to learn my way around a new city while unintentionally breaking many codes of conduct of which I am unaware. And I have never said the words, “single, white female” to myself more in my life. While these three words are a part of my identity in America, I do not feel they define me as strongly as they do here. These words have never made me feel as vulnerable as they do here. It’s not that I’m in constant danger of being attacked just because of these aspects of my identity, because I’m not. It’s just that these three characteristics make me stand so far out from the people around me that I am becoming very aware of them. The fact that I am a single, white female in a patriarchal, black society doesn’t scare me, it’s just a new phenomenon that has me thinking more about race and community than I’ve ever thought before. I think it will be a great lesson somehow, and I look forward to thinking and communicating more with people here about these issues. Anyway, that’s a bit of a tangent from the stories above, but I thought I’d share it with you.

Have a wonderful week, and keep in touch! I’d love to hear from you via e-mail, Skype, or carrier-pigeon! Blessings!

Not in Kansas Anymore

One of the biggest lessons that I’m learning is how to balance new experiences with familiar, comfortable ones. Walking straight into an expat community has meant that I have pretty easy access to things that I would find at home. Last weekend, for example, was all about the familiar: bowling, baking chocolate chip cookies, French toast for breakfast, barbecuing, eating Indian cuisine, enduring a high school Battle of the Bands, and Bible study. I actually had to remind myself that I'm not in California anymore.

Because I’m living with an American roommate and meeting the people in her community, I have started living the expat life. But I feel as though I have skipped the step of struggling to adjust to the Ugandan culture and have jumped straight into the part after culture shock where people begin seeking a few familiarities of home to make life in a different place a little more comfortable. This means that I haven’t learned as much Luganda (local language) as I want, I’ve avoided going downtown, and have contented myself in leaving the guesthouse only for work, food, and social gatherings with other Americans. My ability to give into my desire for comfort is frustrating, and this weekend I readdressed my need for some adventure.

While the adventures weren’t huge, they were a start. This weekend I saw more of Kampala than I’ve seen yet. I wish I could share photos, but unfortunately my photos are stubbornly refusing to upload. Anyway, on Saturday Kristen took me on a 2 hour walking tour of Kampala. We walked all downtown where I discovered Uganda’s national theatre, the single post office for all of Kampala (the reason why packages take 3+ months to get to people here), the innumerable cell phone and electronics vendors, the craft markets, the disparity between rich and poor Kampala, and some of the ugliest birds that I’ve ever seen (Jungle Book-like, three-foot tall, vulture-storks). It was so neat to discover that downtown Kampala really isn’t that big and is actually easy to navigate. Kristen and I took a few walks this weekend, and I’ve loved seeing different Kampala neighborhoods. Gaining a sense of direction not only reassures me that I know where I’m going, but also gives me a sense of belonging. By physically orienting myself, I am adopting this place as home for a while. Getting to know the city was one of the most encouraging things I have done yet.

For those of you wondering, I went to church for the first time this weekend. I joined an expat family for the service at their international church. While I enjoyed the service and the close-knit, family feel of the community, this church was mostly “Muzungus” (white people), and I hope to find a church with more Ugandans. I am looking forward to visiting more churches and seeing how other congregations worship. I pray I will feel welcome and will enthusiastically invest my time and service in one of the churches here.

The “flashing” offense has yet to be repeated (I’m determined not to give into such temptation), and I’m sorry to say there have been no major stories of such a humiliating caliber. Most of my embarrassment at this point is experienced while attempting to communicate with Ugandans. The number of times I usually have to ask someone to repeat themselves is awful. Luckily people are pretty patient with me. And what helps is developing my own Ugandan-English accent. So if I’m ever on the phone with any of you and I ask a question that sounds like a statement (i.e. the pitch of my voice goes down at the end of the sentence instead of up in spite of the obvious question mark at the end), now you’ll know why.

All in all, I am becoming more hopeful about my time here over the next year. Because of my few “Kampala” experiences in the past week, my desire to move outside of my comfort zone has intensified. I came here to get to know Uganda, and I can only do that by taking every opportunity to be in the community and interacting with the people and culture. I hope to make Ugandan friends. I’ll soon be moving into a new apartment, and hope to befriend my neighbors. I want to learn more Luganda, and I pray for the courage to ask for help and to use the words I know with my boda driver, the store clerk, or a coworker. I want to find a church where more than just expats worship, and I want to get involved in some sort of community service where I’m able to work with Ugandans. I want to travel outside of the city. I want to visit the orphanages and slums where my new friends work. I hope to love this place. I think I will. I look forward to finding and being able to appreciate a balance of familiar and new experiences. And I look forward to telling you all about my adventures on this side of the rainbow.

