Hallucinations In The Sun

The beginnings of craziness:

The swelter of a summer’s day stirs a sudden desire to perform regrettable acts, to disregard values that have governed life. As I strain to make my way home after a day at work the sun beats down with relentless pressure. I force one foot in front of the other and resist the urge to remain motionless - to shrivel up under its burning gaze. Concerns and frustrations coupled with the need to fit into a different culture, to be accepted and understood boil within. 

I straighten a paper clip and fix it in the Nissan parked in the car lot. I want to get in and drive away. The alarm goes off but I don’t care. I don’t care for the consequences, my instincts are not motivated by the need for a car. I just want a little attention. Sweat oozes from my pores. The reflection from the sun irks me. I want to scream. Now I understand why Camus’ Stranger pulled the trigger. The rays unravel crude instincts buried under frustrations and nagged by egotistic living and self-promotion. The sun messes with my senses, it melts my social conformity's, toasts my dignity and allover a sudden, nothing matters anymore. I turn the corner and see a man, the only other human being for miles. He is tall and fit, dressed in a light lavender shirt and black pants. I walk up to him and suggest something. A disconnection between what I believe and what I feel. I don’t care for his race. I don’t care that he doesn't know me. He says yes and we go our separate ways, forget it ever happened, we are strangers. The tension is released until another scotching sun roasts all my concerns in its flame.I won't see him again, he will move to a different city, use a different route and probably forget we ever met.

It has been 3 years since I saw familiar strangers on the street. We looked alike and spoke the same language even though our dialects were different. We crossed paths daily. On occasion we exchanged smiles. We were comfortable in the little city of Kampala. We shook our heads at the government’s lack of credibility and laughed at the same comedians on the taxi radio. Here, genuine smiles are few. We are permanently hypnotized by our gadgets; we download the latest apps, respond to office mail after midnight, advocate for animal rights, human rights, gun rights and the right to be wrong.

Cars whiz by, I come to a traffic light; red, yellow, green - it's my turn to walk across. The sun continues to play on my senses. I snap back into the present, my feet firmly on the ground - I keep walking.

Dentists and Poverty

Every time I walk into a dentists office, I'm reminded why I should have listened to mom. She told me sweets were not good for my teeth but it didn't register - Big G, toffees and tropical mint were essential to life. I insisted and look where it got me - constant sessions on that dreaded chair opening my mouth wide, sweating profusely as huge needles pierce my gums. I have cut a few inches off my waist and strengthened my stomach muscles in that chair.
The doctor drills, fills, cements and crowns and all the while thoughts of building sites and house construction flash across mind. My stomach feels like one big pool of cold porridge at the sound of those machines. I imagine the doctor might drill through my skull, or pierce through my lower jaw. When silent machines are invented perhaps I will be a happier patient. If  teeth were on our elbows perhaps it would not feel so life threatening, one could then choose to look away while the doctor poked and pulled. But because the teeth are attached to the head with special organs such as the ears and brain close by, the trauma is doubled. See,  my visits are not the 6 month routine checkups - they have increased to every 3 weeks or so (depending on my finances) it's a filling, a root canal, a crown or something similar.

In America once you have teeth trouble that is the beginning of bankruptcy. Dentists rub their hands in glee each time you walk through their doors. They scheme on how to squeeze every last penny out of you. They have always been on my "not so liked" list but the ones in America have quickly graduated to avoid at all costs. I'm inspired to floss and brush with extra gusto or else they will be the death of me. Each tiny problem is doubled in size and depth, cosmetic procedures are presented as essential.
I knew it was time to look up my dental insurance cover when one of my teeth started giving me trouble. In this country no doctor will touch you with a ten foot pole without insurance.
In Uganda by the third visit the dentist knew enough to go beyond the pleasantries and ask about the family and work. Here even after the 4th visit the doctor is still asking which country you come from and if you have family - the same questions he asked the first time you walked into his clinic. With his instruments in your mouth, the best you can do is roll your eyes.
I chose the closest dentist under my insurance cover. The first order of business was choosing what treatment he would provide - the cheap vs expensive . He let his assistant do all the negotiations while he listened in the background. Once the decision was made he put on a big smile and introduced himself with a handshake.  Every visit after that was like placing a down payment on a car which I would never drive. Sam had to intervene as the quotes were getting out of hand. Sometimes I didn't quite understand what I was paying for. We approached the accountant to ask about the overall bill which she printed. Sam began to ask line by line what the different charges were for and by the end of the visit it turned out I had paid $1,200 more than was necessary. By coincidence, on the day I decided to end the unhealthy relationship the dentist asked me to write him a review. I said I would and before I knew it and while still in the dentist chair he presented me with his own ipad - I was pressured to write the recommendation under his breath. That was the end. Lets just say I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley - his stern facial expressions and clear thirst for money still give me the chills. Money hungry doesn't even begin to describe him. I guess they are instructed to put up photos of their kids so that patients feel comfortable with them but I'm beginning to suspect, those kids were on loan.
I found a more pleasant dentist who explains the procedures before hand and gives you an estimate before he starts any kind of treatment.
Oh why did I not listen to mummy?!

