Big girl, you are beautiful!

**Before you read the following post, please be aware that my words are in no way an invitation to a pity-party; I am not seeking comments to reassure me; and I am actually quite happy in my skin (and every layer in between!)

This post serves to 1) vent a little about current thoughts I have been having and 2) shine light on an interesting intersection between American and Ugandan ideas of beauty.

Now you know where I’m coming from when I say:

I wish it were possible for me not to be offended when my Ugandan girlfriends call me fat/big. They always say it as a compliment...but it always feels like a little stab in my heart.

I see their smiling faces—looking so pleased to see me walk into the room—saying in a thrilled and sincerely good-hearted tone, “WOW! You look big! Have you put on? You are so smart today!” Instead of hearing what they are really saying, I can’t help but think, “Shoot, do this skirt and top really make me look fat?” Almost every time this happens, their words run through my mind while I eat every meal that day. I sit there thinking, “Make sure you don’t finish your whole plate, the ladies say you have put on.”

Bad habits are tough to break, right?

If I hadn't been exposed to a lifetime of American media telling me BIG is BAD, I would be the happiest girl in the world. Some messages are so deeply rooted in our brains, we don't even realize the effect they have had on us until situations like this.

**I would like to make it clear that I recognize obesity is a BIG problem in America (and increasingly so in other developed countries) BUT I am referring to the ridiculous belief that females need to be bone thin. I don’t think we should turn a blind eye to the health problems that overweight and obese patients put themselves at risk of developing. However, I also don’t think it is fair to tell a person who is within her normal weight range for her height that she needs to be 20 lbs. skinnier just to conform to some unrealistic media-produced ideal.

I will spare you a full lesson and rant about my abovementioned beliefs, because I think most people today are at least mildly aware of the media’s false representation of tall skinny girls and the effect that image has on the psyche of most females…

Since I am not qualified to speak on behalf of every American female, I will stick to sharing the thoughts in my own mind. (However, I’d love to hear what my fellow women think regarding this topic)

For me, it is impossible to hear their words for what they really are: Compliments. Instead of welcoming these phrases the same way I would receive, “nice haircut,” “cute dress,” or “your eyes look great today,” I hear them the way I interpret:

“You look better rested!” aka, “You have been looking haggard these days”

“Wow, that’s a short skirt!” aka, “Aren’t you a bit skanky today?”

Or of course, “You look thin, today” aka, “You have looked fat in recent days but with today’s outfit you don’t look so big.” (Particularly offensive when you have not actually lost any weight)

It is such a shame I feel this way, because I get called big or fat almost every day. I am about the same weight as I always have been. Granted, I put on during college, and the 90% carb diet here doesn’t exactly promote thinness, but I wouldn’t call myself fat. I analyze my pictures and think, “I don’t look fat…” I certainly look bigger than I did when I was 18, but I am not convinced I actually had hips at that age, so that isn’t a fair assessment. I have always been the biggest one in my family, but in comparison to friends, I think I am the same size as most of them. All in all, I’m the image of normal for my height and age. I’m a bit curvy, but by all means, Beyoncé and Shakira get away with it, why can’t I?

Almost every day I hear this compliment. I try to imagine what that would do to my self-esteem if I could take it in as they give it out—purely as a flattering statement. I would be on top of the world. Every now and then the women, (sometimes even the men) I work with will say that I look beautiful/smart…“like a model.” I know those are variations of saying I look big or fat, (which makes the model comment ironic) but because these are actually compliments in my culture, they always make me feel a lot better.

For example, a few weeks ago, one of the teachers entered my lesson and exclaimed, “Ay, Kristen! You have reduced, are you ill? You look thin, what is wrong?!” My knee-jerk response was, “Really?! Thank you! Then I looked around the room and the kids, nurses, and the complimenting-teacher looked extremely confused. She was concerned for my health and all I heard was that I looked thin. I have heard that only once since I’ve been here, and it is the only time I felt a flutter of excitement and pride in my body during a conversation about my weight.

It is unfortunate that—somewhere in the deepest crevices of my subconscious—I have imprinted the message, “BIG is BAD; SMALL is GOOD.” I wonder if I could spend any amount of time here and eventually rewire that part of my brain.

If that could ever transpire, I imagine I would become free from the constant curiosity of how big I look in which outfit I wear.

In the meantime, I plan on soaking in the Ugandan attempts to boost my ego during my last two weeks! I’m sure my American peers will not be using the same statements when I’m greeted back home—if they do, it won’t be kindly!

