Memories Via My Favorite Quotes

Once again I think I need to blog but do not know what to say. So, it occurred to me that it might be interesting if I compile a list of the many quotes that I have been collecting since I arrived in January. Some do not need explanations. Those that do, I will try to keep them short enough but still adequate. 

 “I like airports and rain. They remind me of romantic movies when you’re saying goodbye to someone you love.” –USP student (don’t remember who. . .) at the airport in Amsterdam. January 6, 2012. 

“I don’t think ‘It’s all God’s plan’ is always correct. The world is sinful and people get caught in the crossfire, and it sucks. God grieves at suffering.” –Tiffana, telling me part of her story in the dining hall. January 11, 2012.

“At the end of the day, I think God saves us from many diseases; because what we used to do in boarding school. . .(laugh) oh my.” –my sister Hannah telling me about how her and her friends tried desperately to avoid washing clothes and bed sheets when they were in boarding school because the woman who supervised was annoyingly strict. January 16, 2012. This quote went through my head numerous times during rural homestay when we only rinsed our hands before dinner. 

“I just want to serve you. . .If you don’t want tea, will you take some water?” –Papa. January 18, 2012.

“You can’t not like a practicum; that’s like throwing away a Bible!” –Tiffana, as we were submitting our top choices for the location where we would serve at least 40 hours over the course of the semester. January 18, 2012.

“I will stay awake and wait for my heart’s sweetie to arrive.” –Momma, at the dinner table. My dad had been gone all day and was returning late. Hannah responded with a laugh and, “Mommy, it is ‘sweetheart.’ What are you saying?” February 2, 2012.

“Your voice is like a baby.” –Hannah, to me about my voice when I was excited about something (I think). Thought you all might like this one.  February 8, 2012.

“Jesus is the most handsome.” –Papa, to the room full of his “daughters” during evening devotions on the week preceding Valentine’s Day. February 8, 2012.

“This place is a small America.” –Momma, about the potato peeler she likes to use in the kitchen. (Most African households have only one knife.) February 10, 2012.

“This Christian says the sermon is too long.” –Papa, expressing to Momma that Hannah is looking distressed about how much she is talking. Hannah wants to go to bed, but Momma keeps talking about the evening devotion. Feb 10.

Conversation: “Sometimes, people do not act Christian.” –Momma. “It is the same in America.” –Me. “No, we think Americans are angels!” –Momma, showing that really the grass is always greener on the other side. My family has visited the States a few times; they have had very good experiences with Americans…. “What else (other than nursing homes) shocked you about America?” –Me. “Americans are always eating! Walking, sitting, in class, driving! It was strange, but then I liked that freedom.” –Papa, commenting on the cultural difference in the way we eat. In Uganda, it is not really polite to eat or drink and move. We are supposed to sit to eat or drink, although slowly, I think the youth are changing this somewhat. Hannah definitely does not care; she walks and eats whenever she wants. Her friends chide her. February conversations.

“The devil is contextual. He works differently in different cultures. Americans struggle with porn. Village men do not because they have no internet.” –Shadrach, a Kenyan Anglican Reverend. February 28, 2012.

In our evening prayers, papa often prays for good dreams. When I asked him about it, he said, “You shouldn’t take them for granted; they can easily be Satanic influenced.” February 28. Offers a fresh perspective to think about, especially in a culture that deals with a lot of witchcraft and other forms of spiritual forces.

“Are those the same jeans you wore into Kampala last month?” –Hannah to me. “Yes. . .” –Me. “Ah. They were loose then, now they are fitting!” –Hannah, as she smirks. March 4.

“The Lord will perfect that which concerns me./The Lord will fulfill his purposes for me.” –Psalm 138:8 KJV/NIV. A verse we discussed during evening devotions, March 13.

“If Kirabo (that’s me. They gave me a name in their language; it means “gift.”) were really my daughter and a man came to me to marry her, I would demand 20 cows.” –Papa, during a conversation discussing the African customs of bride price. Money and cars, no matter the value, do not measure up to the expected standards. At least one cow is always necessary, or the family will be disappointed (at best) or simply refuse. March 19.

