Mzungu day

Today was frustrating. Things just don't work up here, it's hard to get work done, and increasingly the institute relies on me for more. It's good to be useful, but it's even more frustrating to be incapacitated.

Anyway, I'm tired. I've hit that point in my stay where I'm ready to come home -- I've been saying this all week, and the feeling will probably keep gnawing away at me until I'm safely on a British plane crossing the Atlantic. I'm still trying to keep active. Tomorrow I'm going to visit the IDP camps with my buddy, Opiyo. Thursday I'm taking pictures of Fabius in his advocate's robes for the new web site I'm developing. Yesterday I typed identification numbers onto 1,000 membership cards for the resource center. This afternoon I chased kids around the tea gardens. So, you know. Life is okay. But I'm still homesick.

I went to an internet cafe to do some research on the institute's bill, and when power went out I decided to walk back to the hotel on my own. I actually managed to find it despite my rotten direction sense by tracing all of the landmarks I remembered on the boda ride over. This involved turning in circles and amusing the residents, but hey, it worked. And on my way back, I wound up at Kope Cafe again.

Kope Cafe was the mzungu restaurant I wrote about back when I first got here. I remember not liking the tourists who were wandering around that afternoon. But at that particular moment, I wanted to be a mzungu again, surrounded by mzungus who would ignore me just like any good American would. So I walked in.

It was perfect.

People ignored me, I could eat lunch in peace, and the lunch itself was so fantastic! After weeks without vegetables -- unless you count malakwang, which I don't -- I had a beautiful steak sandwich which was mostly avocados and tomatoes. It was DELICIOUS. I don't think I've ever liked food quite so much. I can still taste it in my mouth four hours later, and I almost don't want to brush my teeth so it will be there in the morning.

(Hello kids, our phrase for the day is "obvious vitamin deficiency!")

I also had a brownie, which I should have skipped, but I haven't had sugar since I got here, either. That was good too, but not as good as the avocado and tomato sandwich. Mmm, I have to go back, like, tomorrow! It's nice to be a mzungu.

My friend from home

I’ve met some really cool people since I’ve gotten here. There’s Opiyo, the New Vision opinion columnist who writes from Canada, and Justin Moro, another New Vision reporter. The folks here on staff are pretty incredible. One guy has a scar on his forehead that must either be tribal cutting or remnants of the war. I’m not sure which. Jackie down in reception tells me that people here work 18 hours a day, so when I hear them say they’re doing okay, I really admire them. I would not be okay with that sort of working schedule. I need at least six hours of sleep per night.

One of the best surprises here, though, was meeting Charlton. Charles is from Philly, too. He’s one of these tall, healthy people whose age you couldn’t begin to guess, and he teaches phys ed at Microsoft’s School of the Future.

I met him while I was downstairs sucking on a soda. Charles wandered into the room wearing a Penn Relays t-shirt, and he was too light-skinned to be Ugandan.

“Are you from Pennsylvania?” I asked.

The man blinked, and turned around. “Yeah, how did you know that?”

Oh my goodness. English! English without an accent and without any arrogance behind it! I was in heaven.

We wound up talking for a couple of hours. Charles, it turns out, is teaching kids at the IDP camps around here to play basketball. He says they pick it up really fast. When he talks, you can see the amazement in his face – kids who actually want to be in school, kids who have been child soldiers and sex slaves, picking up a ball and messing around and laughing. They still act just like kids, he says, despite everything.

The human spirit is really amazing. You know, we might be even more tenacious than mosquitoes.

Anyway, comparing experiences with someone else from home was illuminating. There were things I looked at but never really saw, and Charles brought that home. Likewise, it sounds like there were some things I learned that he hadn’t. So we really helped each other out. It’s good to have a travel buddy. Makes me feel all glowy inside.