With BIG love,

Kristen

Photographic Memory

As I wrap up my 6 months in Uganda, I am becoming increasingly hyperaware of my surroundings; I am trying to soak up as much of my daily life as possible. This could also be partially due to my eager anticipation of my boyfriend’s arrival—a thought I have a hard time suppressing—which has made me look at my surroundings and wonder what he will think. Will it be odd to him that rubbish is burned in little piles everywhere? What will his reaction be when we have to pause on our walk to allow the cow or goat to cross the road? When we cook dinner/wash dishes/take our baths, will he feel—as I often do—like we are camping? I can’t wait to see his face the first time a swarm of kids runs up to touch him while shouting Mzungu! Mzungu!

These are things I let slip by me on a day-to-day basis. It was normal the other night while I had guests over for dinner (and a viewing of When Harry Met Sally on my laptop) the power went out, I fumbled for a candle in the dark, lit a match, and we ate the rest of our dinner by candlelight. The power returned in about an hour, I blew out the candle, and none of us even questioned the fluidity of our reactions to the power-outage.

Every night before I bathe, I put a few drops of antiseptic liquid into my basin. I fill my solar bag with water so I can use the nozzle to rinse my hair. I am in the habit of boiling a full kettle of water every few days, letting it cool, and pouring it into an empty water container to drink it later. Each Sunday, I renew the blisters on my knuckles from scrubbing my clothes by hand. By Wednesday of each week, they heal again.

So many things about my life here are completely different from home. However, it is strange to think that I might actually miss these routines…these foreign habits have become my new norm.

I am only just now allowing myself the luxury of fantasizing about an Oreo DQ Blizzard, a Burgerville Tillamook Cheeseburger, and micro-beer on tap in Portland/Bellingham. Amidst those fantasies, I can’t even let myself picture standing in line at the Woods Coffee/Starbucks (what can I possibly order first!?), drinking water out of the tap, or blending into a crowd of people—free from the children running up to me.

As eager as I am to see my friends and family (and obviously from my priority list written above, I also rank eating food equally as high), I hope the next couple of weeks will not go by so fast that I lose the opportunity to permanently imprint each memory to my brain.     

On a separate note, I was able to retrieve some pictures from the Teachers’ Day/dance party from my friend Alison. Below is a photo of me dancing with the Member of Parliament. That particular memory does not require a photo for permanent imprinting….  

With love,

Kristen

It all started when…

The teachers of Mustard Seed Academy invited Alison (a British volunteer who just arrived to spend her holiday teaching at our school) and me to the Kulungu District Teachers Appreciation lunch. To be honest, I really didn’t want to go. In my experience, whenever I attend any gathering of any sort in Uganda, they instantly make me the guest of honor, and that typically involves being semi-forced to do something locals don’t think is embarrassing, yet I am always left significantly embarrassed. However, Alison seemed excited for it, so I figured at least we would both be embarrassed together…

And so we were; or at least I was, I don’t know how she felt about it.

A little while after we arrived (to a sight of four sections of chairs filled with beautifully dressed Ugandan teachers all sitting in a square around a 20x20 ft square stage) the speaker said something in Luganda, the DJ started blaring music, then groups of people started getting up to dance. A couple of our teachers got up to join in, and Alison turns to me and says, “shall we give it a go?” I was thinking, absolutely not…but seeing her excited face, I decided why not.

We danced for about 5 minutes, and I’ll admit it was fun. Then they turned off the music, we sat down, and another speaker got to the microphone. He said something in Luganda, and the next thing I know, all eyes turn towards Alison and me. I have been in Uganda long enough to know what that means—even if I didn’t know what he was saying, I knew we were about to get our embarrassing moment out of the way. Teacher Sylvia turns to me and says in her best sarcastic voice, “Oh lucky girl, just what you want! They are bringing you both up to dance for us again! Alone this time!” I turned to Headmaster, John Robert (my friend and neighbor) to see in his face that Sylvia wasn’t lying. He had an extremely teasing smile that could only mean one thing—the Bazungu were about to dance for everyone. Great.