“If God willed it, I would help my wife give birth; she shouldn’t have to do that all the time. She will get tired.” –Andrew, graduate and now employee at UCU. Our conversation was about gender roles in Africa. They are definitely changing among the formerly educated.

“I forgot what it is like to not have diarrhea” –Tiffana, the poor woman has not been healthy for much of this semester, but she still has a sense of humor 

Spring Break in a Village of Uganda

Alright, I have delayed long enough writing an update since rural homestays because I wanted something profound, or at least reflective, to say. But alas, I do not have much yet and it has been too long, I figure I should just summarize my stay in the village for you all. I will add reflections later when I have them!  J I apologize now for the length, and potential scatteredness, of the following!

Family Introduction

I will begin by introducing my family in Serere District. There are two grandmother figures in our compound, likely in their 70s. I think both are more like great aunts really, but the family referred to them as “Tata,” which means grandma. (Yes, you are allowed to laugh, I am aware of the English connotation.) These women lounged on their mats for most of the day, but they did some work as well. I once observed them bringing some firewood in the morning for the day’s cooking! Next is “Tata Mary;” she is the actual grandmother of the house, considerably younger than the first two. Some mornings she fries African pancakes to sell to the school children during breaks. She is also in charge of supper preparation. I didn’t realize until about Wednesday of my week there (Mind you, Thursday was our last full day with them.) that she spoke pretty good English! She hadn’t spoken a lot to me, other than greetings, so I had kind of thought that she was not fluent. Wrong! Too bad it took me until day 5 to realize this; oh well. Then there are the young parents of the children, Moses and Christine. Moses is still finishing up school, so he is gone most of the time, but he came to greet me and be with his family for the weekend. I spent most of my time with Christine. She gathers food from the fields for breakfast and lunch in the mornings, takes care of the cows, and sews. She is in her 30s (I believe) and has 5 children; I met 4 of them—Roman (16), John (14), Getrude (9), and Michelle (2). I shared a room with Getrude, who is so incredibly sweet and helpful. Her English is better than she initially lets you believe! We spent a lot of time reading English from one of her school books. And little Michelle is entirely adorable; she taught me the word for mom in Ateso simply by repeating it multiple times—“Toto.” We entertained ourselves by talking to each other in our own languages. It is incredibly easy to make a 2 year old giggle when she has no idea what I am saying! There are also two other children who live with the family; they are somehow related, but I don’t remember how. Boaz is 9 and Deanna is 7. They are cute too; I left Boaz my Ohio State jersey. (I wanted to get the 4 little ones to do O-H-I-O with their bodies, but the language barrier was making it complicated and I gave up sadly. Would’ve made a great picture!)

A General Outline of the Week

First of all, it should be noted that it was dry season, so there was not much work to do, and you all know how well I sit still. The average day consisted of waking not too early (because it was dry season and my family didn’t actually wake me up anyway, which was nice!). My younger siblings went off to the school across the street between 7 and 7:30. My momma gathered some potatoes from the garden for food for the day. And then she took the cows to get water from the swamp; I got to go with her one morning. It was about a 20 minute walk through tall grass that scratched my legs, over uneven ground with manure scattered everywhere in the lovely hot sun. When she returned and tied the cows in the fields, it was time for breakfast. After breakfast, we pretty much just chilled waiting for the kids to come home for lunch. Then we would bathe and go visit various people around the village each afternoon. Supper at my house was ready around 9 pm and always consisted of some form of meat (namely, fish or chicken) in a broth served with atop and posho; we ate with our hands. J

Specific Details

The first day I arrived, they made me feel so welcome, especially the children. Pretty sure I had 4 of them playing with my hair within 2 minutes of sitting down.

I have to say that a highlight was bathing outside. I know that’s weird, but it’s the truth! Granted, I prefer running water with an absence of various outdoor elements floating in it, but it is kind of cool to bathe with your little sister under the stars!