Anyway, Charles left this morning three weeks ahead of schedule. He says he’s worried about a flare in violence because of the Bashir indictment, but honestly I think it he’s leaving because he misses his fiancée. He’s so smitten, always talking about her. It makes me very happy to see healthy relationships like his. (Also, the judges probably won’t issue an arrest warrant for another week, and Khartoum is pretty far away to worry about violent spillover.)

But while he was here, it felt like being in college again, hanging out with Suzanne and John and Taylor in the cafeteria. Those were great days, when I knew a friend would always be around for dinners, laughs, and good stories. This was the same. I got to look at all of Charles’ wonderful photographs. He is very talented; no automatic camera adjustments for him. He has an eye and the expertise to compose really great images.

And speaking of a small world, it turns out he knew Carolyn and Jennifer. Have I written about them yet? I’m not sure, so I’d better jot down a recap, just in case I haven’t.

Carolyn Davis used to be an editorial writer for the Philadelphia Inquirer. She has a great eye for social causes and wound up in Uganda, oh, probably back in 2005 or so, just to see what effects war had on the country. We all worried about this woman traveling out to Uganda where malaria was prolific and the LRA was still very active, but she went with human rights activist John Prendergast, and when she came back she had amazing stories about Kitgum and Gulu and Pader. One of the stories that trip inspired focused on Jennifer Anyayo, a young Acholi woman and burn victim. LRA soldiers invaded her home, shot her father, forced her into her hut, and set it on fire. They told her not to come out, and she says that they laughed while she screamed. Anyway, the fire took most of her face and part of one hand before the soldiers left and neighbors came to pull her out of the fire. It’s amazing that she lived.

Actually, Jennifer is one of the reasons I decided to go to law school. After seeing what happened to her, and what was happening to so many people in Uganda, I couldn't just keep ignoring the basic, fundamental suffering that children were going through on a daily basis. If it weren't for Carolyn's story about her, I probably would never have come to Uganda.

We did what we could for the girl. We brought Jennifer to the United States for a year’s worth of reconstructive surgery. It didn’t really do anything to improve her physical appearance, but there were certain functional benefits – she has eyelids, now, and a bit of flap where her nose used to be. Also, she learned a lot of English and took some intensive tutoring, which hopefully caught her up a little bit in school.

Charles had read all about this story and contacted Carolyn to learn more about Uganda. He was especially struck by a photograph of four girls playing netball at sunset. He said that he just knew he would have to go and be with these people. So he hooked up with an organization that brings sports to war-affected youth, and he did what he could to make the kids happy.

I like that. Charles was really polite around people too, not brash and bossy like a lot of the tourists I’ve seen. I trusted him almost immediately – in fact, on the night of the white ant invasion I even sent him an SOS by cell phone (“help bugs please call reception I cant leave my mosquito net”), but he had traveled that day and was sound asleep.

Being around him just made me feel better about everything. He kept saying that I was a good traveler, that he would learn a thing or two from me. That made me laugh, especially after the insect invasion. Me? A good traveler? What do I know? The only advice I really gave him was that trick about net tucking.

Hotels should post instructions for those things. Oh well.

Later we went to Binen, a local restaurant, where I introduced him to goat stew and bo’o. We talked a lot about his kids and our travels, and he kept going on about people’s living conditions. I’m so busy psyching myself up to handle things, I sometimes miss the conditions that other people are living in. Here are kids playing soccer next to a sewage drain, jumping right into the effluent to fetch the ball. There people are living right next to a garbage dump, in tiny little concrete homes that Charles compares to a catacombs. I hadn’t really thought about it like that. When I look, I see the kids playing outside, the cat and the ducks and the laundry hanging on a line, and my mind stops there as if it refuses to see the negative. It’s nice in some ways, but I need to accept the whole picture.

Anyway, I’m going to miss my hometown friend. Charles, if you ever see this, I’m wishing you safe travel back to Kampala and the United States. It was great meeting you. Hope to see you and Deirdre back in Philly.

I'm a Godmommy! (Or I will be, soon ...)