Thank you so much for your love and prayers; I am so thankful for you. Lots of love,

Megan

The adventure begins

I've arrived. I arrived safely on Saturday morning after 18 hours of flying, 8 hours sitting around Heathrow airport, and an hour waiting for my bags (which all arrived as well!). I was greeted at the airport by IJM's driver; Julia, the girl whose position I will be filling as of Monday; and Kristen, my new roommate. The ride back to Kampala was really cool--although I'm surprised I remember any of it, I was so delirious--huge banana trees, rolling green hills, and markets lining the roads made for a wonderful introduction to the country.

Despite my delirium on Saturday, Julia and Kristen thought it only fitting that I be immediately initiated into Kampala culture, which meant a ride on a boda-boda, or motorcycle taxi. I was not surprised by the reality of how dangerous they are, but I WAS surprised by how fun they are! And, to add to the joy of riding around town on a warm, sunny afternoon, Julia and Kristen taught me how they like to sing songs from The Sound of Music to one another as their bodas zip past each another on the road. Having grown up in a Sound of Music-loving family and having a semi-musical childhood, I eagerly joined in.

The past 7 days have truly been fun. I am constantly laughing at myself as I learn cultural "no-no's" (explanation to come) and try new foods. The food has been good, and I look forward to acquiring the tastes native to the area. Starches and carbs overwhelm their diet, so I've limited myself to eating Ugandan cuisine about once a day. But I love the fruit--there seem to be endless amounts of pineapple, bananas, and Jack-fruit (something that I've never seen before and honestly kind of tastes like Starburst). There is a remaining British presence in Uganda (they drive on the left side of the road here) and to my relief and comfort, British foods are easy to come by so I'm able to eat foods I am used to.

Work has been great. I love all 13 of my new colleagues, from the guard (such a sweet man!) to my boss, Ally. Everyone has been very warm in welcoming me, and all are eager to introduce me to their culture. I work with lawyers, social workers, community-relations staff, investigators, and accountants. I have been training all week for my role as Executive Assistant to the Director of the office, and am so glad that Julia, the Exec. Assistant that I am replacing (her internship ends today), has been here to show me the ropes and provide me with all her wisdom. I think this will be a really exciting time as I get to know my colleagues and actually be a part of the work IJM does here in the field.

And now for a "cultural no-no" story: Two days ago, Julia and I managed to offend hundreds of people in Kampala. Generally in Kampala women ride on the boda's side-saddle, not straddling the seat. And when they do straddle (when riding two passengers to a boda), it's generally in pants or a long skirt that still covers all of their thighs and knees. But Wednesday I was not feeling well and asked Julia to ride the boda with me. The trouble was, she and I were both wearing suit skirts--skirts that do not stretch much and can only "hike up" to make straddling possible. So here we are, sitting on the boda one behind the other, skirts pulled way high (I'm talking MINI skirt style), exposing all of our thighs. We're all settled in, albeit a little uncomfortable, and as we start to drive down the street, Julia finally decides to inform me that the uncomfortably bare status of our legs was not only weird for us, but was so taboo in Uganda that we were essentially riding the boda topless. To my dismay we were committed to riding the boda and continued to drive the 5 minutes home, "flashing" everyone around us. I'm sure there are many stories to come.

The ex-patriot community here seems pretty close-knit and I'm enjoying meeting other westerners who have a similar passion for humanitarian, development, and/or human rights work. I'm also amazed at the number of ex-pats who are Christians. I am thrilled to continue getting to know people from this community, and I am hopeful that I'll be able to develop strong friendships here.

Well, I'm off. I promise to put some pictures up soon. Most of the afternoons here have been stormy, so I haven't taken many photos. And as for the intense rain, we keep getting these intense downpours that can last hours, complete with thunder and lightning. I'm told this is the dry season.

Love you all!

Welcome!

Hello! This is my new blog where I will do my best to post photos, thoughts, and stories from Uganda. I want to keep you all updated on life in Kampala, and I hope that this blog will not only be a place for you to hear from me, but for me to hear from you. Thank you all for your love, support, and prayers--I could not do this without you.

Love, Megan