Me and the Police

I don’t quite know what it is yet but I seem to be attracting police like bees to a flower.
So, last Tuesday I’m driving into town with Mich and this police lady signals for me to stop and park at the road side. Sure no problem I park and wait for her to come up. She looks into the car and comments about how Mich looks like me after which she waves me off. That left me a little confused, okay seems the police are getting a lot friendlier, they just stop you to have a chart and check out family members. I found that quite funny but you know continued on my way. Mich was buckled in at the back so maybe that was what she wanted to check.

Then just yesterday, I’m driving into town for a lunch date when again a police man signals for me to slow down and park at the road side. I comply, park and wait for him to come round. He asked to see my driving permit (shoot!!! I didn’t have it with me, and even if I did it’s expired seeing as I have been away for two years and wasn’t exactly thinking of renewing it for the 3 months that I will be here). I told the officer that unfortunately I didn’t have it with me. Now that was offence number one. Then he asks me if the insurance was up to date and it was yeee! (One less worry). He walks around the car, looks at the tires and mentions how they need replacing (okay).
“But now madam, I have two cases with you, you don’t have a permit and the tires of your car should have been replaced long time ago” (of course I am paraphrasing but it’s quite similar). “Now you see”, he brings out his book that shows the fines for driving without a permit and driving a ram shackled car (my words) and the total cost came up to about shs 90, 000/=. I’m thinking boy oh boy! Am I done for or what?
The officer then asks me who owns the car and I say ‘my husband’, so he asks me to call Sam. Thankfully I had some airtime on my phone so I call Sam and brief him before handing over the phone. They talk for a bit before he hands the phone back to me, Sam somehow hopes he will let me go.
So after the phone call the officer stands around for a bit before asking me if I am a good woman. That left me speechless, “good woman?” what do you mean?, the first thing that came to mind was the EE (Evangelism Explosion) question “if you stand before God and He were to ask you, why should I let you into heaven, what would you say?” and if one answered that they had been good then the next statement would be we can’t get in because of good works. Now why my thoughts took such a tangent, I don’t know. Anyway I still didn’t have an answer for the police man. So he tells me to park the car and go and pay. I told him I didn’t know where to go. At this point the other policemen come around and comment on how he had kept me so long. He then said, “ok madam, go and work on those tires and come back here”, then I said “ do I need to do this immediately because I’m almost late for an appointment”. At this point he tells me to write down my name and number so he can call me incase I take long to return.
I jot it down for him and prepare to drive off, he looks at the piece of paper and says “Ongwen?” are you luo?”, I said “no my husband is, but I come from soroti”. Then he greets me in the local language “akironyo?”- how are you and I answer “ejokuna”- I am fine (I wasn’t fine, I don’t know why I said I was fine). He then laughs and says “eh, you mean I was going to charge my muko? (in-law). Then he finally says “tell Ongwen the police man needs a fat chicken” and that was the end.
Phew! Ugandan police! At the end of the day I was glad that he let me go but I also know he was very sympathetic. We shall not talk about the crazy way things work this side of the world, I just know if this had happened in Philly I would have gotten a ticket in the first 10 seconds and there would be no discussion, or exchange of niceties.

Kitante

I took a trip to my elementary school for old time’s sake the other day and also to see who of my teachers were still there. My! Walking through the school was nostalgic; it brought tears to my eyes. The school is pretty much the same- memories of sitting in class, running and playing on the swings came rushing back to me like it was only yesterday. But for some reason everything seems to have shrunk, the school is so much smaller than it was back then, I guess I was looking at it from a different angle. Looking at the lower school waiting shed I smiled, I recalled the anxiety, the fun and laughter as we waited to be picked up by our parents. I passed by the class rooms, pupils talking at the top of their voices. Boy! Do I remember the many times we were asked to keep quiet, but it was extremely difficult. We had class prefects who were assigned the duty of jotting down names of talkative pupils. 

Once I recall a teacher knocking my head against that of my friend because we had been talking in class. Now I think… even though it is a discipline to be learned, children have a lot going through their little brains that keeping it all inside is a real task. Especially if they don’t have a teacher standing in front of them or if they are not doing an exam or some kind of activity that requires silence. In Mich’s play school there was a sign on the wall that said “use your inner voice”, what ever that means.

  I walked passed the amphitheatre and I could literally imagine it filled with girls all dressed in Red and white or Grey and white for the boys. Then down at what I will call the stage for lack of a better word I could see the head master Mr. Ssozi seated across from the school assembly. The head boy sitting and the head girl sitting at his left and right respectively with two scouts standing at attention on each end of the table. Sweet! I loved the school assemblies in the amphitheatre; we would get to hear interesting news from around the world. It was at such assemblies that the cleanest boy and girl of the week were announced and they each got a trophy. We also had about 45 minutes of entertainment in music and dance by the class whose turn it would be that week. Hmmmmmm.