Today I got this from my friend Joan, who is just awesome:

Hullo Maisha,

Joan here. How are you girl...........i hope you are having a blast in Gulu. Hurinet is not bad, just that we miss you. Maisha, you left at atime when some of us needed to associate more with you......you are just a gift sent by God! But i trust we will meet again,keep in touch.

I have a request, that you be my little Girl's God Mother. She is 6months old, and yet to be christened. We have looked around for a credible person with a humerouis personality, and Honestly Maisha...you stand out.

If you deem this possible, please get back to me (I already discussed with the Dad) so i send you her images and we proceed.

Thanks Maisha, and please keep the smile on your face glowing....you are such a blessing.

With many more regards

Joan Asiimwe
Hurinet-U

Laughable linguistics

I've been here long enough, now, to be really aware of my surroundings. The first few weeks I was taking in so much, I couldn't really see the city around me -- I had no way of understanding it. Now I can recognize a shop from a distance; I know what a supermarket looks like; I can tell the difference between a player and a gentleman; I can pick cultivated land and uncultivated land, or rich from poor.

There are still a few things I have to keep in the foreground of my consciousness. English, for example, is much easier to understand when I focus on the differences. It could be as much as word selection: I say waste basket, they say dust bin. I say zee, they say zed. I say batteries, they say cells. If someone doesn't understand me the first time, I slow down when I'm talking and start using synonyms, hoping that eventually I'll hit on a word similar to what the Brits use. It usually works in four or five tries.

It helps, too, to remember the differences in pronunciation. Just like the Wikipedia entry will tell you, in one prevalent dialect, the "l" and "r" sound are the same. And maybe it's the English influence, but a lot of vowel phonemes shift. For example, "sir" can sound like "sah." Emphasis falls on different syllables -- in English stressors typically fall on the first or third syllable; here, it's the second. So Makerere university sounds like ma-CARE-reh-ray. And you can bet when folks speak they will put the right emPHAsis on the wrong sylLAble. And then there are what I think of as bouncing vowels. Terminal consonants are no good here; words are supposed to end in vowels. So you get these gratuitous "eh" and "ah" sounds at the ends of words. To my ears, it sounds like someone has thrown down the word and it bounced off the floor a little -- that's why I call them bouncing vowels. Exempla gratia, bouncing becomes "bouncingeh." Cat might become "catah." And it seems common to give words that end in "s" a second syllable. Clothes really are cloth-es, just like the entry below says. Words might be "word-es."

Then there are the little things I have learned in Swahili and Luganda. Masao means "stop," as in stop the taxi, please, this is my exit. Webale means "thank you." I learned that one last night, and it makes me feel a lot better to be able to properly thank my guests. Sevo is "sir," and nyambo is "madam." Habari gani means "how are you" in Swahili, and the answer is something that sounds like "musuri." And then, of course, there are my three words from Karamoja: Ajoka (how's it going?), ajok (it goes), and alakara (thanks).

Of course, I'm not the only person around here who has trouble with language. The evidence: Across the street from my hotel in Ntinda is a shop called "Shandard Signs." You will also find "Kololo Close" for a clothes shop in Kololo. Today I saw a matatu with the words "Prays Jesus" written in the window. Malapropisms like this are very common. And then, there are the communications that are just culturally awkward. For example, the sign "GAIN BUMS QUICKLY - no side effects." Well gee, I'm glad I can gain my bums without catching a cold or something ...

Animal house

Last week, after I talked about some goofy animal antic for the 5,802,934th time, Stephen suggested that we go to the zoo at Entebbe. I almost told him I didn't want to -- I mean, the whole novelty of being here is that I've never seen these animals integrated with the public before. That's what makes them special, even if they are just domesticated cattle. But Stephen is such a wonderful person, I didn't want to say "no." Besides, Entebbe is breezy and green; Lake Victoria is right there, and hanging out with Stephen any time is fun. So what the heck. We went.

