ugandan novel #356198561

So I feel quite settled into Uganda now -- almost in the bad way, the way where I don't notice as many exciting things as I used to. And I'm getting a little worn down on fighting off marriage proposals, fighting the taxi driver every morning, being constantly threatened by fatal computer viruses that I contract at the local internet cafe (one of which... succeeded in destroying a lot. Though I did manage to save my documents and a handful of pictures. I'm glad I'm such a psycho facebook picture poster, or else, my life would be over. My music may or may not be gone forever. Oh Uganda. Anyway), and eating rice/potatoes/tomatoes for almost every meal. So last week was hard. And then I had... CRAZY UGANDAN SATURDAY.

Crazy Ugandan Saturday started like any other Saturday, I wake up to my crazyish host brother singing Phillip Bungalotyre (sp.? the first Ugandan singer to announce he was HIV positive?) songs as soon as the sun rises. I eat my oatmeal. Hajat prepares to take me into town for a dress fitting. I had my dress all planned out, it was going to be a classy little number in tie dye. Hajat had other plans. And since she doesn't really speak English, arguing was futile. So... now I have a long African skirt/top combination, with a kind of country-junglish pattern, in green and gold. Maybe I can wear it to football games? I don't even know what the shirt looks like this year.

So what I thought would take about 4 hours took 20 minutes,thanks to Hajat's wonderful efficiency in choosing my dress. Then, since I had told her I was meeting friends in Jinja, she left me. I wasn't meeting friends for 5 more hours though. What followed was a day where I walked around town as slowly as I could and read a Ugandan paper, as slowly as I could. I learned about the massive fires in Ugandan schools (it's a copycat epidemic... 43 schools set on fire, mostly by students this year), how fishermen don't report dead bodies to police so they can use them as bait, and what happens when you challenge the President on the radio (jail). I was also invited to "surf the net" by 3 different Ugandan men, and then one followed me to a restaurant and bought me rice. I didn't really want to eat his blood rice, but I was hungry. Then I went to the AG SHOW.

The Ag Show is basically the county fair of Jinja, and it made me quite nostalgic. They had a lot of beer tents, alternated with tents where you could learn how chickens are slaughtered/how to make sunflower seed oil. My favorite tent was the Ugandan Prisoner's Tent. There, they had fine wood furniture, Ugandan flags, and dining room sets made exclusively by the inmates of Uganda -- and it was all for sale! Woo! There were concerts and dancing too, though it's always kind of awkward to be the one white girl dancing, especially when you have hips like mine, so I had to hold back. The concert ended up being kind of awkward when an Indian Michael Jackson interpretative dancer took the stage as a video of porn played behind him? And he didn't even do Thriller or anything. He lip-synched Speechless.

SPEECHLESS.

So all that improved my bad week.

I've been working a lot. I helped WORI get their first grant (though it was only a partial grant), and we've been working on a brochure and blog. You can see our blog! Leave comments, they'd love that:

http://wori-uganda.blogspot.com

We went to visit one of the communities last week, and the women gave me a huge tour of their entire village. Then, they showered me with gifts: they gave me eggs. Corn. Sugar cane. Bananas. Fresh matooke. Grain (what am I supposed to do with grain?!). And FRESH FISH.

Last night, I participated in a radio program on domestic violence. I reread my old psych papers and stuff from my time in California... but then I showed up, and none of it was in English. They asked me like one question and immediately labled me the "angry dramatic one"? I felt like Hillary Clinton. You know, the strong hated female thing.

At home, the weirdest thing that happened last week was that I realized one of my host brothers was missing? I mentioned it one night and everyone just started laughing. Like hysterically laughing. Uncle Pi was like, "Heli -- heli--- hee hee! Helicopter! Hee!" and no one could manage to articulate anything. Finally Pi goes, "I believe a helicopter landed in the field and took him to America." Now, I obviously knew that couldn't possibly be true -- but I mean, I'm not from this country, I started doubting myself, and it was the only explanation I was given. The next day I was told that my host brother had took to the Nile in search of his parents (although I thought he was an orphan)? The next day I was told he had run away. No one seemed to really think this was a big deal. The kid is 12. Then, the next day, I get home, and he's just chillin' on the porch. "Kofi Annan!" I said (because we call him Kofi Annan, another thing I don't understand). "Welcome back!" And he just smiled. I guess the police brought him home. No one ever explained any thing to me.

Other tidbits:
- I've had some good talks with Uncle Pi. He always talks to me, intellectually and abstractly, about love, his wife, the girl he dated for 2 weeks in Scotland, how he used to be quite the stud ice skater and he'd get "12-14 girls desperate to skate with me a night," how his first secondary school girlfriend broke his heart, etc. I've always enjoyed these conversations. Last night he told me he is currently gathering research for his two books: one about engineering. The other... is about love. Haha. I think I'm a research subject.

- I caved and bought nutella. Nutella + chapati = the answer to life's problems

- It is a cultural taboo to wash someone else's underwear. I was washing my own underwear the other day, and Hajat comes outside and just took over. I tried to stop her, but I guess she was frustrated by my (lack of) speed. She then proceeded to make catcall noises and laugh hysterically at my underwear. Oh, Haj.

- I was attacked by a flying bug the size of my fist the other day. My crazyish host brother threw my shoe at it and it went away. When trying to discern what the damn thing was, I received four different answers:
Crazyish host bro Mbala -- "a mimbadisa!" (no one else has ever heard of this word
Cool host bro Ambrose -- "a grasshopper!"
Uncle Pi -- "I believe it must have been a very large locust."
Little host bro Sam -- "frog!"

SO I was attacked by a flying grasshopper frog locust mimbadisa. And thus, I must leave you. Tomorrow I'm returning to Kampala to see Wyclef! I don't know any of his songs. EXCEPT HIPS DON'T LIE. The time is going quickly! I only have one more true weekend in Jinja, and I know it's going to go really fast, with dinners and end reports and the like! I hope August treats you all well, and I'll see many of you soon :)

love, love, love,

Lisa