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Saturday, June 11, 2016

New Blog Authors!!

I recently watched this AMAZING TED Talk by a Nigerian woman named Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. It talked of how a single story is harmful. Specifically, she gave many examples from her own life of how the Western world’s single story of “the country of Africa” is harmful to the entire continent. Please, please, take the 20 minutes to watch this discussion. It may very well change your view on the world.


One of my favorite quotes from this video is this: “The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.” Our stereotypes of “poor Africa” are incomplete. It is exactly 1/3 of my job to bring Uganda back home to America, to show the wonderful people of my beautiful country the amazing truth of Uganda, the truth behind the lives of the people here. Unfortunately, I am not necessarily the best person to do that. As much as my worldview has changed in the last seven months, being abroad will never, no matter how long I am away, completely strip away my America-colored glasses.

Thanks to a wonderful presentation by our Diversity Committee at IST, I have adopted an idea. I want to host guest authors on my blog. I am going to give the students and staff of my college the opportunity to tell you all what Uganda is like, from their own perspective. Before I do this, though, I want some information from you. What questions do you have about Uganda, about Africa? (Also, for my international readers, please don’t think this is limited to those in America.) Do you want to know what their daily lives are like? What about their cultures interests you? The possibilities are endless. Even if you have political questions, you’re welcome to ask them. I am unlikely to post them publicly, but I will gladly email the answers to you.


So post below or email me at bethanyinuganda@gmail.com if you would like to submit questions, and soon I will open up my blog to my students and colleagues! 

Monday, June 6, 2016

Love Redefined

So I have something to admit to you. I have fallen in love. His name is Austin, and he’s just over a year old. His parents are absolutely my best Ugandan friends, and he is mine. My baby. My Austin.

Things weren’t always so peachy with Austin, though. At first, he was very afraid of me. Having just turned 1, I wasn’t surprised. Babies at this age are very, very attached to their primary care givers, for Austin, his mom. He hardly wanted to leave her lap. He wouldn’t let me touch him, let alone hold him, and he was very obviously cautious of me. “He is afraid of your hair,” I was told. For some reason, Ugandans seem to think babies are afraid of European hair. Not our skin color, our hair.



Imagine you are a baby. Your whole live, that one whole year of life, you have only seen people who are dark-skinned. Sure, there is a bit of variation in the tone, but they are all dark. Logically, people are supposed to be dark. Then, one day, this light-skinned thing comes around. They can’t be a person because people are dark. But the thing talks and walks and moves like a person. Maybe something is wrong with them. They’re not dark. Now the light-skinned thing is trying hold you, trying to comfort you like mom does. It’s just not right. You begin to cry, afraid for your life…. Or at least that’s how I imagine a baby’s mind works.

So as you can imagine, I was expecting for Austin to be wary of me. It didn’t hurt my feelings when he didn’t want to be held; I understood. Over the first two months I was living in Fort Portal, we got to know each other. He and his mom would come over, and we would play cards or talk. He went with us to the market each week. Although he wasn’t talking yet, he actually seemed to understand when I spoke to him. (His parents are from completely different parts of the country, so they’re raising him with English.) Through time, he became comfortable enough to sit in my lap and play with me, but always with mom right there. By the time Easter rolled around, I was very sad to say goodbye to my man. I didn’t even know if he would remember me after a four-day weekend, considering we had seen each other almost every day for the last two months.

He fell asleep with that capati in his mouth
a few minutes later, the cutie.


When I came home from Easter, wearied from the long trip to Masindi, I spent the night alone, making my absence a whole five days. When I went to greet him and his family, his face absolutely lit up, and mine too. Not only did he recognize me, but he refused to sit with his mom, demanding to be held by me. It was easily one of the best days of the year so far. Shortly after this reunion, Austin and his mom went for a trip to Lira in northern Uganda. In theory, this would only be a few weeks, but nearly two months later, they’re about to return. I’m very, very excited about the return of my baby, to see how he has grown and matured. His dad tells me he’s walking on his own now and almost talking. I can’t wait to get a hug and see how it’s been!

Colors are not "gendered" in Uganda!
Pink is for everyone!

Mpora, Mpora

There have been several times in the last couple of months where I have purposely called home when my family is at some kind of gathering. I love to have the phone passed around so I can chat with people I haven’t seen in, oh, *looks at watch*, seven or more months now. Inevitably, at least one person asks me “What do you miss?” Usually, they are asking this to find out what they can send me in a care package (If you want to send me one, I won’t be sad. My supplies are running low.), but to be honest, I really don’t miss the food of America.

While living in Uganda, I have lost around 25 pounds and really begun to hate fried food. Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. I still love fried food. Just not GREASE LAIDEN food. I eat many more vegetables than before, and I eat very little processed food. Many volunteers in Uganda complain about the blandness of the food here, but I really quite like it. For me, spicy food is just too much. I love not having to complain because the food is, literally, hurting my mouth to eat. Really the only thing about food at home I miss is being able to bake meals, cheese, and the variety, none of which neatly fits in a care package.

