How is There?

One of the many “Uganda-isms” that I like is the expression “how is there?” What will happen is Kristen and I will meet someone new. They will ask what part of the world we are from. We will say United States and they will say “ah! How is there?”

Trying to answer that question is about as ridiculous as trying to answer to the question I get from all my friends back in the states asking, “How is there?” for Uganda.

With the Ugandan’s it basically just comes down to a discussion of the weather. We will say that ‘there’ is quite cold with so much snow. They will say “Eh! But it is too hot here!” And that is about the extent of the conversation.

With my friends back in the states, I say that it is stressful here but I usually don’t go into details. I’m not really sure why not. I mean I’m having the adventure of a lifetime. But I am too lazy to explain it all. I mean, it’s a lot just to take in, not to mention make sense of for someone else. The best way I can explain “how is there?” to my mzungu friends in America is with a series of anecdotes. Here are a few:

I spent an entire night running to the bathroom I was so sick. At about 3 in the morning I discovered a large rat the size of small cat in the bathroom. At first I thought that maybe it was a hallucination because I was so dehydrated. In the morning we told the gatekeeper, Bonie and he said “eh! You saw it? I have not seen the giant rat for years, I thought he was dead!” Comforting.

People are always saying “you are welcome!” to me as I enter their home or business. It doesn’t really matter if they knew I was coming or not. They are so gracious.

There have been week long periods here where I can’t actually remember what ‘cold’ feels like.

I get star struck when I see more than 4 white people together at once. Seeing old white people is a special gem. Spotting an Asian is like seeing a unicorn.

To get anywhere I flag down a random man with minimal English skills on a motorcycle on the side of the road. I tell him where I want to go. He will say he knows where that is (even if he doesn’t) and we will swerve through potholed, overly trafficked, crazy dusty streets to get there.

I have food hallucinations. Like, I will wake up and realize that I have actually been daydreaming about a melted ham and cheese sandwich from the King’s College Café in Cambridge. Which is about the most random thing I could have food lust for. But there it is.

Kids yell “mzungu MZUNGU!” when I pass by. Some even reach out their hands and quickly issue a gentle slap. Most likely this is to see if my skin is really so white or if it is a paint that could come rubbed off. It’s skin.

I have to plan that every event will take about 2 hours longer than it would in the US.

The power has been off for significant portions of the day, every day for the past couple weeks.

The savannah of the countryside is the most beautiful rustic thing I may ever see.

A safari to a world-renowned national park can be planned 3 days ahead of time and paid for in the cramped interior of a cellphone stand.

I get hit on constantly. Sometimes this is flattering. Usually it is a little unnerving and a good reminder of how unimportant looks are. I’m tired of people declaring their love for me when we have said 3 words to each other.

I got SUPER excited when I saw an ice machine at a restaurant the other day. Like…really excited. It was just for certain drinks at the bar so I didn’t even get to benefit from the ice. But it was still really heartening.

I am routinely greeted by women as if I am their long lost sister. I am received with hugs, welcomed into their hut, given soda and biscuits and sent away with gifts of beads or sewn handicrafts.

I pretend that I am a princess as I ride down the street because so many kids wave at me and I go into Duchess Mode waving back at the people.

Well, that’s all for now. I know that this all might sound rather negative but Kristen and I aren’t in the best mood right now. We’ve had a long day of appointments falling through, focus groups not going well and bug bites in un-itchable places. At least while I am in public.

I love Africa. But it’s broken me a little bit.  And I’m ready to go home.