My P4 English teacher.

As I write this blog post, a special woman is on my mind. I met her over 2 decades ago. Her name was Jennifer and she was my P4 English teacher. As we commemorate World Aids Day I think of her.

Ms. Jennifer was one of the most beautiful women I met in my first 8 or 9 years on this planet. She was probably in her early twenties, young, graceful and energetic. When she walked into the classroom a pleasant aroma filled the air. Her clothes fit just right, gently hugging her tall slender frame. Her big Afro was smooth like a curved sponge. I remember how she'd use the tip of a pencil to sooth the itch on her scalp while I dug into mine with all five fingers.
I was never afraid of her, mostly respectful. She didn't see reason to spank unless one clearly misbehaved  or failed English terribly but that was hardly ever the case. I loved to listen as she read excerpts from J.A.Bright's Junior English Composition and Grammar and The Nile English Course.
She was a confident, African woman, who had mastered the English language teaching us verbs, nouns, pronouns, adverbs, adjectives and more. I admired her.
I joined the Girl Guides club because she was one of the patrons. She taught me how to salute, to stand "at ease" with my feet slightly apart and my hands in a loose grip behind my back and to stand "alert" with my feet together and my hands in tight fists at my side. She smiled with pride when we sang the girl guide anthem she's taught us;
"Our way is clear as we march on and see our flag on high.
Is never furled through out the world for hope shall never die.
We must unite for what is right in friendship true and strong.
Until the earth in it's real birth shall sing a song, shall sing a song".

I caught a glimpse of her one late afternoon, while I was making my way through the taxi park . People pushed and shoved, conductors shouted taxi destinations, mini vans filled every little space. I had to wiggle my way through the micro spaces but I couldn't wade through the crowd fast enough. She looked a little haggard, her cheekbones were more pronounced, her clothes hang loosely on her tall frame. Her light beautiful skin was riddled with dark spots. My heart sunk as I watched her fade away.  The virus hadn't spared her. It didn't honor her beauty nor esteem her purpose here.
Many little girls and boys will not have the opportunity to sit in her class and listen to her read stories from J.A Bright.
I'm told she passed away.
Today I think of her, of Mr. Tibs, Mr. Sande, Mr.Zaddock and many other young men and women who caught the virus and were not even aware that it was lurking out there.
Then I think again - the means by which she met her end doesn't matter as much as her impact this side of heaven and more importantly if she made her way into the Pearly gates.
Right now, I'm grateful that she taught me English. Even though she is gone, it's a language that I will always know and remember her by.

Let us thank God for friends and family who have gone. Love and care for those who are still here battling this disease. And carefully steer clear of it's way; be faithful, abstain ... you know the works.

World Aids Day!

A girl needs a good shoe

I like a good shoe. I feel confident in a good shoe. It keeps toes and heels free of  blisters. I stand tall and walk with a little bounce. But recently I made the most interesting discovery.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that little Miss. A needed new shoes. She'd had three long serving pairs; Sandals, Snow boots and "Sunday best". With the cool temperatures setting in, sandals were impractical, besides, her toes nearly grabbed the front sole, not to mention that they were in shreds from summer escapades. The snow boots from last winter and the "Sunday best" faced a similar problem, they didn't fit any more.
Usually Mr. O or I would make the trip to the store, roughly gauge the size and bring home our findings to be fitted. It had worked in the past.  This time I thought it brilliant to take her along.

Once in the shoe store, we made our way to the kids section. I pulled out a shoe and she gladly tried it on. I saw another shoe that looked better and she tried it on too.Then she figured that instead of sitting and waiting for mom to bring the shoe, she would make her own picks, glitter being the main attraction. Before I knew it she was pointing at this shoe and pulling out the other shoe, steadily picking up speed and excitement as she went along. Her heart was racing, she was frantic. As I reorganized the store and returned the shoes she had scattered, she tapped my shoulder. She beamed her most brilliant smile, leaned forward, raised her eyebrows and as if she had discovered something extraordinary, said with finality, "Mommy, we go!". She was ready to walk out the store in this wonderful pair of multicolored rain boots. She was beside herself. She had found THE shoe! The only problem was, mommy had money enough for a pair of practical shoes. Rain boots wouldn't work for everyday use.

She would not let me touch her. She would not allow me to take the shoes off. Mommy was not good for her at this point in time, she lost all composure. She came undone. A serious case of meltdown. She screamed, her hands fell loosely at her sides as she shrugged her shoulders. Her little heart was breaking and falling to pieces right there on the shoe store floor. Tears were spilling out (at this point I would like you to imagine the animated cartoon characters with tears sprouting like a fountain).
I was beside myself too. Shoppers cast subtle glances, kids peeped from behind their parents. I had never seen little Miss. A  so unbraided. What had over taken my calm little Ms.? Why was she reacting so?
Turns out, she was truly spoiled for choice. Who knew that shoes would have such a profound impact on a 2 year old girl?
I finally managed to draw the curtain on the spectacle, I picked a pair of practical shoes and little Ms.A happily carried them all the way home. She promptly sat down on the living room floor and changed into her new shoes for the rest of that evening.

A good shoe. Every woman loves a good shoe. It runs in this family - mother, grandmothers' (one and two) and maybe even great grandmother (I will research).
So, I can't blame little Miss. A, she just needs to practice self control, that is how we all survive and sometimes ... it's just the lack of money.

Happy Friday!!!

The day after

It is official, Obama won reelection!  He has 4 more years to finish what he started and he had better because …

Last night I hoped to be awoken by screams of elation from the winning “side” (left/right) but the neighborhood was as quiet as the Vatican (but maybe it's just my village). Eyes were glued to TV screens and fingers were hitting refresh buttons. Fine!  I have no problem with that but after the results, couldn’t people shout ko? They got the news, turned off their TVs and went straight to bed quietly.

 I flash back to Uganda and the buzz that would go on in the streets till morning. The cheering - as if in a football match. How the sounds carried a clear indication of who had won. Everybody would give their opinion or argue about who stole votes and so on.

We didn’t even have a public holiday! People stood in winding lines, in the cold, for over 2 hours just waiting to cast their vote. It took another 15 or so minutes to finish the voting process - ticking and affirming political views on the piece of paper, surely one needed a holiday. Back home it takes a whole day just to  tick the “hat”, “hoe”, “Chair”, “key” . These people don’t know how to have fun, maximize relaxation and minimize stress. One can’t even “pull the excuse” of voting on their boss because there is the option of early voting; in person, online, through the post office – tight!!!

I got onto the bus this morning and saw the same sullen faces. It was another ordinary day – business as usual. We listened to the drub vroom of the bus except for those who had ear phones. And even then, it’s not certain whether they were listening to gangnum style or NPR (National Public Radio). There was no expression of happiness or disappointment, just blank stares and straight faces.  At that moment I missed Fat boy, CBS, Mr. President and every other radio presenter discussing a version of the results over the taxi radio. Maybe I can blame the weather - it’s really chilly out here but honesty, abantu bano bansobedde!.

I grabbed a newspaper at the train station eager to get the details on swing states and all that, and then sat next to a guy who couldn’t be bothered. Really?? Was there an election yesterday? I asked myself.  At least show some relief that campaigns are over, no more “This is … and I approve this message” ads. But then again, I’m a simple Ugandan woman, watching from a bird’s eye view or maybe an ant’s.  I should take my excitement elsewhere no?

# Culture shock or different life styles.