Another highlight was watching Getrude beat a coconut with a stick until she got to the edible part for me to taste. Along with that, watching 2 year old Michelle eat the coconut was so cute; yes, I took a picture. J The coconut itself was orange, so I am not certain if that is actually a different species of coconut or what, but that is how they translated it for me. I didn’t think that it tasted very good, but the kids seemed to like it. They also liked tiny mangoes—rind and all—that are extremely bitter. I tried to avoid receiving such fruits from the children as gifts!

One aspect of my week that was difficult for me to deal with, because I have been trained to eat breakfast within minutes of waking up (and sometimes, I even get up before I need to because I find myself hungry), was the timing of “breakfast.” Typical time was between 11 and 12, which was about 4 or 5 hours after getting up. That is not awful when I have something to do; it was bearable when I was with Christine and the cows, but the morning she left me at the compound with Michelle and one of the grandmas was bad! It ended up being kind of funny though. Michelle gets hungry quickly too, so I knew that she could start crying any time after 10:30. The sad part was that I felt helpless! Not only would making our own breakfast entail using a charcoal stove that I could not even turn on (and at this point in the week, I hadn’t paid attention to how they lit the fire), but I could not find where they kept the food. Nonetheless, I continued to wonder around the kitchen hut, looking for where they kept the eggs, until the grandma figured out what I wanted. She couldn’t find what she wanted to make food either. So we ended up peeling potatoes to boil; pretty certain we peeled enough for the entire day and some leftovers.

I had two silly goals going in that I actually was able to accomplish: carry something on my head and slaughter a chicken. Throughout the week, I went with Getrude to get water from the well across the street, by the school. The villagers were all amused by the mzungu balancing a jerrycan full of water on her head. (Getrude used one hand to balance her load, so I figured I didn’t look too silly doing the same.) When I returned from walking with the children on my last night there, John followed me in the house and said, “You come and slaughter the hen,” as he pretended to slice his own neck open with his finger to make sure I understood. I simply said ok and followed him with my camera that he told me to grab. Christine asked me if I was ok to kill dinner or if I “feared” to do it. I obviously wanted to, and so the whole family moved to where the boys had dug a hole for the blood and feathers. Christine showed me how to stand with one foot on the hen’s feet, the other on its wings, and hold the head up with my opposite hand. I had never done anything close to that before, so I was a little nervous and held onto Christine’s arm so she could not let go of the head. Then I cut its head off. J Sadly, we do not have very good pictures of either the jerrycan on my head or the chicken slaughtering.

 A final and funny highlight was a conversation with some men about a plethora of awkwardness. After the “hotel” (more like small restaurant) owners fed Christine and me, she translated their first question to me, “How come we can never see your breasts?” . . .My mind went all sorts of directions within a few seconds. “Huh... Is something missing in that translation?. . . Thank you, that means I dressed well today!. . . What do they actually mean?. . .How do I answer that?” It eventually occurred to me that they were asking about white women in general. Still awkward, unless I understand (and I did thankfully) that African culture does not really consider the breasts to have anywhere close to the sexual connotation that American culture does, they are simply a method to feed children, so there is no point in treating them as something that needs covered at all costs. So, after recovering nicely from momentary shock, I explained that in America, women are more free to show some of our thighs but not our breasts. However, I do not think any amount of trying to explain that difference was going to get through to them. Next awkward question, “In America, you only have 2 or 3 children, what methods do you use?” Again, my mind went all sorts of directions. “Do I look like I am an expert on birth control methods? Um, well my method is I don’t have sex, pretty simple people. They must not have birth control in the villages. Ok, so how much do I explain to them from what I do know?” So I gave as brief an answer as possible about the pill and condoms. Then Christine explains that they have those and other options that I had heard of in the States. So I am still a bit confused as to the reasoning behind that question, but it definitely made my last afternoon entertaining!

Oh! One last thing, in America, one generally is careful not to trip over, or step on, the dog when you wake in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. At my home in the village, I had to be careful not trip over the cow!  

