Snow Day

Yesterday, Friday, it was pouring rain when my alarm went off at 6:50 am. Why I have an alarm when I have a perfectly adequate rooster who lives 3 feet from my door, I do not know. Anyway, I opened the door of my little room, and no one was stirring. So, I figured I'd wait... we generally don't have breakfast until 7:30... which is the time of the first class up at the school (this of course was confusing to me at first, being as anal retentive as I am. How can you start class and have breakfast at the same time? It turns out that in Ugandan time, everything is at least 1/2 an hour later than stated. So class really starts at 8. ish.). Anyway, so there I was, eagerly anticipating my breakfast of two small bananas, a muffin, and a slice of bread along with hot milk freshly milked from the cow, and no one was getting up. 8:00 came, the rains continued, no one got up. 9:00. 9:30... finally the rains stopped and people emerged. I was crazed. We had already missed nearly two hours of school! But then one of the children said-- "We do not go to school when it rains." I nearly fell over. This in a country where barely any of the 14 year olds can string together a sentence in English, the official language of the nation. But then she explained that the school worries that they will get sick if they walk in the rain... and it totally made sense. It is sometimes hard for me to think about all of the competing priorities here. But it's true, many of them walk a half an hour to school in bare feet, and doing so in the rain can't be a good idea. I'm just really troubled, because it's not like it rains here as infrequently as we get a snow storm in Boston. I mean, I bet Uganda is in the top 5 African nations in terms of rainfall. We will be sleeping in a lot in the next month, I'm guessing.

Yesterday, when we finally did get to school-- around 10:30 am-- the cutest thing happened. One of the girls who is not even in my class came up to me, knelt on the ground, bowed her head, and presented me with a small hen's egg as a gift. It had to have been the sweetest gift I have ever received. They don't have much here, but the spirit of generosity is tremendous.

Today we went up to teach the bunch of kids that show up to school on Saturday-- no rhyme or reason to this, it just so happens that some kids choose to go to school on Saturday, so some of us show up to teach them. They are working on writing letters, so I asked them to write some to students in the U.S. They are actually the cutest letters ever. My favorite quote: "So, you are American? You must love Obama. He is African, like me!" They don't have TV, but every child in this country knows about Obama and totally worships him. It's really interesting. There seems to be an "East African" identity, which I hadn't thought about. Our country is so big, we wouldn't really ever get excited about lumping ourselves in with Canada or Mexico, for example. But Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania-- it seems there is a bunch of solidarity among them. So if Obama is Kenyan, well then, he is African like me.

Today is Rosh Hashanah. As you can see, I'm not really observing it per se. Apparently there are Jews in Uganda, but they aren't close to my village, and since I've just gotten here I figured I wouldn't risk attempting a half-day journey by a series of overpacked minibuses to find out about Jews who may or may not be there and who may or may not be excited to see me. Instead, I sat by the Nile river and read some passages I brought with me and did some quiet reflection. I hope that counts. It's kind of neat because we're supposed to throw crumbs into a flowing body of water to symbolize casting off our sins. I'm thinking the Nile is a pretty badass venue for sending away some sins. Tomorrow when we go to the river to wash our clothes, I will send some crumbs along with the gobs of Ugandan mud that has caked my clothes.

I think Ugandans have as many words for mud as Eskimos have for snowflakes and Peruvians have for potatoes. Every time I point to a lump of sod and ask what the Lusoga word is for it, I get a different answer. As if I am pointing to different mud than the time before. Or something.
This mud situation makes for a really interesting approach to roads. All the roads are dirt, and instead of there being a right lane and a left lane, there is a "high road" and a "low road." The high road is the mound in the middle of the road that is less wet, and the low road is basically the two rivets on the sides that are perpetually gunky. Older people with bundles on their heads and motorbikes are given priority for the high road-- everyone else will step to the low road when they come by.

This has necessitated the immediate purchase of "Wellies" in the market (these, I guess, are boots, and the brits call them Wellies for Wellingtons). I am quite a sight in my big black Wellies and my North Face adventure pants. I feel kind of guilty showing up to teach like that, but there really isn't any deep commitment to fashion here, as long as you aren't wearing a miniskirt or showing too much of your legs. The other volunteer, Sophie, who is staying at the same place with me had an interesting experience with this leg thing. One day when we were in town she went to a tailor to ask the woman to sew up the seam of a miniskirt she had just created from jeans she had cut up. This was a serious miniskirt, and the woman was mortified. Sophie was only able to get her to do the skirt by promising not to wear it in Africa. I'll stick to my adventure pants, thank you.

So apparently this internet cafe in Bujagali where I am (not really an internet cafe, more like a campsite for adventurous mzungus who go rafting on the falls) has showers. And they are hot showers! I am so excited. Signing off for now...

Love,

Shan