African DNA!

I suspect Africans possess particular hereditary material. Some of the Africans I have met here highlight the very issues we are constantly battling in Uganda. To think that these people don't know each other and yet act the same way leads me to this interesting conclusion that there is African DNA. Certain streaks die hard!

I made an appointment with a Senegalese hair dresser and called her the day before to confirm. Because I had to juggle my schedule between taking kids to daycare, dropping my husband at the metro station and getting to my dental appointment, I rushed the little people's breakfast. So glad I was on schedule after the dental appointment, I drove at a good speed to the hair dressers 17 miles away (you could compare that to a trip from Kampala central to Namagunga). She let me in as soon as I arrived and proceeded to tell me how she burned her finger two days ago and therefore couldn't braid my hair. I don't know why she didn't provide this information earlier. I was speechless! I got into the car and started the journey back, this after she promised to call me later in the day to confirm another appointment. All my plans were thrown into disarray.
I decided to visit the shopping mall near home just in case I had some luck. I saw a "Best African Braids" sign on one of the stores but there was no one in sight. I stood there a while before a man (Ivorian) walked in from one of the rooms. He said they were open and would be happy to braid my hair but the girls were not yet in. He said they didn't live too far away and immediately made a phone call.
"Yeah! I got her, she will be here any time" He was looking over my shoulder as though she was just round the corner and would make an appearance any moment. Those actions were familiar but I thought "Nah! We be in America. Here people no do that". He took my number and told me to stay close by, my phone would ring any time. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and lingered around. An hour later, still no phone call. As I walked towards him he said "yeah, she has arrived, just in the parking lot". She must have had trouble parking the car because fifteen minutes later she still hadn't arrived.
The day was slipping through my fingers. The stylist (from Togo) finally appeared, we sat down and the first thing she told me was "I need to let you know that I'm pregnant!". Well, nice to meet you too. She said some people are superstitious about pregnant ladies plaiting hair which I thought was funny but I also thought - welcome to Africa! Confirmed DNA.

Bit by the Cat-love bug

Growing up I knew there were cats period. Dad brought kittens home and we loved them. We scrambled to carry them, to sleep with them, to feed them. They lapped milk in the morning and sometimes we shared our bread. We watched TV together and put pieces of meat or chicken bones on their plates at dinner time. We curved card board boxes for them to sleep in - life was simple. However since my little guy was bit by the cat-love-bug, I have been introduced to several tribes of cats.He did the research. He counted the cost. And now a cat has to come home.

Types of cats

His dad and I are not too thrilled about getting a pet, it's an additional member to the home and it comes with extra expenses. I don't have strength or the money for that. My little guy insists he will take full responsibility but if his room is anything to go by, I doubt a cat will help with the situation. Cat adoption in this place is a whole other thing; the temperature in the house should remain favorable even while you are away. The cat should be vaccinated, spayed, visit the dentist and a whole lot more.

shopping list

 Half the books he borrowed from the library were about cats.

 Internet research

He'd found out cat adoption was cheaper. He could get a cat for $4, it sounded cheap but I thought since it's adoption, it could be true.
We drove to an adoption center and browsed the cats. Most of them were asleep but occasionally opened one eye to lazily look out their cage windows at these human beings ohh-ing and aah-ing at them - definitely not impressed.
The kittens were active in comparison, they played together, chased their tails and other imaginary objects. Little miss A caught the cat-love-bug, she skipped and jumped, more excited than her brother.
I was still hangup on having to find someone to house sit the cat if/when we traveled away from home for a long period.
We inquired about the price of a cat and were told they went for $100. My little guys jaw nearly dropped to the floor with disbelief. "These people are too expensive".
I hoped that would be the end of that, but no! looks like he is over the shock.

Why The Caged Bird Sang

"Everyday bring everything all the time" Maya Angelou

Somewhere within us is the desire to leave a legacy. My 10 year old son is on a constant search for ways to become famous. One idea he contemplated was to jump out of a flying plane without a parachute. His dad explained that with such an act he would be far from famous and not have the chance to listen to what people thought about it. Now he is on a quest to find the one thing that hasn't been invented yet.
The road to greatness is not certain. Some people just know they are great, others stumble upon it, yet others wake up to it when encouraged and others still grow into it through the fortunate or not so fortunate events of  life. These events propel them to find the fire in their bellies that shoots them up to the top.
News of Maya Angelou's death ripped through social media like a wild fire.The Internet was like one big slide show of her photos and quotes, tributes were on every page. Those who had never heard of her quoted her like she was a personal friend. This woman was really great! I wished I had met her in person but the books and poems she wrote tell me almost everything I need to know about her.