Some Reflections Before Life in the Village

If anyone would have said to me in December, "Americans need Jesus too. There is so much ministry that needs to be done here." I would have said, "Duh; all of us need Jesus." If someone had dared to express to me, "Maybe God will call u to stay here in the States." I would have said "I know that He can, but please no! Don’t make me stay here!"I think a big part of me really expected to come here and have some sense of "I want this to be home”—maybe not Uganda specifically, but somewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa, or anywhere but the States. I don't know why, but such is what I had pictured for so long in my head.

Culture shock for me was not a struggle with latrines or dirt floors (partially because I do not have either at my home here); culture shock for me has been the realization of something that I already knew on a cognitive level. Humans are fallen creatures who need redeemed by our Savior daily—Ugandan Christians as much as Americans. I came already affectively valuing Ugandan culture “as a means by which God reveals different aspects of himself," (our one syllabus) and I think I had a somewhat romanticized version of what Christianity would look like being lived in Africa anywhere. But I was soon blinded by the fact that sin distorts God’s revelation here as much as at home. Please do not misunderstand; there are indeed a lot of great people on this campus and the surrounding community who genuinely love the Lord and endeavor to follow HIm. But there are also those, just like in America, who profess faith in Christ and do not live as He bids us to. 

 I have for so long wanted to leave the States; since high school, I have desired to serve the Lord elsewhere. Missionaries (not the ones who served colonial interests rather than Jesus) have been my heroes of faith. I think I express that often to anyone who talks to me long enough! Now, I am aware that my home is a part of me that I truly love and miss, so much more than I expected to. That is not to imply that I cry myself to sleep here and long to go home already (because I'm definitely not anywhere close to being in that state of mind), but for the first time ever in my life, I think that I am legitimately willing to live in the States for as long as Jesus asks me to do so. Before coming to Uganda, I was also "willing"--out of a love, passion, and trust in His plan--but I would never have ceased to feel antsy and would have constantly asked, "Ok, can I go somewhere now?....How about now??" Today, I am more willing on an emotional level to enjoy my home culture, and I don’t know if I can adequately express how strange it feels for me to say that. I think I grasp more fully the concept Paul expresses in Romans 1, that the creation groans waiting for the Lord to be revealed. This world will never truly be home in the fullest sense, so I should stop subconsciously thinking that traveling anywhere is going to fix the spiritual longing that is in all of us for something beyond what we have here. This life will never bring complete fulfillment, and that is a large part of the point of the Gospel.

Generalizations, Blanket Statements, Assumptions, Stereotypes: All Formed for One Legitimate Reason or Another, but Made to be Broken!

As most of you are aware, I am living with a wonderful host family in Mukono for an entire semester; they are wonderful but not even close to what I expected. Apart from the physical location being much “nicer” than I anticipated, my family members do not fit my previous conception of a typical Ugandan family. I did not anticipate they would fit exactly within the mold we tend to put them, but I did assume they would to some extent, at least in more ways than they do. One dominant ideal in Africa that is discussed in my department at school is that of patriarchy. Africa is considered a traditional society that is extremely patriarchal in countless ways, from perceptions of who does the cooking to men buying their wives with cows. In my family here, my papa knows his way around the kitchen; I am told that once, when my mama was bedridden, a maid ran off because she could not handle sharing kitchen work with a man. He is a reverend by profession; in Uganda, that means people are expected to serve him whenever he goes anywhere. (Traditionally, the more glorified a leader is, the better off his people consider themselves.) But my papa understands Jesus’ mandate to serve as one that applies to him as well as the layperson. One time, he even begged me to let him serve me something, even if it was just a glass of water. The patriarchal stereotype is further broken during our family devotion time. My first Sunday with them, we did not attend church because we were exhausted from a function on Saturday. In the evening, we had a mini church service in our living room. I was nominated the preacher, for some strange reason, my sister the sermon director (not sure how this is different from preacher, but it meant she read from “Our Daily Bread” devotional and I read the Scripture passage), and my other sisters the intercessors. Such practice is typical of our devotion times; he sometimes takes the verbal lead, but he is more often the silent leader, not what one expects to encounter in a society that is labeled patriarchal.