So what do I miss? Nothing that you can really send me. I miss my family to begin with. Their unconditional love, their wit and humor, their pure acceptance of me. I miss having a church family, understanding church services, and agreeing with what they are preaching. I miss having a park go to and sit on a picnic table and chill. I miss being able to walk down the street and eat my rolex, ice cream, etc., something that is very rude and uncultured here. I miss being able to have deep, meaningful conversations late into the night. I miss driving; I think this is seriously what I miss the most. I miss being able to make my own schedule for the days instead of running on someone else’s, although that’s working life, isn’t it? I miss snow and wearing sweaters and coats. I miss my kitty….

This is turning into a sad, sappy post, and it’s not meant to be. It’s really just meant to be a look into my life. After thinking of all of these things, though, I can’t help but think about what I will miss about Uganda when I leave. I will miss the soft breeze of the forever-summer. I will miss the soft patter of rain on my roof. As crazy as it sounds, I will miss the screeches of the bats that live in my ceiling, the scurry of the lizard that lives in my spare room. I will miss the silence as everyone eats their posho, matooke, and beans, the silent bond that eating the same food every day in the same room forms. I will miss the children that run up for a hug just because I look friendly. I will miss the beauty of the Rwenzori in my backyard, the air that has been cleaned by the banana trees. I will miss watching Ugandans run as the rain trails behind them. I will miss seeing all of my little nursery school kids grow up into adults.


There is a common phrase in Uganda, translated among the languages: “Mpora, mpora” in Runyoro-Rutooro. It simply means “Slowly, slowly.” Usually, it is used to describe how things work here. This culture is one of much fewer strict deadlines than in America. But right now, I just want to talk about how, mpora mpora, I am falling in love with this place, with its people, its culture, its beauty. As much as I miss home, it is no longer my only home, not even my only home country. I am so privileged to live here. This amazing country is etching a place on my heart, right alongside Truman, home, and down home. Even though it doesn’t quite feel like “home” even yet, mpora mpora.

Reactions

So now that I'm safely on the other side of the Atlantic, I'd love to share some of the reactions I heard from people when they found out I would be moving to, well, Africa. Some of these are indicative of how little people know about the continent of Africa in the US, but many of them are just plain funny. Enjoy!


"You're doing what?"

"Is Uganda near Africa?"

"That's the coolest thing ever."

"How can I become a volunteer?" (I still get this frequently. Check out peacecorps.gov!)

"Oh you have to have a degree to do that?"

"Why would you do that?" (The answer to which is so much more complicated than it should be.)

"Can you ever come back?" (Why, yes, they fly me home after two years. And if I want to visit home earlier, I have vacation days.)

"Are you going to marry some Africa guy?" (And have cute African babies?!)

"They speak English?!"
"Yeah, well they were a British colony until recently."
"But still...."

"Uganda has been independent for more than 50 years!"
"Only?"

"Luganda is the language spoken in...Uganda...?" (One of more than 50!)

"You can't go." (Break my heart....)

"Can I fit in your suitcase?"

"WE CAN VISIT YOU?! THAT'S AN OPTION?!" (YES PLEASE VISIT ME.)

"This will absolutely change your life." (That's what I'm hoping for.)

"I'm so excited for you"

"Can I still call you?" (Why, yes, because internet.)

"You'll have a cell phone?!" (Yes, Uganda skipped landlines and went straight to cell phones.)

And my absolute favorite, from my grandma: "Are you still going to go if you don't have internet?" (Well isn't that ironic now?)

Media Archive

Look at this cool media library of pictures from PC/UG over the years!

http://medialibrary.peacecorps.gov/p658227351

Ugandan Architecture

These pictures are actually from PST, and I just never got around to uploading them. They show fairly typical Ugandan architecture. Believe it or not, mud huts are not common for people to live in. Instead, people live in concrete or brick houses for safety. When people do live in mud houses, they are framed with sticks. (Unfortunately, I don't have a picture for this yet.) As I get more pictures, I will upload them!









Banyeta Akiiki

“Banyeta Akiiki!” It is such a common phrase for me. Especially with small children who don’t yet understand the rudeness of “Omujungu!”, I take the time to explain, “Banyeta Akiiki. Tibanyeta omujungu. Banyeta oha?” “They call me Akiiki. They don’t call me white (foreigner). Who do they call me?”