I am so glad Stephen suggested it! The zoo at Entebbe is nothing at all like the Philly zoo. For one thing, the keepers aren't quite so concerned about keeping animals in their habitats. There were caged birds that looked like large bald eagles but sounded like sea gulls -- apparently they fish the waters of Lake Victoria. An hour or so after I saw the animals in their enclosure, I looked up and saw one flying overhead. And halfway through the afternoon a bunch of monkeys jumped the fence of their enclosure and started romping on the playground. Crested cranes would glide within five feet of the visitors, clearly feeling like they had more right to the sidewalk than park visitors. (I can see why Uganda chose the bird for its flag. They are graceful as they are beautiful.) But we got our biggest surprise first thing in the afternoon, while Stephen and I were trying to teach an enclosure of African Grey Parrots to say our names. All of a sudden we heard a cough directly behind us.

"Do you think we are safe?" Stephen asked uncertainly.

"I don't know," I answerwed, still laughing at the birds behind the wire. The cough came again, loud and deep. "What is that, anyway?"

We turned around. No more than ten feet away from us, behind a flimsy wire fence, a lion stood in full glory clearing its throat. "Bloch! Bloch!" it belched, turning its head in our direction. My eyes slid to the side -- I didn't want to make direct eye contact with the cat, just in case. My gaze rested on a sign.

"Caution. This animal is DANGEROUS."

"Um, Stephen?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go ..."

It didn't take much urging. Stephen took off down the path, me not far behind. The lion kept on chuffing, like it was about to hack up a mean hairball. Frankly, I didn't want to know. Hairball, cough, love song, warning -- I just wanted more than a thin fence between me and the king of the jungle. Mulago hospital might not be equipped to deal with lion maulings and all that.

"Are you scared?" Stephen asked, laughing.

"Yes!" I said, skipping quickly ahead of him.

The animals at Entebbe Zoo are much more active than our captives in the U.S. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that Entebbe only keeps native species in spacious surroundings, and mixes them with other animals from their natural environment. You could tell most of the beasts are happy. The antelopes weren't jumpy, the parrots were curious, the otters were mating, the warthog had recently given birth, and the chimpanzees literally danced for snacks. It was kind of neat, watching an alpha male stand up and clap his hands, or the little female sulk in a corner, hugging her toes. They just looked comfortable being themselves.

What bothered me, though, was the zoo-goers. People just didn't seem to understand the sign "don't feed the animals." One woman, amused by the proximity of a monkey, tried to see if it would play with her cell phone. Now, I have a beagle. I KNOW how dumb captive animals can be about small, destructible objects. Apparently this woman does not have a beagle, however, because she teased that monkey with her cell phone until he took it from her.
And ate it.

"Ah!" She shouted. "It took my phone!" (My reaction: No, really?) People rushed over and watched as the monkey peeled the battery cover off the back and started to gobble down. All I could think, horrified, was that a monkey that small would probably have trouble passing plastic. I hope the little guy makes it. Anyway, he ate a big chunk of plastic, then dropped the phone in disgust.

"Do you think I could get it back?" the girl asked.

"Oh sure," her friend said. "There are plenty of zookeepers; they will get the phone." And then he proceeded to hand HIS phone to the monkey, as we all hauled him backward. The little monkey looked peeved that he didn't get to sample phone #2.

Can a monkey get free night and weekend minutes? Because apparently dumber primates can ...

Anyway, it was an amazing day, from the swarms of dragonflies, to the kissing sitatunga, to teaching the ape statue to read the newspaper. (Stephen has a delightfully twisted sense of humor.) This was really the first time I went anywhere purely for fun. It was great seeing the lake and walking with the crested cranes. I only have two more real vacation days here; I hope they're as wonderful.