 

I continued on to the rest of the classes 3 to7, its funny how the noise and shuffling lessened as I went further up the lane. P3 had the loudest children, P4 was less noisy, P5 was even quieter, P6 and P7, dead silent. I walked up to the door of the one of the P7 classes and I could have sworn it was empty, only to peep in a see a full class of pupils engrossed in study. After taking my tour of the school I walked up to the administration block, said hello to the secretary and asked if I could pop in to see the headmaster. She asked me to wait a short while after which she ushered me in and there was my P6 Class teacher, Mr. Senabulya - he is now the headmaster. He immediately recognized me, I didn’t have to introduce myself, that felt real good. We talked for a while, reminiscing the good old days.

 

Riding ATV's in Jinja

So, Becca my Pastor/Pastor’s wife in Philly is in Uganda doing some research on Micro- Finance organizations. It’s a coincidence that her visit came together after Sam and I had come home, so we get to host her and take her around Kampala.
I think she is having an interesting time, I wish her trip was planned a little later in the year because we have only been here a month and are still trying to make our way around. She’s probably wondering if we have any friends because she hasn’t met any of them. Some how getting to see friends gets more complicated after being away for a long time: one has got to make an appointment, or try tracing people. But really the big issue for me is quite another. I haven’t met my friends so setting a date to meet them with Becca before having our own catch-up time is weird.

Anyway all that aside we have tried to take Becca around, to give her an idea of what Uganda and Ugandans are like.
Last Saturday we went up to Jinja, to a place called Bujagali, on the River Nile. Man! I just realized that it probably would have been wise to tell her that it was going to be a long drive, but alas! We took it for granted. Now I’m thinking she probably wondered where on earth we were going.
We thought taking a ride on ATV’s (which I keep mistaking for ARV’s) would be fun. ATV stands for All Terrain Adventures; it’s a guided quad-bike ride along the River Nile and through the villages.
I didn’t know how much hard work was required. We got dressed and were each assigned a quad-bike, huge! I tell you. They are like motor cycles with four huge wheels, now because I was the least familiar with the machine our guide put me in the middle of the group. So it was the guide at the front, Becca right after, me, then Sam and Mich at the back. After instructions and all we did a test drive to get familiar with the machines. That wasn’t too bad. The first test route was pretty simple, then the guide took us to a more complex route. I was concentrating on keeping on the path, not falling off, generally being as careful as possible just to keep up with the basics. It had just rained so the place had lots of muddy pools/ditches. Just as we started the second route I was concentrating on my machine only to look up and see Becca’s bike tipping over and before I knew it the wheels were up in the air and Becca was under. Boy oh boy!!! I freaked out. I was thinking what are we going to tell Brad? we took his wife to the jungle and she broke her neck riding one of these ARV’s I mean ATV’s oh oh!!, not good. Now because I was still trying to steady myself and master this machine I wasn’t able to run up to Becca. The guide was able to get there in good time, I saw Becca get out from under the huge bike. Phew! That was a relief, she was safe, she walked away like nothing had happened. We finally got to her and she seemed ok, just a few bruises.
All in the name of experiencing Uganda, I hope she enjoyed it too, accidents and all aside.

On the ATV's
Mabira forest
Tea plantation

Bujagali

Ndere Centre

Last sunday Sam and I took Becca to Ndere Center just to give her a taste of the Ugandan culture in dance.

Goings on

I'm still feeling lost even after being home for a month, somehow I haven't found my footing yet. There just seems to be a lot going on everywhere that I somewhat feel disorganised. I miss the quietness in Philly (how ironic), but at least I was able to put my thoughts together and know where Mary was at. I was so in touch with myself.
Well some one mentioned that maybe the fact that I'm not in my own home adds to the unease and may be I'm still in the reverse culture shock phase.
It's still good to be home non the less.

I haven't been able to meet many of my friends yet and I guess that's good because I get to meet them one by one. I have met a few so far and I was just sharing with Becca that I thought I went through quite a bit in Philly but sitting down to talk with my friends almost every single one of them has been close to tears because they too have had some rough patches. I like the fact that we are able to understand one another, even though the situations are different, the trials are the same. It's wonderful to know that when everything is shaking we can hold on to Jesus the solid rock. I'm thankful that He is the common denominator so to speak, we all run to Him and find ways of empathising and encouraging one another.

