the slow Africanization of Marie-Luise

Accommodation: Some things are very similar to Canada. My neighbors, for example, are Chinese. But other things are quite different. The other neighbor from across the street, when he is here, is the Ugandan president and thus there is a very large military presence in Entebbe, meaning many soldiers, armored vehicles and guns. Especially now, as there is some sort of congress happening which I think even Mugabe is attending.

My actual accommodation, which I share with geckos and various insects, is much better than expected. I have my own apartment within the compound of my organization with a bedroom, living room, kitchen and storage room, not to mention a bathroom. By Canadian or European standards it is quite primitive (for example, I only have cold water, my TV antenna is on a bamboo pole and looks like it could be used for communicating with aliens and my life is centered around boiling water so I have enough drinking water), but on the whole it is quite nice.

I really do miss having a laundry machine though. I used to think that not having a dryer was primitive but now I have to do all my laundry by hand. The best way to approach this is by washing every three days or so, but I did two whole loads in two days in my first laundry attempt and now have to wait for the wounds on my fingers to heal before I can attempt to wash again, so once again the laundry is piling up. And after my laundry extravaganza I found out that there is some sort of microscopic worm that can get into your clothes if you leave them out overnight, which I did, and when you wear your clothes the heat from your body activates them and then they burrow into your flesh, creating breathing holes in your skin, etc. and then you have to wait for them to burrow their way out. Ewwww. Hopefully I won’t get them – at the moment I am wearing pants that I left out overnight… Ok, I think a change of topic is necessary as I am starting to feel grossed out.

Food: Banana, banana, banana. Or, in the local language, matoke, matoke, matoke. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea time, snack. Fried, roasted, mashed, dried, raw and stewed, they can be prepared in any way imaginable. You should have seen my first attempt at cooking them – you are lucky that you didn’t have to taste…

My first attempt to cook for myself in Uganda was a disaster. I decided to make stir fry, which is easy and delicious. So I fought my way through the weekly local market and bought vegetables (everything is organic) and meat. The meat was hanging on a hook in the sun and had been doing so all day, and maybe even the day before, although when asked they did assure me it was fresh. Once home, I went about cooking my food the usual way. When finished, it looked delicious and indeed, the vegetables were, but the meat was so tough that I could have soled my shoes with it and walked all the way to Vancouver without the shoes wearing out. Apparently you have to boil meat for at least one and a half hours before eating.

People: A couple of days ago I made a baby cry. It took one look at my white, muzungu face and started wailing and clinging to her aunt. But just imagine how you would feel if you saw a white person, a muzungu, for the first time in your life. I think I would cry too. But not everyone is scared of me – “I love you!” has already been said to me by one random man, I have received several marriage offers (in jest but I think with genuine interest), some of my coworkers have been approached about me and even a female prostitute (at least that’s what I was told she was, although she did not look like one) in the night club kept dancing with me (being a white woman puts me in a strange position here since I have the financial status of a man).

My closest neighbors are actually the watchman, Jared, and his wife, Maureen. At first I was very critical of them, as I was told to trust no one and had heard horror stories about watchmen before leaving, but I have come to realize that they are very kind people. Which is a relief, as it is just them, myself and the two watchdogs in the compound at night. Also, Maureen has taken a great interest in me (and my TV). Despite the fact that they speak little English, and I close to no Rikonjiri (which is their local language), we get along quite well and I think they are very amused by watching the muzungu flounder about in the African way of life. Several times Maureen has cooked for me, although she always managed to time it so that she would bring me the food right after I finished my dismal meal. Each time I fought my way through the second meal and adding to the pressure was the fact that the fish balls she had prepared contained scales and bones, which made eating them quite a chore. And of course they came with mashed banana.

After this mistimed generosity, I discovered that Jared and Maureen can only afford one meal a day. No breakfast, no lunch, just dinner. And then they invite me, the “wealthy” muzungu! I find it incredible. It doesn’t take long in Uganda to notice the generosity of its people. And at the moment I cannot even return the favor of a dinner invitation as my cooking skills have been reduced to zero. Inviting someone right now would most likely result in embarrassment.

Then there are my coworkers. They are very nice but the girls are shy and I am finding it hard to penetrate their group, especially as they tend to speak their local language. I think they don’t really know what to make of me. I don’t even know what to make of myself here, so I don’t blame them. We did bond over the pedicure we all got last week. Who thought that I would be sitting in Africa with perfectly manicured feet! At one point all the girls in the office disappeared and I found them on the lawn getting a pedicure from a guy who just happened to come by. It was a $1.50 well spent and my feet look great. There is actually a lot of emphasis on looking sharp here and I feel like I can’t keep up, especially not with the “bush” clothes I brought. But I get along well with the guys and even went dancing with them last weekend, which was fun.

Most of my coworkers are volunteers and only receive a small, monthly allowance, but as far as employment goes, they are relatively well off. The lack of education and employment is really a big problem here. And knowing about this unemployment puts what I am doing into an entirely different perspective. No wonder many organizations in Africa get muzungus to pay to volunteer when their own qualified, university-educated people volunteer for years in order to make themselves more marketable and maybe get an allowance.

Language: Another thing I was naïve about was the language. Yes, English is the official language of Uganda but for those who speak it, it is usually the second, third or even fourth language they learn. And many people, especially those in rural areas where a development worker would work, speak no English at all. The main languages I ought to learn here are Luganda (the language of the Entebbe region) and Rikonjiri (which is spoken in western Uganda, where my organization has an office). Swahili, which I had hoped to learn, is primarily spoken by the army and has been rejected by many Ugandans as the brutal dictator Amin tried to make it the national language during his time in power. But as long as I respond to everything with a thoughtful hmmmmmm, preferably after every sentence, I am ok. I have already adapted this, so be prepared for it once I come back. Hmmmmmmm.

Other: I have also discovered why white people who go to Africa usually come back with pictures of themselves surrounded by children. If you travel to any remote community, you will immediately be surrounded by a group of children. Being surrounded by poverty the first time this happened, I figured they were hoping for a gift but I soon realized they were just curious. Many of them had probably never seen a muzungu in real life. And because many of them cannot speak English, they just stand at a respectful distance and silently stare. It was quite unnerving at first. But they are usually quite happy if you take a photo with them, which I did. After my first church experience I must have been surrounded by 30 children or so.

Something else that is interesting to mention is the concept of recognizing people. Being in Africa has completely shifted my frame of reference. Initially it was quite difficult for me to tell people apart. I suppose in a world where I mostly interact with whites, I use different hair and eye colors as my reference. Here, however, most of the hair and eyes consist of various shades of black and dark brown, making it hard to differentiate (although the variety of hairstyles the women have is baffling). I was relieved to find out that this also happens in reverse. It was aptly demonstrated when I showed some pictures to my coworkers. In one of the pictures I am standing beside Tamara, my white, tall, curly-haired friend, who looks very different from me in my opinion. One of my coworkers pointed at her and asked if it was me, despite the fact that I was standing right beside her in the photograph! And the other day someone I spent the weekend with in Western Uganda saw me again after a week had passed and he didn’t even recognize me!

Things are going well and I am very glad to be here. I will try write more frequently, now that I have life figured out and can hopefully find some kind of rhythm.