From my comrades in arms (and hysterics)

I found this on the Facebook group "You know you've been in Uganda a long time when." Anyone who has been here will roll on the floor laughing, because it is all so true:

• Your phone rings and it is a wrong number and you can keep the Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello's going back and forth like a tennis match until eventually the caller realises you are the wrong number and abruptly hangs up, after spending at least 2 minutes worth of airtime. (Natalie McComb)


• You get arrested and start bargaining over the bribe whilst you drive yourself to jail. (Jason McKelvie)


• When malaria number 10 is cause for a party. (Ailsa Woolard)


• When the power goes off in Chicago during a storm and it makes you homesick...(Sarah Larson)


• When you enter into a room of people and say 'Well done!' (Tamar Stockley)


• Your standard response to someone's greetings becomes "I AM FINE, HOW ARE YOU?!". (Maanan Madhvani)


• [Maisha's personal favorite:] You start saying "the what?" in every what? In every sentence. (Christopher Laughlin)


• Al's bar becomes a form of speed dating! (Tom Slater)


• You start referring to people as “this one” or “that one”. (Heather Lawrence)


• Clothes becomes a two-syllable word. Clo - thes. (Ruth Townley)


• When the sight of a boda-boda with a passenger carrying yet another boda-boda [effectively a boda-boda breakdown service] does not cause you to raise an eyebrow. (Kaz Kasozi)


• When you stand in a queue and feel something is very wrong because it is orderly and the person behind you respects your personal space. (Nick Astles)


• When you're no longer surprised that a boda boda guy will try to convince you to become his customer by running you over. (Andrea Bohnstedt)


• When you have named the potholes. (Nanna Schneidermann)


• Your knees ache from squating over a long drop 4 times a day because you ran out of ciproflaxcin a month ago...(Jeremy Schmitz)


• Its 32 degrees C outside and you can still see one or two people fully dressed Sweater and all. (Kaliika Annat)


• When you know that a Swiss Loll at the Belgian bakery is a Swiss Roll. And that the man asking for Lose actually refers to Rose. (Sanne Andersen)


• When you don't get confused even though the person you're talking to keeps mixing up 'he' and 'she' in the same sentence. (Kirstine Corneliussen Magoola)


• When you point with your lips and say yes with your eyebrows. (Marcia Baugh)


• When are reluctant to let go of a new, CLEAN 1000 shilling note. (Daisy Asiimwe)


• You start thinking drinking beer with a straw is cool. (Joel Wandurwa)


• When your home does not have an address. (Alice Kimbowa)


• When you exhibit NRE bar behaviour in a Michelin star restaurant in a ball gown in London... (Naomi Swain)


• When people use please in everything they say when talking to you and it does not sound weird at all ... 'bye please' ... "thank you please" (Mimmy Khamis )


• When you still have to look left,right and left again before crossing a one way street. (Francis Musinguzi)


• When that article in Wikipedia on Ugandan English totally makes sense (Martin Ucanda / Anne Mugisha)


• When you consider going to Garden City a "trip to the Mall", made even more special if the escalator is switched on (Stuart Cook)


• The idea of using someone's establishment as a waiting or meeting room without giving them any business does not appall you at all (Lydia Namubiru)


• You yell "muzungu" at other muzungus you see walking down the road as you pass them in your car (Virginia Earwicker)

... Wow, I just went to the article in Wikipedia on Ugandan English, and it totally does make sense!

Little updates

Storks
I found out the name of that bird I keep rattling on about! It's the Marabou stork. They are these big gray and white birds that almost look like vultures, and when they launch themselves into the sky they're like aeroplanes taking off.


Are you lost?
People keep asking me that question. It had me very confused. Was there a reason? Am I too soft-spoken? Do I look confused?

Finally I figured out what the question means. I'm not doing anything wrong, and fortunately I don't look as lost as I feel. It's just the local way of saying "hey, where the heck have you been? We missed you."