Some random man came out of nowhere, grabbed my hand, I grabbed Alison’s hand (because I wasn’t about to do this alone-alone) and pulled us towards the square for round two. Just as we got to the square and the crowd started cheering—the Honorable Member of Parliament who was an actual guest of honor stands up and walks toward me. The other man lets go of my hand and takes Alison to the center to dance with her. Now I’m holding hands with this big and important political figure-- in Uganda, politicians are actually celebrity status. This man is the equivalent of a Governor in America, but with the fan-base equivalent of a Disney child-star. The crowd is beside themselves. So am I. He and I start dancing a mix between the salsa and traditional Buganda dance moves. I think this went on for about ten minutes and then God finally heard my prayers and cut the music. I did a good job holding my smile—since cameras and video recording devices were rolling in every direction. When he walked me back to my section, I did the local handshake and said in my best accent, “Weebale Nyo, Ssebo” Thank you very much sir. He laughed all the way back to his seat. John Robert took pictures of the entire thing, but they are on Alison's camera, so you will have to wait for those!

I thought to myself, well, at least the embarrassing part was over before the meal was even served. Silly, naïve Kristen. As I stood in line for the meal with John Robert, Sylvia, and Alison, people kept coming up to me to say things like, “By the way, you have really good dance moves,” “You know, we think you can really move your hips,” “We didn’t think mzungu could dance like you,” and “We need to see more dancing from you!”  Oh boy, was I flustered! Flattered, of course, but mostly flustered. I’m not one to bask in copious amounts of attention. I’ve never been the one in my family to like that sort of thing, and here I was, in the center of it all. Thank goodness, Alison was there beside me!

After the meal and a few long-winded speeches in Luganda, we hear the music start bumping again. Many more people are on the dance floor, not all eyes would be on me. This time, I have a Nile Special and a very good meal in my system, so I turn to Alison and invite her to dance again. Nothing too embarrassing happened for the rest of the night, but it was filled with attention. I lost track of the men that pointedly crossed the dance floor to dance with me. I got a couple beers offered to me (don’t worry Dan, I turned them all down.) I posed for several photos with strange men. One man tried to get frisky, I actually pushed him off me, and he was so embarrassed, he walked away immediately. A few men tried to exchange phone numbers, but of course, that was not going to happen. There were a few professional photographers that weaved through the crowd, and every once in a while I looked up to see I was getting my picture taken. On a good note, I got Teachers Julius and Godfrey to dance with me, then I somehow got George to dance with me for almost a full minute! I’m not sure I can take credit for this, but at one point, John Robert even showed up next to me on the dance floor (after much talk all day about how he DOES NOT dance and hates it and would never…and…then poof he was there dancing!) I had the lovely Sylvia (who pretty much sat the whole day/night) take my camera and document the festivities. I danced the night away with Teachers Nora, Ruth, Edith, Dorcus, Alison, and Nice. In the end, it really was a great time.

Teacher Nice and me

Teachers Dorcus, Nora, and Alison

TOLM General Manager, George in center

Me and John Robert (he refused to smile for the camera!)

Teacher Julius, me, and Teacher Godfrey

The dancing in Uganda involves a lot of hip shaking, twisting, and knee bending. As I write this blog, my feet are elevated and I feel a dose of what being a 90-year-old woman feels like. How Shakira does it, I will never know!   

With love,

Kristen

Sex, spelled S-E-X.

At times, it is discouraging to teach sexual health education in Uganda. My personal philosophy regarding this topic is to educate pupils about the facts so they may prevent unwanted pregnancies or receiving/spreading STIs. It is my belief that abstinence only education puts kids at a disadvantage when faced with real situations. If somebody wants to behave in a certain way there is nothing I can say to prevent him from doing so. The most control I can have over that situation is to plant my voice in his and her head with information that can keep them healthy—or in the very least, keep those around them healthy. 

It is easier for me to teach sexual health in America with this philosophy. I can talk to them about waiting until they are in a safe, loving, and healthy relationship. I can recommend they seek advice or guidance from a parent about possible birth control methods—if that were not an option for them, I would refer them to their primary care physician or Planned Parenthood to get on birth control. I would advise them to use condoms every time, knowing that any corner market, gas station, pharmacy, and grocery store sells them for relatively low costs. I would even inform them of the locations I know that give away condoms free. Above all, I would encourage them to wait until they are absolutely sure in their heart and mind that they are ready for sex, because once you open the door, there is no closing it behind you.