Fort Portal is part of the Batooro kingdom. The Banyoro and Batooro are related kingdoms, hence the, linguistically speaking one, language Runyoro-Rutooro. Here in beautiful Midwestern Uganda (I moved from the Midwest of the US to the Midwest of UG, like a cool kid.), your empaako may be more important than your name. It is a sign of respect. There are many people I know at the market only by their empaako. Children call their parents by their empaako instead of by “Maama” or “Taata.” It is 100% polite to respond to “Oraire ota?” or “Osiibire ota?”, “How have you spent the night?” or “How have you spent the day?” with “Empaako?” It’s simply rude to answer someone, and then greet them back, without knowing their empaako.

What is an empaako? I’m glad you asked. First of all, the word “empaako” is both singular and plural, determined by context. Empaako are a very, very important part of Banyoro-Batooro culture, and they are not found in other parts of Uganda, although similar practices, such as clan names, are. Simply translated, empaako are “pet names.” Each one has a meaning behind it, though the meanings can be many, or they can be disputed by the Banyoro-Batooro. My empaako, Akiiki, is a very common empaako, and it means “all welcoming.” Other common empaako include Abwooli, “beautiful, cat,” Ateenyi, “snake spirit,” or Apuuli, “lightning/thunder spirit.” Some empaako are restricted to men, like Apuuli, although men can have any empaako except that of the king, Okaali.

As discussed above, greeting someone “Empaako?” is a very common practice. If you forget to ask someone’s empaako, like a certain American living currently living in Uganda frequently does, your greetings are often repeated. I cannot tell you the number of times I have had the conversation demonstrated below.
“Oliyota?”
“Kurungi. Oliyoto?”
“Kurungi. Empaako yawe?”
“Empaako yange Akiiki. Kandi iwe?”
“Amooti. Oliyota Akiiki?”
“Kurungi Amooti. Oliyota Amooti?”
“Kurungi Akiiki.”

“How are you? (Informal greeting)
“Good. How are you?”
“Good. Your empaako?”
“Mine is Akiiki. And you?”
“Amooti. How are you Akiiki?”
“Good Amooti. How are you Amooti?”
“Good Akiiki.”

For expats living in the Banyoro-Batooro kingdoms, it is a sign we have been here for a while. It is also a sign that we have been accepted by at least one munyoro or mutooro. Like name signs in American Sign Language, only a munyoro or mutooro can give you an empaako. I cannot give another expat an empaako. There are other customs surrounding empaako being given to a munyoro or mutooro, which I encourage you to research. Regardless of whether you are born a munyoro, mutooro, or other nationality, you are supposed to have a party thrown for you by the one who gives you your empaako. For me, it never happened, because I was given my empaako by shop owner in Kyenjojo. His empaako is Adyeri.

For me, my empaako is my identity in Uganda. Even though it has never been made “official,” and some Ugandans tell me I have to have my party before they will call me Akiiki, my name does not matter so much around here. When I go to the market, I introduce myself as Akiiki. I learn the empaako of those who I buy from frequently. Amooti is my favorite. She speaks Rutooro slow enough that I can understand her most of the time. When people call me “omujungu,” it is my first defense. People are much more open to calling me “Akiiki” than hearing they are wrong for calling me what I honestly am. It even works for harassment. When I get called lewd names, I simply tell them, “Banyeta Akiiki. Empaako yawe?” It opens the door for me to begin a relationship, or at least an acquaintanceship, with these people. Yes, they will scream “Akiiki!” at me every time I pass, but at least they are respecting me. (Remember that using someone’s empaako is a sign of respect.) The only problem for me is remembering everyone’s empaako. For example, I have explained to the children in my compound that I do not want to be called “omujungu.” Now the children in my compound have begun to greet me “Ta Akiiki!”, “How are you, Akiiki?!”, and the only response I have is “Muli muta?”, “How are you (all)”? because I have yet to learn each one’s empaako.



For more information about empaako, other naming practices, or the Banyoro and Batooro kingdoms, please visit their websites!

World Wise Schools

My dear classroom,

I'm terribly sorry that this post is so, so late. It has been crazy, although that shouldn't be an excuse. Thank you so much for our hour of Skype, and thank you even more for learning about malaria, something so unfortunately prevalent here. It was good to hear from home and to answer all of your questions. As promised, several months later, here are the purple ground nuts (gnuts) and sweet potatoes.

Sincerely,

Bethany






My "staple" meal. Beans (,assorted vegetables,)
and sweet potatoes in gnut sauce.

A Ugandan Wedding!

My last stop before heading back to Fort Portal was to stay with my two favorite people on this whole continent to crash a wedding. (Before that, I was in Kampala for a dentist appointment, but that's boring.) One of my friend's counterparts got married last weekend. Unfortunately, I missed the introduction ceremony, a traditional wedding including the husband proving he can provide for his bride, oh and that he can pick his bride out of a crowd, but I got to see the official ceremony and the party afterwards! Thank you my lovely friends for hosting me in your beautiful, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, village.




RAFTING the NILE!

