Mrs.O's writing room.

I quickly forgot my peoples’ ways. Once, I mocked bazungu who wore flip flops and less than descent clothing. I thought they were making an effort to fit in, how wrong I was. You see, Americans for the most part are not snazzy dressers, except in New York and Dallas but don’t quote me. Smart is relative and I seem to have adopted the culture too. I’m embarrassed when I step onto Kampala’s streets with a rack sack and sandals and everybody is dressed as though they were attending a function; high heels, trendy clothes, suit and tie eeish! It’s hot, it’s dusty, it’s muddy, lighten up people! My rack sack makes life easy, I throw what I need in there, but lately it has caused me trouble. A guard in Nakumatt would not let me in, boy! That ruffled my feathers. He couldn’t give a good reason why I had to leave my bag at the check in desk except that it was the rule, well, I insisted. Something about exposure to efficient systems doesn’t allow me to settle for less. 20 minutes later I saw a m...

Ugandans’are breeding with urgency! Women are pushing out babies at an alarming rate, alas! Our schools are filled to capacity. No wonder the women’s section in the New Vision is constantly addressing pregnancy and childbirth. I once brushed off stories of parents’ registering their unborn children on school waiting lists. Because excellent schools were readily available in Texas, all one needed was to find a house in a good school district. Now that I’m home, I face the Ugandan reality - there is no room! Day care centers are packed, pre schools are jammed, primary schools are overflowing and since Mich has not been in the system, squeezing him in is proving to be harder than uprooting banana stumps. Apparently children introduced to learning abroad (America, UK) find it difficult to embrace the Ugandan system. Ugandans are steered by rote learning while the American system is based on the Psychology of the child, his state of mind and his emotions. One school had the head teachers ...

A woman emerged from the shell of a child. She was once a little girl, now, I can barely fathom the curves and dips of her frame. She sways from side to side as she walks, lifting her legs like 20 tons were attached to each ankle. I tilt my eyes slightly upwards to capture her face and my head moves from the left to the right to engulf her entire form. She ogles, follows, and traces my movements in an eerie fashion. If she could stop all the intensity I’d relax, but with no sisters, and a mother who is least likely to entertain a needy daughter, I end up being the scapegoat. She grunts nearly all the time. I wonder what runs the course of her mind for she seldom speaks. Not that she is shy, no! She will raise her voice at the slightest provocation, making her more cryptic. With her big, round, expressionless eyes looking straight at me she says, “I need to talk to you”. Before I brace myself or compose my thoughts, she unburdens her heart. Casually opening a can of worms, and pulling s...

After narrowing our house hunt to 2 locations, we picked the one with easier access to town and to public transport. The house is not ideal, but it works. When I expressed our interest to the landlady’s son, I told him he would never find better tenants; this was his only chance to salvage his mom’s house from disrespectful, filthy, ungrateful tenants. He put in a word for us when his mom got back; 2 days later we met to discuss the tenancy agreement. Madam Landlady was very chatty, being my parents’ age mate she was typically loaded with advice for any young ears willing to listen. She was articulate about her expectations, but also appreciated our need for privacy and space. I hope it turns into a long term cordial relationship. We are moving in slowly, should be done by early this week. Eachtime we pass by, the land lady is cleaning something or the other. I'm concerned that house inspections are going to be serious business. I'm Glad we finally found a place to call home.

I have been reacquainted with Kampala’s nooks and crannies, I’ve driven on the dusty roads of this beloved city in desperate search of a place to lay my head. Finding a house in Kampala is rather draining. If the house is not too small, then it is too far out, if the finishing is not shady, then the house is too expensive. The rooms are ill proportioned; landlords squeeze 3 rooms in a space sufficient for 2. Now that everyone has woken up to inbuilt wardrobes, instead of curving a space that sinks into the wall, wardrobes are built in a protruding fashion, making the room even smaller. Some landlords’ think because they have plastered a few tiles into the house it’s justifiable to charge exorbitant rates, even when the light fixtures are crooked. One broker was so excited to show me a house because it had a sitting room and a dinning. Uh … isn’t it standard to have both? Apparently not. One can get a house any where depending on the location and price. 100, 000/- can get you a hole in...

My page has collected dust and cobwebs these past couple of weeks but I haven't the time to keep it fresh or updated. I am in over my head; folding and stashing,shopping and packing,discarding and donating. I have walked for miles in department stores, barely aware of the passing of time - that was the fun part. The stress and strain engulfed me when I had to make trade offs, when my eyes were bigger than my pocket, when I was spoilt for choice, trying (in vain for the most part) to decipher between needs, wants and would be good to haves. "Now, if only I could have all 3 dresses". "These shoes are great! and so are those, and these and the others". "Mich would love this toy, I've got to get him those DVDs,the books are awesome too, what about the arts and crafts?". "I have just seen the most amazing pillows, they would look lovely in the sitting room, with those curtains,that rug ..." "Just look at these cooking pots, they would la...