Movers remorse: Red line vs Orange line

It's been 3 weeks since we moved.
I can literally jog to the Shady grove metro, ok jog is a strong word, but it is a 10 minute walk. Compared to my 30 minute bus ride to Vienna metro, this is a piece of cake. I get to office in half the time.

Shady Grove metro is unbelievably run down. The trains work, praise God! but the place is an old mess. I'm told New York has some really lousy stations but S.G takes the cup. I thought is was built in the 18th century but it was opened in 1984. The Vienna metro was opened in 1986 but it got a make over last year so right now I suffer from withdrawal symptoms. The comparison doesn't help.

Why didn't anybody tell me that everybody and their dog live in Maryland? There should be a sign post inscribed with the words"ALL ROADS LEAD TO MARYLAND!" For all the 11 stops no one gets off until we get to Shady Grove. With the Orange line, I knew loads of people would get off at Court house, Clarendon and Ballston, then there would be space for the rest of us to sit. But now eh! you wait paka you give up. As if that is not enough, there is only one escalator leading off the tracks. We all clog at the escalator like a swam of bees attempting to pollinate a single flower. It's not funny! People cut in and even push. So far passengers on the red line are rude and impatient, they don't say much but their actions speak loud. Even though Virginians were quick to speak when their feathers were ruffled, I still think the Orange line has a more courteous, organized and gracious lot.

Did I mention that the trains are tattered? Well, the red line trains are tattered beyond! On occasion I have hopped on to some decent ones but mostly they need a serious makeover. Once, I looked around and thanked God I didn't suffer from OCD otherwise walking to work would be a viable option. The cart walls were a blackish grey, with stains from eons ago. Evidently they are cleaned but I couldn't get past the stains. Your careful not to move around or hold anything lest you catch some crazy bug.
And why wasn't I told how unreliable the red line is? On my third day the train stopped at friendship heights and passengers were asked to disembark. They walked off like it was no big deal. The captain announced that someone was sick on board. Hmm strange! One passenger is sick and 1000 people are asked to get off? Wouldn't it have been easier to get the sick person off instead? In the two years I used the Orange line, only once were we asked to off load the train and that was because one of the cart doors couldn't close.

I may be suffering movers remorse - a version of buyer's remorse.

Did I tell you Maryland has friendly neighbors? Aha! It does. Once people are off the stress of the commute they turn into decent folks again. Our lawn has been mowed, we have been welcomed to the neighborhood. The little kids smile and talk freely.
Who said I was complaining?

Massage phobia; On again, off again

After a few odd encounters, I vowed not to visit another massage therapist. Ahhh but alas! My feet led me down that path yet again. With strains from moving house and a sudden urge to get fit I jogged along the trails in our neighborhood  and that's where my woes begun. My muscles locked in knots, my neck and back tensed up like a tight fist; clamped like the lean meat of our Teso chicken in whose flesh one could lose a tooth. Only a massage could knead them loose however, I chose not to solicit in-house services.

I located the spa recommended by a friend but whose services I only now considered. Submerged in a busy shopping mall, one would need to be looking for it to find it: "SPA WORLD!" Its wall had pictures of fountains, steam baths and swimming pools - my nerves sensed the calming effect already.

A nice young male receptionist opened brochures of possibilities:
7 sauna options,  poultice rooms, a swimming pool, a bade pool; Basher wall, dream bath, bench jet, wave jet... , a gym, Shiatsu massage; 30 minutes, 90 minutes, 1 hour, 2 hours ... A two hour massage? really?. Body scrub, foot scrub... I thought, "err...lets keep it simple!" This Ugandan girl can only do so much, let alone wrap her mind around this wealth of activities. I was welcome to stay for 24 hours at no extra charge - how cool?!

A cue begun to form behind me, so I stood aside to reexamine the brochures. Eventually I stepped up and declared my preferences. I was handed a key to a locker with space enough for one pair of shoes. I later found out the key would not unlock until one had payed their dues. One could attempt an escape without shoes but I doubt many people ever considered the option.
Then I was handed an orange uniform similar to Kazinda's prison outfit.

In the ladies locker room I considered this endeavor a possible mistake on my part. Ladies walked "freely"! Whatever had they done with the orange uniforms? Probably didn't like them either. I sheepishly traced my way to my second locker, which thankfully was in a corner. I wore my orange uniform and headed to the bade pool. The notice on the door could be summarized in one word "strip!". Oh well, enough of that.

A little Asian lady dressed in white led me to a dark room. Its walls whispered soft  instrumental music. When she begun to walk and skate all over your back I concluded East Asians were rightly blessed with the massage art, I was silently thankful for her brief stature. She attempted to separated my neck from my head, my shoulders had snippets of life disassociated from their sockets. I thought my legs would be handed to me. *Note: Do not under estimate energy that comes in small packages!

Alarm bells sounded when she complimented my body. Was this my cue to make a speedy exit? The theory that massage therapists are payed to compliment their customers is quickly crystallizing in my mind.
Memories of my first massage at Fang fang hotel came rushing back. The lady's gaze was transfixed. She asked why I married so young. Uncomfortable with compliments from a female stranger, I begun to panic but I realized it was harmless, not that I returned to find out.