Thanks to my wonderful, amazing, beautiful parents, I was able to check something off my “I didn’t know I needed to do this” list and go RAFTING on the NILE in JINJA! After IST, about 2/3 of my cohort took a weekend in Jinja to rest, relax, and get schisto together. (PC joke, sorry. Schisto is a pretty serious disease if left untreated, but…the NILE!) We wandered around Jinja town for a day, a super cool arts center in Uganda, and then we moved up to Bujagali to a camp right on the Nile. It was so gorgeous! Many of us went rafting on Monday, and those who didn’t, found other things to do like mountain biking or kayaking…or both! We all spent WAY too much money, but it’s an experience I know I’ll never forget, and I am so glad to have had it with my cohort!!

Are we going to Jinja or Kenya? Only time will tell....

Arm-wrestling, infinitely cross-cultural

Graffiti for peace

It's the Schisto!
Take that, Schisto










YTT

I had the wonderful privilege to take two wonderful first-year students and one of my fellow tutors to Youth Technical Training (YTT), April 24-30! This was a week-long workshop put on by Peace Corps and the Center for Creativity and Capacity Development (CCCD), a WONDERFUL Ugandan organization working with youth, focusing on entrepreneurship, youth clubs, gender, and healthy living. They were very long days for us, starting at 6:00 am with morning movement and ending sometime between 9:00-10:00 pm with either meetings or arts challenges, but it was bar-none the most rewarding week of my service so far. It was wonderful to watch my students and counterpart come alive throughout the week with ideas on how to improve our college. I know they all enjoyed themselves, and I’m thankful to PC for putting on this wonderful workshop!

Check out our radio broadcast! My student is the emcee!!!
https://soundcloud.com/phylicia-akiiki-martel/ytt-on-air-mukono





We got to do GRAFFITI!!!!!!

The end of the first day, so happy!

Recording the radio broadcast

Group D, RR languages, we cool.

Arts Challenge!

Arts Challenge!

At the end of the week, we had to do a skit about
what we were going to do when we got back to our homes.
My counterpart played the part of the Principal.

Celebrity Status

I walk out the driveway of my compound (think: subdivision). Within five minutes, I’ve heard “Omujungu!” at least once. Although it may seem harmless, being called “White foreigner!” by your own community hurts. I’ve been living here for more than six months now, at my school for long enough that those who live near have seen me around. They know I stay at the college, and yet, I’m a celebrity.

I never wanted to be a celebrity, not really. When I was really young I wanted to grow up to be the next Darlene Zschech, but aspiring to be a world-renown worship leader is not aspiring for true fame. I never wanted to be on TV; I never wanted to be a pop artist; I never even wanted to be a best-selling author. As much as I love having people around me at all times, I never wanted to be in the spotlight. Even when I did perform, it was always in choir or band. A trio was as small of a group I was comfortable to perform with.

Joining the Peace Corps, I knew I was about to gain some celebrity status. I knew that I would be a novelty in my community, especially at first. I read an insane number of blogs before coming, and almost every blog has at least one post on this subject. Well, here’s mine. Although I knew I was bound to become some sort of a celebrity, I never expected it to be this intense. After all, I’m not that attractive anyway. I don’t get harassed in the US. Everywhere I go, “Omujungu!” is shouted behind me. Many times, men leer as I walk past, screaming lewd comments or outright saying “I love you!” or “I want to marry you!” One of my friends stateside offhandedly commented “So that’s what it’s like to be a ten.” I informed her that no, this is what it’s like to be a celebrity.

In America, we call this behavior “harassment.” In Uganda, they call it “funny.” White women are not the only ones who are harassed, not by far. Ugandan women are harassed in even worse, more subtle ways than white women. And yet, so many Ugandans say the same thing. “That funny man.” Maybe this is a language barrier issue. Maybe they’re using the word “funny” in a different context. But the laughs from the men and women nearby seem to imply otherwise.

It’s these comments that push my social anxiety through the roof. Coupled, of course, with the fact that I’m representing not only America but all white people around the world every time I step outside my college. At least that’s how those who make quick judgements and stereotypes see me. It’s these comments that prevent me from walking around outside my college. Even within my college, I feel more like a novelty than a part of staff. At least that novelty has more to do with the fact that, in many people’s eyes, I am a tech guru and an incredibly intelligent woman, and less to do with the fact that I’m white.

Not everyone is like this, and most days I can deal with the few and far between. Some days, though, this anxiety locks me inside my house, unable to even go up to the college except to teach and leave. I have passed on trips to see my host family, trips to town, even parties because I am afraid of…. I don’t even know. Harassment? Being the center of attention? Being asked questions like I used to love? Being laughed at because of how little Rutooro I know? Some combination of everything, most likely.  


So if you wouldn’t mind, keep my celebrity status in your prayers. Social anxiety is a particularly difficult thing for me, as extraverted as I am.