I first learned about Maya while looking for a birthday present for a friend in Aristoc Booklex on Kampala road. I came across the book "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings", intrigued by the title I wanted to know why the caged bird sang. The author a plain African American woman, her simple look endearing. Her story; a black girl who at the age of 7 decided never to speak again after the man who raped her (her mothers boyfriend) was found dead. She blamed herself for his death after she had told her family and found out he had been "taken care of". She knew her words had killed him. In her mutism she read lots of books and only spoke to her brother. But that is not even half the story, so you know what to do to get the rest. She had me at "I Know Why ", I was hooked as a young girl myself. Her narration made for enjoyable reading presented in story form even though it was an autobiographic piece. The book I had meant as a birthday gift never left my home.

Many years later I came across audio biographical tapes on her life in the Dallas Public Library. I listened with diligence to the struggles of a young black single mother trying to forge her way through life. How she struggled with her identity as a black American woman, her relationships with men, with her mother and grandmother. How she moved to Africa and lived in Ghana and Egypt. Her involvement in The Civil rights struggle, The New Africa Movement, The Women's Movement. She was a vocal woman. She was a tough woman. I could only admire her and learn from her courage.
Imagine my excitement when late last year I read of her book signing event at the Politics and Prose bookstore a few blocks away from my office. I had just read her latest book "Mom & Me & Mom".  An autographed copy would have been a major highlight in my life. Sadly she canceled the trip due to poor health but I clung to the hope that the signed copy I had been promised would be delivered. It didn't happen.

Dr. Maya fascinated me. Her first hand encounters with several historical icons set her apart. She literally lived to tell the tale.  She was history in flesh - the Jajja who was there with Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr. Did you know he was shot on her birthday?. When in her deep voice she said "You should know what happened" it was time to drop everything, sit up straight and listen. Her account of events were detailed, engaging and truthful. It's wonderful to know that all this information is available for generations. She orchestrated her conversations to make every word  and every moment count. Her intelligence sprayed cool showers of enlightenment on all who listened.

Greatness emerged out of her misfortunes, they shaped her into the phenomenal woman she lived to be.The lists of accolades and awards she received are extensive. The little girl committed to mutism because she believed her words could kill flipped that around to become one of America's most famous activists, whose words are quoted all around the world. Her voice reached this little girl in Kampala and many other little girls around the world. Now I know why the caged bird sings and hope I too can tweet the message to the next generation.

"The most important virtue is courage, for without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently" Maya Angelou
"The truth is you must value every year, every era, every condition that you experience. None is more valuable than the other". Maya Angelou

A Girl with imagination and zest

"I'm going to turn you into a  bear!" She mumbles, waves her wand then strikes. The look on her face is priceless, like she actually believed her brother was going to start growling. She looks at him intensely as though in her mind it happened.
Perhaps she is the only one who sees the brown fur and the sharp teeth, she left us behind, running away with her imagination.

Last night with a glitter in her eyes, she said "Mummy, tomorrow is Easter!". "Yes! Tomorrow is Easter". I suspected we were excited for different reasons. Was Christ's resurrection the cause of so much joy?. Curious, I asked. "What will happen on Easter?". She gave me that don't-you-know look and said "I'm going to get an Easter Egg". Hmmm, I didn't want to burst her bubble just before she went to bed, so I smiled and said "Good night!"

It's the birthday season at day care, we are constantly getting invitations. She knows all the kids by name and takes invitations personally. I get constantly reminded that Aliana's birthday is tomorrow, Zack's is over the weekend and Sofia's is today. She celebrates as though it were her own. I made the mistake of popping into the store to buy a card, suddenly wonderful ideas sprouted in her little mind. "Mummy lets get her a balloon", "Let's get her this card too" , "Mummy, what about that bag". I calmed her down and let her know we were getting just one thing. Then she remembered the card she had made and insisted we put it in the bag with the rest of the presents.

There is a grown up in this tiny vessel. Spring is here, the winter boots will not do and the summer shoes of last year don't fit any more so off to the store we go. We walk through the door, up to the kids sections and she comes alive in the most dramatic fashion. "Mummy, Sofia the first!" "Mummy, this is a pretty dress" "Mummy, see!" and then she shocks me by saying "but we are here to buy shoes" and walks off to the shoe section.

I had just dressed when she walked into my room one Sunday morning and said "Mummy, you look beautiful in that dress" there was nothing more to say, my heart and everything inside me went mushy - totally blown away.

Cherry Blossoms at night

Tidal basin

Washington Monument and the capital in the back ground

Washington Monument across the basin

Martin Luther King Jr Memorial