Like shaking hands, there are a million little things I didn't know, here. For example, the currency sign for shillings is /-. Dialing out of the office involves calling the secretary, giving her the phone number, then hanging up and waiting for the ring to reconnect you. And names are different -- everyone has a Christian name and an African name. Evidently it doesn't matter what order you list them in, or which name gets the honorific (although it is most frequently associated with the African name). So my boss, for example, is Onyango John Francis or John or Francis or Onyango or John Francis Onyango or Mr. Onyango or Mr. Francis or ...

As for handshakes, there are two distinct methods. You can do the firm European grip for business associates, but there's also a shake for friends. First you pump once Euro-style, then you flip your hand upward and grasp, then you flip back down and clasp hands one last time. If you're very fond of the person, you hold hands for a moment after that while you're talking, as if you've just forgotten to let go. The first time someone shook my hand that way, I was afraid it was going to turn into some sort of arcane system of shaking, like in the U.S. where you might rap knuckles, pound fists, slap palms or whatever. But this is actually pretty straightforward and standard, by comparison. Also, more sweetly affectionate -- or maybe I'm just romanticizing things.



Current events
A lot has been going on at the ICC and in Uganda.

• Yesterday, Juba peace negotiations between the government of Uganda and the LRA came to a halt again, because eight of the LRA's twelve negotiators resigned over arguments with Kony.


• Two days ago, Thomas Lubango Dyilo's trial was temporarily stayed because the prosecutor refused to release potentially exculpatory documents. It will be interesting to see what happens to the DRC general allegedly responsible for a campaign of cannibalism.


• On May 23, the ICC issued an arrest warrant for DRC general Jean-Pierre Bemba, accused of crimes against humanity in the Central African Republic. Bemba was in Belgium seeking refuge. One day after the arrest warrant was issued, in compliance with its obligations under the Rome Statute, Belgium turned Bemba over to the Hague. It is a rare instance of the ICC interacting effectively with the international community.


• In Zimbabwe, Mugabe won elections that many people are claiming is unfair. The U.S. declined to recognize him as president, and Mugabe, like much of his party, has come into criticism by much of the international community.

Travel
I leave for Moroto in the Karamoja region Sunday at some insane hour, like 5 a.m. We're stopping in Mbale to pick up our focal point person, and I will be the only woman in the car with five other men. Am trying not to think about it. Just focusing on Karamoja, and how beautiful it will be, and how excited I am to see the people and browse the art and enjoy a few days out of Kampala. I've been here a month, now. It is actually starting to feel more like home. Sort of.

Sisterhood

Coming here has surprised me with the realization that many of my personality quirks are, in fact, cultural habits I didn't know I had. There are things that I do that are somewhat uncommon in the United States that turn out to be completely appropriate, here. For example, some of my closer friends have pointed out that I am overeffusive in my affection. If I like someone, I tell them how pretty / handsome they are, I give hugs, I bring presents, I feed them, etc. A lot of Americans have told me I'm a pushover -- that I'm too nice, and people take advantage of me because of it. I come here, and instantly the women at work start telling me how beautiful I am. They hold my hand when they want to take me somewhere. We go on field trips together. They've brought me gifts, I've bought them food; we support one another. It's strange and wonderful, having affection so readily reflected. I really do trust these women, too. They seem completely sincere -- just like the children here are serious about playing, and the men, when they flirt, are about as subtle as a big rig wearing a tutu. People here seem very honest. Even the liars are obviously lying, it's like artifice is largely unpracticed. The ladies have started including me in their activities, and I love it. I feel almost like I belong somewhere.

Case in point: Early last week, Zam rushes into the board room where I'm fighting with my computer. "Would it bother you if we come in heah?" she asks, and then waves in a crowd of giggling women. Apparently, Zam's friend has come by to sell shoes. And what shoes! They all have spike heels that are at least three inches high. Name brands I couldn't repeat, but I remember Emily told me she used to sell them at Nordstrom's. Shiny shoes, glittery shoes, jeweled shoes, severe shoes, party shoes, zebra-print shoes, you name it. The shoe saleswoman brought them in two large canvas handbags, and the ladies from work started pulling them out and setting them on the table for examination. There was so much laughter!