Those messages get complicated here. Set aside the fact that anytime I open my mouth, my brain must first filter, screen, and adjust each word so it makes sense to ESL pupils, making any lesson especially challenging. The message is further distorted because there really is not a period of time when kids date each other innocently in Uganda. It is rare to find a boy and girl even talking to one another outside of a debate during class. When two kids decide they like each other, there is no innocent hand holding, hugging, or even kissing. It often becomes an all or nothing situation. Relationships are vastly different from my native culture. As I discussed in a recent blog, love and marriage are not always the same in Uganda as they are in America. How can I teach about waiting for a loving, respectful relationship if I cannot point to an example to follow? I am in no way saying they don’t exist. There are respectful relationships, I am sure, but they are often hidden behind closed doors so they may as well be invisible. I could teach about waiting to have sex until marriage; that might reach some of my pupils. Yet, even marriage is different here. What point are two people considered married? So often, it is after they have a kid together then they decide to become official or are persuaded by the community to do the Introduction ceremony. I know there are too many socio-cultural factors bearing down on these kids telling them not to wait to deceive myself into believing a few talks about waiting from me will overtake those messages. 

So, as I often do when I feel myself up against a cultural standard that I just cannot get my mind wrapped around, I take a step back…

I try to remember what the message I am trying to convey really is. In the case of sexual health education, I want a few outcomes: 1. Prevent the spread of STIs, 2. Prevent unwanted pregnancies, 2.5. Keep these girls in school by not getting unwanted pregnancies, 3. Establish a precedent for what a healthy sexual relationship looks like to prevent sexual abuse.

Why? Because I truly believe the spread of HIV can be prevented through education. Because I truly believe that overpopulation is slowly destroying this region. Because I truly believe that girls who make it through secondary school (that is to say, those who do not get pregnant before completion and have to drop out) will be capable of securing jobs, marry respectful husbands, and are less likely to produce more children than they can afford. Because rape and sexual violence are too common and these kids deserve better. 

I am not entirely sure how to get to these outcomes yet. I am approaching the situation first by teaching about what sex is, how one can impregnate or become pregnant, the various STIs that exist (and the variety of ways to contract them,) and creating a clear picture for what healthy and unhealthy relationships look like. I don’t know if my lessons will reach all of these students; I don’t know if it will prevent these things from happening to even those who the lessons reach.

Sometimes the most we can do is try. I know at the end of the day that these kids have me in their corner during the fight for a better future. 

With love,

Kristen

Kissing, Love, Weddings, and Babies within Buganda

Now that I have established friendships with many of my coworkers, I’ve been learning a lot about love, weddings, and babies in Buganda. It is interesting to me that upon learning these cultural facts, I was not in the least bit surprised. Within the context of life in Buganda, these things make total and complete sense. In fact, my learning about these traditions led me to discuss with my Ugandan friends about the way these things work in America, but out of context my world seems ridiculous to them! 

Why are Kaggogwe and Nakayima not K-I-S-S-I-N-G?

I had previously held the opinion that due to the very strict, yet unspoken, PDA (public display of affection for my readers who are not in the know) rules, most Ugandan couples must be doing a lot of kissing behind closed doors. However, it is apparently very rare for Ugandans to kiss at all. According to a few of my UG friends, kissing is something reserved for “only the most rare and mature forms of love.” Two people can be married for a lifetime and rarely (if ever) kiss.

I told them that even young kids who begin dating in middle school are known to kiss. It is practically on the same plane as handholding and first hugs. I was a late bloomer and didn’t have my first kiss until 9^th grade…I still remember getting teased for it because I was one of the last of my friends—and we were the nerdy NHS, golf team, honor roll kids. I was even further behind the “cool kids.” My UG friends were shocked. Kids kissing? Scandalous. 

Yet, many kids here “play sex” which usually involves putting his parts near or inside of her parts—because they have seen mommy and daddy do it so many evenings in their one room home. Scandalous is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. 

First comes Love…

The kissing discussion led me to wonder about love. Not that the two are always interconnected, but they are certainly related in my mind. It is not very common to hear men and women say they love each other, even in reference during conversation about said loved one. This isn’t surprising, since a man and woman who have been married for years act like total strangers in public.

After a very interesting discussion, I learned that being in love is not a requirement to being married. Money, status, good genes, and number of cows he has to offer your father—those are great requirements. Love, not so much… Even as I write this, I see that it may seem like Ugandans are selfish, materialistic people. It is so much deeper than that. To quote a friend, “Okay, maybe they love each other for two years into the marriage tops, but then she starts asking for money and he says forget about it, I don’t love you anymore.” He will stay with her (maybe not exclusively) but he doesn’t feel bound to the marriage by love. 

I brought up the extremely common scenario in America, where two people are so in love, they get married while neglecting the fact that they have no money, no education, bad genes, and not a single cow or goat to offer the Bride’s father. You would have thought I was trying to convince them pigs could fly. Why on earth would they get married without those things? 

