Omar, Gala and I traversed the country for the next month post service and enjoyed our vacation/leisure time. We visited Omar’s sister and family in Khenifra, then headed on to Ourzazate, Essouaria and Imlil/Toubkal outside of Marrakech. I was in a new transition state and did not know how to feel emotionally. I was sad to be leaving Peace Corps for sure, my service was pivotal in directing my future endeavors. Not to gloss or glamorize, but PC has and will forever change my life in my perspective of other cultures, languages, and ways of living.
We left for Uganda from the London-Heathrow airport on June 28th and arrived the morning of the 29th. We exited the plane in Entebbe via a metal staircase platform into a beautiful and humid setting. When waiting for our luggage to come, I couldn’t help but notice the amount of large plastic containers. It seemed that they outnumbered regular luggage. I watched one man I picked for a southern Baptist missionary load 5 onto a cart and head out into the sunshine. Uganda was having an early Christmas.
We were picked up by Robert and Selima, two of Musana’s employees. Robert is a driver for Musana and takes kids to the doctors, employees to functions and people to and from the airport in Entebbe, a short drive past the capital of Kampala. Selima is the Ugandan volunteer coordinator, kind of like Sally’s counterpart. She lives in the volunteer house with us. Both have easy smiles and thick accents. At least I was on repeat, “What? Excuse me? What?!” in the beginning. I still have a hard time deciphering African English and do a poor impression of it (unlike my Moroccan English accent! It’s not too bad!). I had changed my way of listening completely in Morocco. It was a part of my survival. It is fascinating what body language and small clues you start noticing when you aren’t completely sure what is going on. You also pick up on normal every day greetings and questions, what question follows what answer.
We stopped on the way in a small roadside town and were immediately flocked by people selling all sorts of goods to us through the windows. Beat that McDonald’s! They were literally RUNNING to meet cars pulled over. They sold us roasted salty chicken on a stick (which we sucked clean), whole baked bananas (hard exterior, warm soft interior), soda, samosas, chapatti (fried bread similar to Morocco’s lmslmen), and bottled water. We had shit food on the plane so these unexpected tasty treats were a great welcome!
Some of my first observations were that both men and women were out and working. Whether it was selling us food, working in the fields, behind cell phone counters or hanging clothes up for sale, it seemed as if the workforce was on equal footing. The verdant rolling hills sometimes broke away into sugar cane or tea leaves fields. Water seemed to be everywhere. Whether it was stagnant run off in ditches, small streams, irrigation in the fields or whole rivers we crossed over. There seems to be persistent, stolid clouds. The sun comes through occasionally but it never seems to be as oppressive as it was in Morocco despite our proximity to the Equator. People over the age of 15 seem indifferent to us. The younger kids point at us, yelling out and sometimes running full distances to come greet us, “Muzungu! Muzungu!” (White person! White person!) and come and give us only what can be described in our culture as “dap” or a knuckle bump called a “bunga,”. Sometimes they walk with us, holding our hands. Most the time it seems as if they had only gotten half-dressed that morning, their little cheeks a fun goodbye when we part ways. They also seem to have done some morning exfoliating, their faces and exposed skin caked in the red dirt. I tell you what though, despite the dirt and nudity, they are about as cute as you can get.
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