As I grow older, I realize the need to embrace these compliments, one day I will look for them and they may not be found.
Besides, the benefits of renewed energy and fluid muscles out weigh the risks, the trick is in visiting a different spa each time ;-)

Parenting! You just never know

When that cute bundle is placed in your arms it’s indescribable. Dreams of a bright future flood your mind. But unlike Mary the mother of Jesus you never know what will happen the next day, the next month or the next year. Are you raising the next Beethoven, Kony, Einstein, Amin or Chimamanda?  Will you light candles until you are grey or cry your heart out when the candles are snuffed out too soon?

Each day presents a unique set of circumstances.

When the police car with red and blue flash lights  pulled up to the side walk and the officer walked up to me, I silently wished he was a mirage. He shook my hand and introduced himself.  He pulled out a pen and paper from his side pocket and proceeded to ask a series of questions: “Where does he usually play?” “Is there a neighborhood kid he likes to play with?” “How was he dressed?” "Can you show me where you live?" I wanted to pee in my pants. My son was missing. He left school without permission. Then the officer made a profound statement, he said “I’m sure he is not in any kind of trouble. Kids do silly things all the time. I know. I’m a father of four”. I could have hugged him at that point but it would complicate matters. The reassurance from the officer turned father helped my sanity, he was familiar with parenting.
He suggested we search together. He opened the back door of the police car and invited me to get in. This was not what I envisioned when I subscribed to motherhood but I'm sure the parents of  Kiprotich, Inzikuru, Obama, Trayvon or Snowden would say something similar.

 I sat quietly, a little overwhelmed with my surroundings as you may imagine. The officer and I were separated by a bullet proof glass shield. The back doors had no handles inside just a plain flat surface - the door could only be opened from the outside. I was trapped. Trapped in a police car. Trapped in a whirl wind of thoughts, emotions and questions. Where could my son be? Was I a good mother? What role did I play in orchestrating this unique set of circumstances? Was I training my child to follow instructions and stay safe? Was I providing a safe nurturing environment for him? Did I miss-communicate that morning? Was I building the right relationships in the neighborhood? 

Constantly faced with decisions and choices, a parent's life is filled with ups, downs and merry go rounds; Caution, discipline, instruct, medicate, exhort, enroll in extra classes, buy the tools to improve skills. Walk with, talk with, play with, pray with.
Listen, wait and hope that someday in the future the labor was not in vain.

A committed parent  faces forward determined to tackle every straight and curved ball that swerves their way. I have learned the most important thing is to look up! Up to the father of heavenly lights who does not change like shifting shadows. Every good and perfect gift (your children) come from Him. The plans He has for them are good. He says He will come to them and fulfill His good promise to bring them back to safety. He has plans to prosper them and not to harm them, plans to give them a hope and a future.
Call on Him and come and pray to Him and He will listen to you. Seek Him and you will find Him when you seek Him with all your heart. He will be found by you and bring you back to the place from which He carried you.

In the busyness of life and parenting, do not be discouraged. Remember, these little gifts are really God's and He will show you how to take care of them.

Of music and time travel

If Music be the fuel of travel, fill my tank and let it play.
May I traverse the world.
Take me on journeys uncharted, through its jungles and cities.
Tickle my taste buds, infuse me with the culture and its people.
Yet, to revisit sweet memories of days gone by is the quickest journey of all.

Ever hear a song that transports you to a time and place in your past? You recall with joy or remorse the mood of that era and like deja vu relive the experience virtually.
Siblings on holiday from boarding school. Black out nights, seated on the veranda under the canopy of a night sky illuminated by the moon and sprinkled with glowing stars. Engrossed in the tales of the school term we lean in. Suddenly electricity returns, blinding our eyes, the TV blips on arresting a conversation in mid sentence (who forgot to off the TV after the lights went out?). We dash to the sitting room, it's Thursday night, 10:00pm - time for "The Old Fox".

Music by ABBA transports me to sunny afternoons in the mid 80's, on Katonga road. In a quiet house, its occupants reading or taking a nap the music plays that is, until side A is over and the tape waits in silence to be turned over to side B. The pocket size cassette tapes made of plastic with the band photo inserted in the front jacket; 4 Swedes, 2 men and 2 women. The ladies; a blond and a brunette dressed in Maxi's, the men; in large collar white shirts and belly bottoms.

Dad's music collection neatly stacked in a red mini briefcase - our source of entertainment. Record albums the size of dinner plates lie in a pile below the record player. Favorites on the top: Bee Gees, Shalama, Michael Jackson, George Benson, Culture Club, Boney M, Donna Summer...

Recently, feeling a little home sick, I turned to YouTube for some Ugandan music. As I listened to Samali Matovu's "Omukwano" I was transported to Nakawa market on a hot Friday afternoon. A fish monger scales tilapia for a customer while a skinny brown dog naps under a tree. Two boda-bodas' are packed at the road side their owners eager to pick customers from the taxi that just halted at the stage. Across the road a special hire driver leans back in the driver's seat of a white Corolla, he contemplates the possibility of the next client. A lady emerges from the market salon with a green bucket full of grey water which she pours on the soil, it creates a map on the ground and quickly sinks in swiftly, the ground cools off with an "aaaaah!".