My sister Hannah also proved to be not what I expected. When imagining a young African woman, even one in the city, what do you envision? One who is tough, not easily grossed out, super conservatively dressed, maybe dirty nails, most likely married by age 23 with a child, and certainly more than able to handle a few chickens? That’s what I would have said before arriving here. The reality is that Hannah is super gorgeous. She likes to paint her nails and gets her hair done frequently. Her wardrobe is adorable, and I would wear anything in it in the States (some of her skirts sit an inch or two above her knees). She does not want to be married anytime soon, and she does not want a houseful of children when she does get married. And she definitely needs some practice handling the chickens she owns!

Recently, she is in the process of beginning a small business on the side of raising and selling chickens. Since she works in Kampala, the family pays some guys to tend to the chicks throughout the day. One night, we all strolled down the trail to the “farm” to check on the little animals. Upon arriving, my papa told Hannah to hold one and tell him about how much it weighed. She stepped inside the coop, and bent over to grab one. It flapped its wings rapidly; she squealed and jumped backwards. We all laughed. She tried again, same result, “How am I supposed to catch one?! They fly away! And they feel nasty!” Papa said “You just grab it quickly,” as he demonstrated with his hands. Hannah’s expression persisted declaring, “There’s no way this is happening. Why do I have to do this anyway?” Papa then turned to me and nudged me to give it a try. I stepped inside, took a small breath, bent down and attempted to grab one. This first try was similar to Hannah’s, without the intense squeal (shocking, I know). Then I took a deep breath and told myself that I was smarter than the half grown chicken, lunged quickly, and succeeded in scooping it up in my hands! I then turned to try to give it to Hannah so that she could hold it and estimate its weight (in kg). She again tried to hold it but instantly backed up with an additional look of disgust when she felt the thin layer of feathers against its warm little body. Her quick movements made the bird react with flapping wings, so I set it down. Papa still wanted a weight estimate from Hannah, so I again captured another chicken, hoping she might be able to take if from my hands. She again did not. We left the coop laughing hysterically as I declared we were both born in the wrong country. J

My Home in Uganda

My Life: From Eldest to Baby

           My role in my Mukono family is completely reversed from my role in the States. I am the baby for the first time in my life; I am clueless about how to run the home. I cannot prepare dinner without some guiding hands in the kitchen, nor can I even effectively string the pumpkin leaves with the necessary guiding hands nearby! My older sisters take care of everything intuitively, from breakfast to supper dishes every day of the week. When it comes to clothes-washing, I think I have learned how to effectively wash my underwear. Other than that, I have been here almost 20 days and still have yet to hand-wash the entirety of my wardrobe. On Sunday afternoon, I followed my one sister outside to learn how to wash my clothes first hand. I already had them soaking in the detergent, but when I got outside, she made me get a chair and commanded me to sit down and watch her. She said something like, “This is African work; it’ll hurt your hands.” When I tried to shrug it off, she was adamant, “No, I’m serious.” My role in my host family here is certainly not that of an adult daughter who only needs re-acclimated to life in my family; rather, it is more that of a small child who must follow her mother and older sisters around simply observing, anticipating the moments when they allow me to jump in and help in small ways.

However, I am not perceived entirely as a child incapable of anything on my own. I also have a role as an aunt to two lovely nieces, ages 6 and 8.The electricity went out last night, and the girls loved being allowed to run around the house with my “torches” (I was informed that in America we may call them flashlights, but here they are torches.) to let out some energy so they could sleep. After letting them play with my hair—doing everything from checking for lice and other critters to “styling” it nicely—and showering, they both declared, “I do not have sleep; do you have sleep?” (That is their way of saying “I’m not tired; are you?”) The dilemma was nothing a few Bible bedtime stories could not cure. J By the third one, they were out cold, my six-year-old roommate not even under the covers. At 2:30, I was awakenedd to a small voice, “Auntie…..Aunt Reina….”

“Yes?”

“Goodnight,” and she pulled down her covers to crawl inside for the rest of the night. My interaction with the girls is not something that happens at home in the States, and it is a difference that I have cherished because they are only visiting; they will be leaving Thursday of this week.

