Weekend Adventures

The dark rain clouds rush in so fast with such teeth chattering loud thunder it’s positively Armageddon.  I love the storms.  They’re sudden and adrenaline inducing and the perfect metaphor for my experience so far in Uganda.

On Friday night I stayed late at the office for a goodbye party for a coworker.  I had never been to a Ugandan party!  And I’m a bit of a culture hoarder so I couldn’t wait to soak this up.  A beautiful spread was laid on the table set on the grassy area just under the big tree.  And I thoroughly enjoyed the KFC, Pizza, and my heated discussion about the NY Knicks.

Saturday was a bit more out of my comfort zone.  Myself and 5 other girls (we had to count our duckling heads to make sure no one was lost) waded into the muddy, tarped market Owino.  Owino is a used clothes market so dense and expansive we needed to hold hands.  What made this market different than the markets I’ve been in India, Thailand, Bangladesh was the touching.  My arm and shirt was grabbed by every vendor promising to have my size. 

“Oh my beautiful future wife, come see these pants.” 

I could probably find a husband by sticking my hand out and hailing one like a taxi.

I did find some fun Italian leather shoes from Italy for $8 and a pair of Ban Rays sunglasses. 

With my feet caked in mud, I went to the dvd store and stocked up on every season of every television series ever.  For 50 cents.

I went to a friend’s art show and supported her charity to empower women suffering from domestic violence by buying some art.

Then I went to a house party where Ugandan boys jumped off the roof into a pool.  I was a nervous wreck.

The moral of the story?  KFC is good in any country but the Knicks are not, I can find a husband at the store, House of Cards is the best show ever, and I hope I never have a boy.

Walk home from office

This is it

You feel invincible when you’re traveling.  The same laws of common sense in the US that tell you not to ride a motorcycle at night without a helmet do not apply.  You eat that samosa being fried in an empty fuel barrel.  You tilt your head back and enjoy the dips and sways of a bus careening down a mountain.    It’s a survival technique for the sake of your white knuckles and clenched teeth. 

But my friend recently got into a bus accident while traveling in Turkey.  Her legs were trapped under the bus and were mangled pretty badly.  Luckily she will be able to walk again once recovered.

It’s horrific and has been crashing into my thoughts all night.  When living in country, the prevalence and incident rates from our textbooks are not of “the others.”  They’re rates that now include me.

Melinda Gates said “I’m constantly saying to myself, ‘I’m lucky to have been born in the United States.’” I’m self aware enough to realize that a big reason I was drawn to international work was guilt and a feeling of responsibility to use the resources I was born into to give back to those who were not.  It’s what gets me on that plane every time.

But what keeps me here is knowing, now that I’m a part of it, I won’t ever be able to fully go back.  I’m in it for life.  So I might as well put on that helmet.

My first weekend in Kampala

This weekend was epic. 

Friday, I decided not to feel bad for myself and stay home uploading another “scary” (as my mom puts it) YouTube video, so I called up Morgan: A friend of a friend of my friend Jessie, who lives in Kampala.  I met Morgan and her friends at Little Donkey, a surprisingly authentic Mexican place with delicious flautas and strawberry margaritas.

The women were loud, tattoo having, motorcycle riding, feminists working in women’s health—just like I like ‘em.  I jumped on the back of Morgan’s motorcycle and we drove across the city to a Chocolate Party.  A German friend brought back a suitcase of fine German chocolate.  We ate ourselves silly and Ricardo from Peru made us all passion fruit pisco sours, and we sang 80’s karaoke songs until 2am.  Women’s right and chocolate make for fast friends.

Saturday I met Morgan at the Kabira Club where we worked out and lounged out.  Everyone was like “oh god, Chelsea is going to Uganda, she is so brave.”  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

We went for dinner at a Sudanese stall on the terrace of a building in the heart of Kampala.  We ate Okra and Aseeya (a sticky bread wheaty thing you use to scoop up the rest of the stuff) and some kind of meat (unsure) and beans.  It was sticky, slimy, and delicious.  Morgan told me of her time in South Sudan when she had very little to eat and developed a sweet spot for tuna with oil in a can.

We went upstairs to a local bar on the rooftop of the building.  Everything it seems, is outside here.  It’s lovely.  The bar was covered in green plants and I felt like I was sitting in a jungle.  We drank crappy beer which was made better by our view of the entire city.  What makes Kampala so beautiful and unique are its hills.  The entire city is made up of huge hills with houses and businesses dotting the sides.  When on a roof, the hills make the night lights feel 3-D.

We rode the motorcycle slowly through the hills and Morgan leaned back and told me what I was seeing.  She has lived here off and on since she was younger and knows the city very well.  We drove to a house party on the very top of one of the hills.  We drank and danced and laid in the grass with people from all nations, and I saw a shooting star so close it touched the tip of the city.

My House

Nightdogs

Perspective

Uganda is red.  The sky dips low and red beyond the mountains.  The boats are bright red against the blue Lake Victoria.  The roads are all red dirt, winding up and through Kampala.  My shower water is red when I wash my feet at night.

I arrived in Kampala on Saturday.  I was dropped immediately at my apartment, a one bedroom with neon orange walls and a 20 year old Josef who took care of the place and asked me again and again to explain how in America, he would not be able to drink.  I went immediately out, bought a fan and a coffee maker and settled back in. 

Sunday I wavered in and out of a fever, weak and nauseous.  The CHIA driver drove me to the Kabira Country Club so that I could get out of the house.  This place was epic.  It had a huge pool, with cushioned lounge chairs and poolside service.  There was a big gym and restaurant!  I laid for most of the afternoon feeling happy, guilty, relaxed and sick.

My office is a large house with all rooms opening up to the veranda and front lawn.  We work extremely hard (forlittlepay) and have 10-12 hours days.  But I’m not being a martyr.  Because there is a woman who brings us fruit every day, packed in containers with our names on it.  Fresh papaya, mango, pineapple, carrots and jack fruit. Because the driver’s wife sells us fresh mushrooms from her garden, and our lunch is a big bowl of delicious food for less than a dollar.

My lunch today, was beans, ugali, rice and greens. 

And just in case I get too wrapped up in missing the man I left in DC, or realizing that I’m going to gain so much weight here unless I can figure out how to work out, I look outside our office, and see that we are right next to houses made of tin and children made of bones.  And then I suck it up and go back inside.

But not before getting some more coffee.