Hajat Madina sings "Bibuuza" and the taxi headed to Serere stops shortly after Kumi hospital. The driver runs into a kiosk. The shop verandas have open sacks of millet, sugar and rice stationed in front of each door, the shop keepers hidden behind wooden counters. A man walks past with a small radio close to his ear, he is cajoled by the ring of a bicycle bell behind him "egaali!, egaali!"
Further ahead 2 little topless boys run across the potholed street sticks in hand, they laugh to their hearts content. A woman wrapped in a green and yellow kitenge shouts "orwa emotoka!" (watch out for the cars!) the children disappear behind the wall. A cobbler mends shoes in a corridor, while 2 shops up, a tailor rocks his Singer sowing machine, his finished products dangle on the clothes line to his left.

I look out my window and see the neighbor walking her dog, she stoops to scoop the do and it starts to snow. I return to my present circumstances, reminded that we are oceans apart. Time to get on with the task at hand.
It's powerful, it entertains, enriches, relaxes... it takes you places but right now,  it makes me homesick.

It's complicated!

While friends sipped glasses of ice tea over the weekends, we spent ours driving through neighborhoods in search of accommodation closer to work. The exercise of house hunting brought two issues to light. One, "chocolate" doesn't usually work in your favor so make a "dress statement". Two, proximity is a sure recipe for rivalry.

Stress from the daily commute to and from Washington D.C, Maryland and Centreville Virginia was beginning to make ER a possible destination. So, we made the decision to find a place closer to our work locations, that way we would not go crazy trying to beat traffic in a rush to pick the kids. With summer around the corner and Craig's list flooded with houses and apartments for rent and sale, we surfed our way through North Potomac, Bethesda, Rockville, Gaithersburg and other interesting neighborhoods in Maryland. Because of high housing prices and smaller spaces, Virginia and all its nice pockets slowly got scrapped off the list. Ballston, East Falls church, West Falls church, Vienna and Dunn Loring were darn expensive (clearly proximity to the capitol keeps housing prices extra high)

On our search I tripped over the "dress statement" block. After visiting a few apartments I became conscious of my family's dress sense. For the most part, we hopped in the car never minding much about presentation; I shouldn't be judged by the way I dress just as long as I can pay right? Well, a house showing is like an interview; presentation, demeanor and confidence are a few of the aspects that determine your candidacy. It's important everywhere. I was often perplexed when friends 'dressed up', their children's faces reflected like mirrors in the noon day sun. Clothes were almost always new, and yet we were just having a cup of tea at home. I on the other hand considered a bath and clean clothes sufficient, nothing fancy. It's just us right? Wrong!
Let me break it down.
Being black is a step or two, or three behind the starting line, Zimmerman can tell you more about that. Now, being black with a strange accent leaves you in the locker room. But being black, with a strange accent and poor dress sense? That right there is simply a non starter! You don't even have a locker room. One has got to set some pretty high standards in order to stand out from the crowd and presentation is at the top of the list. The dress label is the key, anything other than the "right" high end label will get you locked out of friendships, business deals, jobs and dinners (to mention but a few). Certain styles are associated with certain kinds of people. So before you rush out on a shopping spree be sure to hit the "right" stores.You've got to make a statement before you open your mouth. The message is "I may work long and hard, I may even 'lose it' for a few seconds but I've got this!" (use index finger and point from head to toe with attitude)
That my friends is the dress statement!

We found a place to stay in Maryland and that is when I also discovered that Maryland and Virginia are rivals. Virginia is the proud, nose in the air lady. She knows she is young and pretty and has a taste for good, expensive, classy things.Population is mostly white. Maryland is the older, flabbier lady who knows more but doesn't look all that. The illegal immigrants hide in her quarters which they can't do in Virginia because there are cops at every turn. A friend likened Maryland to Kikuubo and Virginia to Kampala road - that put things in some perspective. I had no idea.

I don't expect many visitors from VA and I kinda like my dress sense, so that's not changing anytime soon but it's been good learning experience.

Love - the fuel for life

The midnight hour is at hand and sleep has taken a walk. I sit in bed punching away at the keys, hoping my  "neighbor" will not stir.
Andrea Bocelli radio plays in the back ground: gentle voices like Josh Groban and Aled Jones chip in but mostly, I can't sleep.
In theory I could close my eyes and drift away but my mind will not hush.

Today marks the beginning of a new year.

I'm thankful that;
I'm alive - a sinner saved by grace.
I'm loved.  My quirks make me want to hibernate in a dark cave - the filth too much for even me but I come home to a hug and shrills of excitement, then I'm reminded there is grace. It is not over. I can start a fresh with the next sun rise.

Love is the fuel that keeps this engine running.

Monday Fountains!

Loving this song this Monday morning.
May you find ALL your fountains in God.