 I have mentioned that I have several older sisters, but I have not explained how they are my sisters. My parents here have one biological daughter; her name is Hannah. She graduated from Uganda Christian University and currently works in Kampala at an NGO. She arrives home late in the evening and does not help with the kitchen detail the majority of the time. Then there is Joyce, who just got a job at a hotel managing the housekeeping department; because of her hours, she stays somewhere else during the week so I rarely see her. Melanie and Karen are also part of my family here. I originally believed them to be biological sisters of Hannah, but I slowly discovered that they are more like cousins. Karen is around 26 years old and helps Mama Joyce in her shop just outside of town during the day. Melanie is 22 and works as a seamstress in Mukono because she cannot yet afford a sewing machine of her own. One of them is always home early during the week to prepare dinner for the rest of the family; the other washes dishes after. (House rule is whoever cooks does not touch the dishes. Yesterday me chopping onions, peppers, tomatoes and stirring some soup constituted “cooking,” and I was forbidden to help clean up.)

More to come about the "Kuhingira" we attended and the chickens that Hannah is raising to sell!!

First Impressions

One instruction we keep receiving is “bathe at least once a day”…..not the idea most people have of Africa, but certainly an easy command to follow for the girl who dislikes dirt under her nails for too long, or dirty feet in bed. J

The home where I am staying is extremely nice! The program prepared us with two sets of sheets and towels and washcloths and mosquito nets and toilet paper. Of that list, I am only using their washcloth! Mama Joyce had everything else covered. I have my own bathroom….and shower, the kind that are over a tub. Heck, I could take a bath if I wanted! I’m not even using shower shoes! Who knew I would be in Africa with a better looking bathroom set up than what I have in my own room at home? (however, the electricity goes out often, which i expected and my shower did not work the past two nights, so it is not exactly like America. lol) …..So, I am living in a very lovely home with a pastor and his wife, who have daughters all older than me! I am the baby for the first time in my life! (Currently, Im uncertain if one daughter is actually a house maid or something....she doesnt sleep in the house i dont think. so im confused!) Hannah is the next youngest, and she is great. She has a boyfriend who lives in Kampala, who came to visit her this afternoon. He also seems great; before we dropped him off, he told me I was allowed to kidnap the baby next door any time I wanted. J Then we took him to the place in Mukono where he could catch a bus back to Kampala. I think they both work for some sort of NGO. …My room has a tile floor, and is big enough for two—there are two full size beds and still plenty of space for a place to iron clothing and a full length mirror! :) They wont let me help much yet with chores either; keep telling me Im still new. Also, I came to realize that my mom works in something like a Christian bookstore not far from campus. and my dad has three titles in front of his name "Rev. Canon Dr. John Kateeba"....and he works on the campus, i think with relationships with other universities or something. idk. he also preaches sometimes. At any rate, i can get a ride to school if i dont have to be here too early! I'm spoiled, even in Uganda! :)

Supper is around 7 or 8 in my house, which is early for Ugandan families. After supper, we have family devotions, which consists of prayer and reading Scripture from "Our Daily Bread" devotional. it is very nice :)

Ugandans walk so slowly compared to Americans, and I walk fast compared to the average American! So, maybe I'll be slower when i come home? We shall see.

Alright, that's all for now. I should go to tea in the dining hall. Yes, we have a break for tea at 10 am! (you do not have to go.) I might find the man named Samson, who likes to talk about politics....reminds me of someone i know in the States.....;)

In the Airports!

So, this is me making sure I know how to use this thing! I set it up in the DC airport, and I am currently sitting in Amsterdam! I deduced that Holland's flower has to be the tulip because they are everywhere....might have to buy one on the way home! (Probably not...) Anyways, I really wanted to sleep, but ended up watching Jane Eyre and Midnight in Paris (for the second time). So I watched two movies and got to know the wonderful ladies next to me. :) We had lots of blonde moments...I know, shocking! The food was pretty good for dinner!
"I feel tired but not; excited but surreal." That was Christina's statement when we sat down and I think it sums up the long day(s) pretty well!
Ok, that's all for now; I'm blogging about an airport! lame!