Regarding: March 15th - April 11th
Ok so we've done a lot of "old" posts recently and it's time to pour one out for an up-to-date update.
As you may or may not know (depending on how much you read this blog), I was recently in Kampala (capital of Uganda) for 2 weeks getting my knee checked out. Spoiler alert: I've got a torn ACL. Womp womp.
But let's be real a second for just a millisecond (#Hamilton) and talk about….
Kampaaalaaaa!
Kampala is awesome. Period. Let me sit you down and tell you why Kampala is awesome to a Ugandan PCV…
Refrigeration
You may think you appreciate refrigeration, but you would appreciate it a lot more if you turned off your refrigerator for 27 months and then only went into the refrigerated section of the grocery store once a month.
That is appreciation of refrigeration.
When I was in Kampala, I ate gelato every day. That was ~14 days of gelato this trip. And I'm not even sorry about it, because if you think refrigerators are cool, then you've only scratched the surface of my feelings toward freezers.
"What's cooler than cool?
Ice cold!"
Not Being the Only White Person
I haven't finished my "Mundo Complex: 1 Part Celebrity, 2 Parts Alien" post, but it's coming and I'll give you the cliff notes right now. Being white (ok, it just so happens that I'm white, I should really say being American) in Uganda comes with a lot of strings. You're always noticed. You're always watched. By everyone.
All.
The.
Time.
And you don't speak the language. Or know the culture. Or how much things should cost. Or why what you just said was so funny ("that is how you say hello… isn't it?"). It's exciting at first, and then it's exhausting.
By way of example, you know how draining grocery shopping can be after work? Ok, there are times when it's like that: After a long week of teaching, I just want to walk into market, grab my eggs and other groceries and GTF home (and there's no refrigeration, so I'm making this trip almost every other day). But there are days when I have to earn those groceries, and some days I have to prove my worth more than others. Sometimes, I walk a gamut of boda drivers yelling: "Hey mundu!" "Hey sister!". Then I prove my mettle by insisting that I know eggs do not go for 600 shillings an egg, but are, instead, 400 shillings an egg. But that's only if I know the price, because if I don't know the price, then I've got to kind of guess as to what it might be and how much I'm being overcharged. And I need to decide this and haggle all in a language I don't know. Then I force a smile as my horrible Lugbarati is laughed at the minute I turn around and push past all of these people who don't look like me to find the next stall. And when I've done all of this and traversed the entire market and I have my eggs and whatever else I need in tow, I get to head home.
Ok, don't get me wrong. I generally love my market. I know it doesn't sound like it from that last paragraph, but the previous paragraph is a worst-case market scenario to illustrate why being back in a "Western" environment can be so refreshing. But let me give a shout-out to my egg guy who knows my name and gives me a great deal on eggs. 16 eggs for $1.50. Yeah. He's a boss.
So being in Kampala, I'm overcharged, but at least I'm overcharged the same amount as every other customer, and I don't feel like I'm under a microscope because of my skin color. It just can be a nice break from site, even if I don't know another person there. But if I do know someone, then that brings me to my next point...
Other PCV's!
This might sound like it's the same thing as not being the only American, but being around other PCV's is different because you're around people to whom you can easily relate. You're instantly acquaintances, and you've found people with whom you can speak English as fast as you want, riddled with the most nonsensical slang, and they know what you're saying. And, more remarkably, you know what they're saying!
And you get to let your internal "Be Culturally Appropriate" regulator take some R&R. You can wear jeans and drink and not have to worry about permanently ruining your standing in your community (though everything in moderation, of course).
And, if these PCV's are from your cohort, it means you get to catch up with your friends and hear the latest cohort... updates! I know I know gossip is meh and shallow and I get that, but I'm going to level with you: After a month of working with 4th grade kids, I need some straight-up guilty pleasure convos to recharge my adult life.
So yeah. Going to Kampala is bomb. And for the first week I was there, I loved it. When I wasn't sitting at PCMO, I got to see my friends, enjoy my share of frozen foods and overpriced drinks, and just generally chill out in coffee shops (with electricity and wifi) reading and writing to my heart's content.
So I was pretty surprised when, the next week, I found myself anxious to leave.
Whoa.
I actually wanted to go back to site. I was ready to leave the hotel that prepared coffee and pancakes for me each morning. I missed my home with no hot water. I missed visiting my market and saying "hi" to my Rolex guys who greet me each time I arrive. I missed my teachers and making progress at site. I missed being alone in my happy hermitude. I even missed being in a place where I could at least try to speak Lugbarati.
As the second week went on, I felt more and more guilty for missing so much time at site, and was relieved when I finally was given the go-ahead to return. Funny enough, the night before I left, a huge influx of PCV's from my cohort arrived in Kampala for a Spelling Bee conference. They were staying for several days and asked that I spend just one extra night with them. The offer was tempting -- I hadn't seen them for nearly a month, but the itch to return to site was so strong I ended up taking the first bus out of Kampala the following morning.
When I came back to site, I was nervous. I'd been gone for a long time, much longer than I anticipated, and I wasn't sure how the staff and community members would react to my return.
I could not have been more pleasantly surprised.
Everyone greeted me with such genuineness and enthusiasm, it made my heart warm. The school's staff was happy to have me back and expressed their concerned about my health as they waved away any guilt I had for leaving. My friends in the market reached to shake my hands and told me I had "been lost", which means I had been gone for too long, and that they were happy I was back. The waitresses at a local café gave me a hug as I entered and told me I "was welcome" (Americans shorten this to "welcome"). And, over and over, instead of hearing "mundu", I heard my (Lugbara) name: Ayikoru.
A PC staff member came to visit me not long after I was back in site and asked how things were going, I told her sometimes it takes leaving a place to make you realize how much you appreciate it.
Integration is a process that's so slow and subtle it makes itself invisible. I had no idea how comfortable I felt in my community until I was one of a mass in a metropolis like Kampala. I appreciated how comfortable I felt in my market, crossing the busy main road that divides the town, and walking in the compound of my school. I recognized how much I value the intimacy of the small PCV bubble that makes Best Nile what it is. I loved that I know the names of the "watchmen" (guards) who monitor the gate outside my school and the teachers who work within.
I still stand by how great going to Kampala is… but I'm so happy now that I think it's equally great to come back to my home in Best Nile, where everyone... ok, where many people know my name.
TL;DR: A Picture Summary...
"Dude. Get me out of here."
"I f****** love Best Nile."
