Moments

Each week in Uganda I face dozens of “aha” moments or moments of discovery. Sometimes I am the one amazed at what I’m learning, and other times the children or my co-workers are the ones learning and experiencing something from me for the first time. 

It would take me forever to explain every moment to you, and many of them would not have much effect on a person who has never been to a developing country. Two conversations occurred this week with some of my students and I think they are perfect to illustrate these moments:

1. One of my Mustard Seed Health Team members visited me at my apartment on Sunday. As most of the kids do, he wandered around the room asking me questions about different items. Most of the time I am not surprised that student visitors don’t know what something is because the way of life here just doesn’t require such objects (i.e.: pot holder, plastic broom, my laptop, my vitamins, etc.) However, little Wasswa caught me off guard when he grabbed a handful of napkins and asked, “What do these do?”

I said, “Those are called napkins, you can use them to wipe your hands and face as you eat meals.” He still looked confused, so I elaborated, “You know, at the restaurants they often bring napkins out with silverware and customers can wipe food or grease off onto the napkin to stay clean.”

He replied in a shy and embarrassed voice, “Oh, well I’ve never been to a restaurant before. I didn’t know these existed.”

What can a girl say to that? I’m sure I was taken to restaurants before I even had enough teeth to eat anything on the menu. Here is this 11-year-old boy who has never seen a napkin, and never been to a restaurant. I sent him home with at least 20 so he and his family could enjoy them.

 2.       I was playing after school with a group of nursery students when something on my wrist attracted their attention. My watch. The kids grabbed my wrist and pulled it closer to them and they said in their best English, “Teacher Kristen, look, it is moving!” I said, “Of course, this is a watch, it tells the time when these things move.” They said, “Yes, but it is moving!

It took only an instant for me to realize that many of them were under the impression that adults wear a clock on their wrist for fashion. Most watches break from wear and tear in Uganda, and they often run out of battery early on. When it comes down to feeding the family, paying school fees, or taking care of poor health, why would a person be maintaining their watch? Those children had never seen a working watch before. All they needed to be impressed was to see mine “move.”

These precious moments are some of my favorite times in Uganda. Each time I experience a moment about napkins, watches, or whatever else, I am reminded that the world is much more complex than I ever previously recognized.

With love,
Kristen

Kulikayo, Welcome Home!

It is hard for me to believe we are in October. The last two months have been a whirlwind of emotion, experiences, and travel. I have heard from many of my readers that I need to update my blog. Before I get back into the flow of documenting my Ugandan observations, I want to recap what I have done in the last two months to get you all up to speed!

Early August:

My boyfriend came to visit me in Uganda. This was a huge deal for both of us, and due to the many personal facets of such an event, I will only say that we were able to cover a lot of ground in Uganda. He visited this Lukaya project/family and my dormitory/family in Mukono, we saw a Rhino sanctuary, did a three-day game drive, saw the source of the Nile, and we even had a date in Kampala that included pizza and a movie! All in all, we did a lot of driving and catching up!

Dan and I with the same Joseph I fell in love with summer of '11

Mid-August:

On my way back to the States, I was fortunate enough to have a 23.5-hour layover in London. This turned out to be perfectly timed because most of the chaos of the Olympics was over, but the great international atmosphere and Olympic landmarks were still present in the city. I had a great time doing some sightseeing, eating, and processing the previous six months while walking around one of the greatest cities in the world.

Olympic rings at the Tower Bridge

Back home I was able to see dozens of friends and family members. I made it to the beach on a day trip with my boyfriend. I think I only ate a couple of home-cooked meals because I went out to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day! Six months of village life made me really miss coffee, milkshakes, and options. OH and a lot of beer on tap was consumed. COLD beer cannot be beat.

Beginning of September:

I had the lovely opportunity to visit my little sister in Chicago, where she is currently starting her first year at University. It was great to see her new turf and be able to visit with her before leaving the country again. I was fortunate enough to have made a connection with a wonderful woman while in Uganda who let me stay with her during that visit. It is a small world if we let it be!

Alyson and I at the Bean in Chicago

After Chicago, I had another great opportunity to spend a couple of days in New Jersey with the Directors of Real Partners Uganda. I was able to meet several key players in the organization as well as catch up with the Griswolds. They took me out to Atlantic City and although I didn’t see Barney from HIMYM anywhere, we did enjoy a stroll on the board walk, a quick lesson on the Poker Machine, and a wonderful Cuban dinner. I even got to have breakfast at the shore, which clinched my goal to visit three of the world’s oceans in less than four months!

Atlantic Ocean in New Jersey

Late September:

My reunion in Uganda was perfect! The children seemed so thrilled that I had returned. Many of the people in town recognized me and greeted me in Luganda by saying Welcome Back/Home. My neighbors, John Robert and Ruth (headmaster at the school and his wife, a teacher at our school) made sure that I was well fed for the first days back—since I was visibly weak and exhausted from America/travel. My program got off to a great start with the use of sticker mustaches for all the kids/teachers in the Health Team. I found it much easier to re-adjust to a life of irregular power and water than it was to adjust to constant anything-I-ever-want-of-anything in America. The girls in the apartment complex can’t seem to get enough snuggle time with me. I swear they will just about re-fuel their urge to hug me, sit on my lap, and play with me by the time I have to leave again. I can’t really say anything bad about my return to Lukaya. I am pleased to be back at work—though I have much to do in the way of transitioning my programs to Ugandan-hands. I think the next several months will be productive and worthwhile for everyone on the Team in Lukaya.

First day back with Mustard Seed Health Team

My Reflection:

As wonderful as it was to be home and to see my loved ones, it was not entirely easy for me. I constantly had an overwhelming feeling that I no longer belong in that picture. I’m sure if I was home for a long period of time that feeling would dwindle and I would eventually forget all the gory details of a life in Uganda. However, my mind and heart were too aware that my visit home was brief and I was not able to put aside what I had learned and experienced in the village in order to relax in America.

I frequently experienced moments with friends and family in which they acted in such a way that initially shocked me…then upset me…then disappointed me…then I always came full circle to a feeling of frustration with myself for feeling shocked/upset/disappointed with people who are acting exactly the same way I once behaved. What gives me the right to point out something they are doing that is an excessive use of materials, or wasteful of food/resources, or making statements that are neglectful of people like those in Uganda. Don’t we as Americans deserve (to some degree or another) many of these behaviors?

In the end, I had to conclude that I was the one who had changed. My world-view has been altered forever. I cannot, and will not work to make those around me feel guilty or upset about the way they live their lives because at the end of the day I must accept that many Americans are privileged. And there are many perks and lifestyles that come with that—at no fault of theirs. 

What I also must keep in mind (because the two go hand-in-hand) is that many more people around the world are not privileged. And there are many more disadvantages and lifestyles that come with that.

Today more than ever before, I am certain that I am where I am supposed to be in life and doing exactly what I was created to do. I cannot make the world a fair and perfect world for all its inhabitants, but I can live my life in such a way that merges the fair with the unfair, privileged with the unprivileged, and developed with the developing.

With love,

Kristen

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