I am too much of a romantic to imagine marrying without love. I’d rather take the no money/no cow scene than the no love for life one. However, most of my friends here disagree with that sentiment.    

…then comes Marriage…

Two people who I have come to know and love (haha) in Uganda are George (my supervisor/co-worker/friend) and Mugabi (my sometimes driver/friend/translator/brother), both of whom have upcoming weddings in October and December, respectively. This has given me the opportunity to see how wedding planning works in Uganda.  

For those of you that don’t know, when Ugandans get married, it comes in two parts. They generally have an “Introduction” ceremony—in which the man essentially provides an offering to the woman’s family in the form of livestock (amount depends on her worth). This is traditionally something he spends weeks/months negotiating with her family about a reasonable price for both parties. I have heard Introductions include music, dancing, food, and traditional performances. Usually this is done a long time (sometimes a decade) before the wedding. However, a man and woman are viewed as married within the culture once this ceremony takes place—they can now live together and produce kids without it being a scandal. 

When the wedding takes place, the purpose is to finalize the marriage in front of God (a remnant from the missionary days in Uganda). This ceremony is more like the ones we have in America. It includes the white gown, big wedding party, and festive reception to follow the vows. However, it also includes a budget that the groom hands out to his friends and family months in advance to let them know what they will donate money towards in order for the ceremony to take place. Consider this the cordial invitation. Most families even pitch in to provide the livestock offering during the Introduction. These ceremonies are very much a community ordeal—the bride and groom typically expect at least 300 people in attendance and everyone who comes has probably made some contribution or another towards the day! 

I had a blast explaining that my father would most definitely not accept any number of cows, goats, or chickens to “buy me” from the family! I explained gift registries, which they thought were abominable and selfish on our part. I talked about how usually the bride’s family is responsible for paying for the whole ceremony (sans the rehearsal dinner right?)—the men thought that was hard to imagine but at the same time a spectacular idea.  

I can’t help but laugh at the image of me sending a wedding invitation out to my friends and family with an insert that tells them the amount of money they will put towards the cake, flowers, and my gown. Like that would go over well…

…then comes the Baby carriage!

Several women in this organisation are currently pregnant—or so the rumors suggest. Pregnancy is not something that is openly discussed. In fact, one of the nurses accidentally let slip to me that somebody else was pregnant and almost instantly said, “Please don’t ever tell her you know!” I thought for the first two months that she was doing what many American couples do—wait until you are out of the first trimester to share the news with loved ones, just in case. It has been 4 months now, she looks like she is entering the third trimester, and yet everyone acts like she has just gained a bunch of weight. Seriously, I have been around her on so many occasions where people say, “Wow, you have really put on!” I’m standing there thinking, “Are they being funny or is the denial running that deep?” 

There are many reasons for secrecy. I only know a couple, and speculate about others. One, it used to be (and in some regions still is) common for somebody to “cast a black magic spell” upon the unborn child causing a miscarriage—keep it a secret and nobody can cast an effective spell. Two, (in my amateurish opinion I think it is the same as one,) miscarriages are common due to malnutrition, stressful living conditions, infectious diseases, and life in general. Three, even after the baby is born the risk of dying is still high, so why have a 9 month build up to a painful disappointment if you can avoid it? Four, (and to me, the most interesting) women often feel ashamed of being pregnant because, by nature, it is evidence of that thing she must have done to become in that state. Ugandans so rarely discuss sex that it actually becomes embarrassing to walk around with an enlarged belly as if she is waving an “I did it” flag out the end of her new outty belly button!   

I told some of my friends here that the moment friends and family find out about a pregnancy, we shower her with gifts and treat her differently. Her employer becomes lenient when she needs to increase her doctor’s appointments and take months off for maternity leave. Not really things that exist here. However, there is a lot of support once the baby is born. The infant is wrapped in a dozen layers of white blankets and carried with such delicate care. Friends pour in to support the new mother with baby gifts…but only after the baby is born are we allowed to acknowledge the situation.

One thing I cannot help but think about is that in America, we have so much more control over when we have babies. Easy access to birth control, condoms, Plan B, and (in some cases) abortion helps Americans decided exactly when we have children. Even married couples utilize the dozens of different birth control/family planning methods. Many of these methods exist in Uganda, but misinformation spreads rampantly and many women fear using even the least invasive methods.
 

When I mentioned that women who aren’t ready for kids take measures to prevent from having them, my Ugandan girlfriends were surprised to hear how meticulously we are able to plan that element of our lives. To me, it just seems natural. To them, it seems over-controlling.

With love,

Kristen