"What about this one? Do you have it biggah?"

"Next time you bring shoes with no heels!"

"These ah all pawty shoes! Do you have any foah office?"

"I want to get those. But these ah good too, eh? Once you staht picking them, you can't stop!"

"Take both and pay me back latah."

I wished Emily were there. She would have gone bananas. It was such a cute little scene. Eventually, a young intern named Katuele picked out one pair of shoes she liked. All that work, and only one woman found anything she liked in her size. (The saleswoman brings many different styles, but only one size of each pair -- if you want a different size, you have to ask for it and wait until she comes back again.) Supposedly, we get the shoe sale sequel next week. I want to watch the purchasing ritual, just because it's cute seeing these women hug one another and squeal over the shoes like teenagers.

Joseph Kony is dead

Another aside, as reported on the front page of Uganda tabloid Red Pepper:

Friday, 06 June 2008
LRA LEADER KILLED HIMSELF - USA INTELLIGENCE
The latest on Kony is that US Intelligence and government personnel are suggesting that the Juba peace talks be closed because the LRA rebel leader is no more. Sources close to UPDF in tracking Kony's communication have not tracked any correspondences either on radio or satellite communication. Information from within the LRA seems to suggest that he could have committed suicide in the same style as German dictator, Adolf Hitler.


Saturday, 07 June 2008
BIRDS FEAST ON KONY'S BODY
Kony in his will to his son he made it clear that when he dies, he should not be buried under the soil but be left above the ground as an Acholi hero. Kony had become so paranoid that he sent away all his 40 wives suspecting they would conspire to kill him. He had accused some of them of sleeping around with his deputy, Otti Vincent.



My response:
I wonder what Kony thinks about these headlines?
Someone still trusts U.S. intelligence?
Also, I love the relationship between large and small type, here. Eye-tracking studies in the U.S. have shown that many people only glance at headlines. Hm, their loss ...

Do you want matoke with that?

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to talk about food.

Anyone reading this knows me. I like to eat. Specifically, I like to eat cheeseburgers. It is as much an addiction for me as nicotine is for a smoker. Give me french fries, give me trans fats, and add a slice of cheesecake to top it all off.

Uganda is not a place for fast food.

There are signs here and there that advertise "fast foods," but all they really mean is that you will get the same goat meat, matoke, rice, beans, and potatoes that you'd find anywhere else more quickly because it's already been cooked. The local fare is pretty standard. You can swap out your goat meat for chicken (which I don't recommend, because the chickens here have tough skins and very little meat) or beef (which I also don't recommend, because the beef is tough and stringy). Some places offer fish, and I've found one restaurant in Karamoja that sells your goat-chicken-beef-fish selection drowned in ground nuts. However, you will still get beans, rice, matoke, and potatoes whether you like it or not. Maybe with a chapati.

A Culinary Glossary
matoke: cooked mashed bananas
chapati: a big doughy crepe without anything on it
ground nuts: seeds mashed into a stew that tastes vaguely like peanut butter without any sweetener

Matoke is definitely a favorite, here. The first time Jamira dragged me out of the house, she took me to this restaurant and asked, "Have you evah tryed matoke?" I shook my head no, and she insisted I try it. The next day I tried a new restaurant on my own. The waiter's English was so garbled, I finally gave up. "Just bring me anything. Food. Anything," I said. He brought me a plate with a small side of goat and an oversized helping of matoke. Mmm, thanks. The day after that, I ate lunch in Kampala with Onyango. Who ordered for me. Guess what he ordered?

There are days when I don't eat anything here at all. The idea of consuming one more bite of matoke makes me want to cry, so I drink a lot of juice and water and ignore food entirely. Most days I have one meal, and maybe a slice of bread with peanut butter at night. This is, by far, the least I have ever eaten since I threw out my lunches in high school, and I eat like a queen compared to most people.