My pastor Becca is visiting from Philly and Sam and I are happy to show her around. Having been away for two years doesn't help because it turns out that we are learning some of the changes together. I wish I was more familiar with the joints than I am then maybe she would have an even better time.
I'm sure she will have lots of stories to tell about her trip to Uganda- our crazy traffic, dusty roads, motorcycles, little kids staring at her and calling her 'muzungu' (white person). The other day we were walking up the road when a little girl run up to Becca and gave her a big hug. That was interesting. The mother was speechless.
Man! Becca hasn't even met our friends, hmmm! she might have to make another trip to Uganda the way things are going.

Assuming

"Hi Mary, it's good to see you .... when are you going back?"
"How are the children? .... only one? I thought they were two... Mich needs someone to play with..."
Without exaggeration this is how most conversations have begun since I got back. Then I wonder, "who says I am going back?", "even if I am, why don't you just enjoy the time I'm here for?, "who says I don't want other children?" "do you know whats been going on?".
I concluded that people are very presumptuous. The only person who asked an open ended question was Pastor Doug, he said "Mary are you here for a visit?" I found that a lot warmer.
Meanwhile some of the church folk are considering calling Sam and I in for counselling because we don't have other children. Sometimes these remarks can be very insensitive. I thank God that he healed me and helped me deal with giving back Nziiza and Kwizera other wise it would feel like they are touching sore spots.

More on Kampala

We’ve been back two weeks now and I still can’t get over how crowded Kampala is. The song thats constantly on my mind is “No air” by Jordan Sparks and Chris Brown.
The city is mighty crowded and that is quite apart from the fact that it seems to be the only song that plays on Bosco’s radio. I keep wondering what station he listens to because clearly they need some help. It almost feels like ‘No air’ plays every after two songs. Bosco is our helper by the way.














There are days I have wanted to just fly home and hide, just to get away from the city madness. There are people every where, then the vehicles, motorcycles (bodas) and dust seem to take the rest of the unoccupied space.
Once I came home and rushed straight to my room, hoping that I could have some peace and quiet but just as I was about to sigh "aaaaah finally!!" the loudest mosquito I ever heard came buzzing around. Oh boy!! One can not even sit still because the mosquitoes will have a field day, probably getting drunk on my blood.

I have been around town a little bit but it looks like some habits crept in on me while in Philly and shaking them off takes a conscious effort. I learned over time to mind my own business, walking through the streets of Philly. There was hardly a chance to stop and greet any one, or smile and acknowledge other people, no body seemed to have time for that. So I learned to have a straight face.
I get back home and man! Even in the taxi- this lady sits next to me and says “hello”. I first looked to see if I knew her but clearly I didn’t, so there was a pause there before I responded.
Life in Kampala goes on hold if things are not preceded with a greeting. I was trying to get a motorcycle ride (boda) the other day but the guy would not barge before we exchanged a greeting. Now in Philly, the few times I tried to greet people it just seemed like I was wasting their time. “Good Morning?”, “good afternoon?” “good …?” - who cares?, just get right to the point and tell me what you want.
Meanwhile another interesting experience - I walked into a café to check mail but either the lady just didn’t like me or something. I stood in front of her for close to a minute before she acknowledged my presence. Then with what seemed like a great effort she told me what it cost and with a heavy hand pointed to the computer that was available. Boy! Had I forgotten our people or what? Any way life goes on.
Checking mail in an internet café is tougher than getting a tooth removed, either it takes for ever to open the pages or the mouse is acting up or something.
I have decided to sneak into the worldbank once in a while to do what I have to do.

We took the bus to Soroti to visit my parents. I thought I would take photos and journal just as I had done in Philly. That was absolutely silly of me, how could I forget that Ugandans are not too thrilled with cameras?! so I nearly got roughed up, seriously.
I was supposed to have greeted the men, told them I was going to take a picture of the bus for leisure or whatever and then allow them to pose for the photo or get out of the way.

It was nice to see mom and dad again; they haven’t changed much which I guess is a good thing. Mich woke up early each morning to go to the farm with grandpa and then spent the rest of his day chasing or being chased by a rooster. By the way I’m not kidding; there was a real strange rooster that was in the habit of chasing small people. It would watch you pass then come running after you with its feathers spread out, now that can be scary more so if you are closer to the ground. Mich had to be saved twice for the crazy rooster and he ended up walking around with a stick for his own protection. He asked grandpa why he had such a nasty chicken and to cut the long story short we had some awesome chicken stew the night before we traveled back to Kampala.