I do allow myself one indulgence: one bottle of Fanta per day. I'm not sure why I developed this obsession with Fanta (I don't want Pepsi, or chocolate, or anything else Western -- just Fanta), but at the moment it is the most satisfying beverage in the world. Must have something to do with replacing electrolytes. The clerks at Quality, the supermarket around the corner from my hotel, all recognize me at this point. I pick up my Fanta and scuttle out of the store as they try to take me on weekend getaways. Their attempts at seduction are honest and simple, but they make me feel awkward. All the same, my Fanta is worth the trouble. I wonder if the stuff is addictive.

Despite the sugar habit, I'm glad Emily convinced me to get a tight suit back in the U.S. One and a half weeks after landing, and it's not so tight anymore. Jeans that fit just right before I left home are actually sliding off my butt, now. I'm going to have to buy a belt, and I might have to go shopping for smaller sizes when I get ready for interviews this fall. Not that shrinking makes me sad. Lord knows I let myself eat too much in the U.S.

People have no trouble telling me that, here. "You need to exercise your muscles," said John, today. "All you do is eat and sleep," Jamira told me two nights ago. They were both teasing, so I tried not to look completely abashed. I walk to work and back every day, and I doubt I'm consuming more than 2000 calories. If only they knew the difference.

Of course, when I say I only eat one meal a day that doesn't mean I'm suffering. All the local food is fresh and starchy. It probably has more vitamins than our processed junk in the U.S., and it definitely expands in the stomach. One small meal each afternoon is all I need to feel full for the rest of the night. I'm usually just starting to get hungry again when lunch rolls around the next day.

It's different for a lot of people here. Two nights ago, I dragged Jamira to downtown Kampala for dinner at a nice restaurant. She'd just mopped my floors and done my laundry, and aside from the payment I wanted to thank her for all her work. So we went to this posh hotel called the Grand Imperial, where a local band was singing American tunes (badly) and Zairian high life (excellently), and I bought us both a huge meal with incredible African tea for about $20. Most of the people at this restaurant were fat -- either rich Ugandans or foreigners like me. But when we finished dinner, I started walking home and was immediately confronted by children. I guess they come out at night to beg. These aren't like homeless people in the U.S., full-grown adults who could potentially hold jobs or fend for themselves. These are five- and six-year-olds, usually taking care of other kids, and clearly starving. Makes me feel bad about all the matoke I throw out.

You can't say no to the little ones. At least, I can't. There isn't any justifiable reason. It's not like I'm going to run out of money if I give them a few cents each. So I hand them a 500 shilling piece, which will buy at least two bananas, or a 5000 shilling bill if I have it on me -- that gets a nice meal at a local restaurant, or a loaf of bread at the supermarket. And I try not to think about going to the bank, yanking out a few hundred bucks, and just walking down Kampala Road giving handouts. I still have student loans to consider, you know?

Eating is complicated. Maybe I'll never feel right about it, no matter where I am in the world.

My twin sister

At orientation, the dean of Penn Law said that one in three of us would likely marry a classmate. I haven't exactly found a husband, but I have made a great friend. Emily Torstveit is my twin sister (we've been confused with each other more than once), and the forerunner in our summer adventures. Just this morning she landed in Gaborone to do legal work with the University of Botswana. I am so excited for her! Off the plane, and already starting to explore! Hang on, Ems, I'm not too far behind you ...

One hour before the presentation

You know that dream where you wake up and go to school and take your classes and suddenly realize you're not wearing any PANTS?

Yeah. I forgot mine in Pennsylvania ...

Postcards

By the way, e-mail me your address if you want a postcard. If there ARE postcards, I will send one to you. I don't promise they won't be goofy, though. :)

melonai@law.upenn.edu

For Your Amusement

I've been looking up videos and pictures of Kampala, just so I know what I'm getting into. This made me giggle for about 30 minutes straight. I hope you have fun with it, too. It's by Bebe Cool, originally posted on UGPulse. (I know Emily will like it, because it has animals.)