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entropy

There is always a pattern among even the most chaotic situations. It took us a month to accustom to the busy bustle of the towns and ‘cities’. Though it was intimidating at first, I realized that the hustle bustle was mostly due to the fact that there are so many people, and the busy atmosphere is really just a flurry of activity from all those individuals packed in a small space. What seemed odd merely a month ago is now something normal, even something to take comfort in. Every swerve on the streets, whether on the matatu’s, in a truck, or on a bike, is carefully calculated though it feels the complete opposite. When people yell in the taxi parks, Kampala, Kampala! Butaleja! Soroti! Jinja! Hey Muzungu, Kampala Kampala??! it is a normal occurrence, perfectly polite and in line with what their job is for—to me during our first visit to Mbale, every yell was an assault, as if they were all pouncing and pushing and vying for us to get onto their bus, no, that bus, no that one… etc.,… but now every yell, every approach is calmly dismissed if they don’t shout the destination I want. Who am I to blame them for the assumption that we are headed to Kampala? We are foreigners, after all, what business do they know we have in the small towns? I am fairly sure of the fact that we are all primed to be on guard in any new situation, more alert and sensitive to comments and actions from those who we are unfamiliar with. Unfair assumptions on my part have helped me deal with the situation during that time, but it took reflection and discussion with my team mates to realize that those assumptions were not truth.

While men jostled to get us onto their matatus, beggar children begged for alms, and men leered at us, I thought that they were just rude people in general, trying to get the most out of any mzungu they see. In hindsight, and having followed the same weekend routine for the past month, I’ve come to realize that all this activity is simply a way of life for them. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary—though I felt like everyone treated us mzungus with extra attention (and ulterior motives), in reality they treated all potential customers in the same way. Knowing that I am extra self- conscious, and also more sensitive, I’ve learned to sit back, breathe, and just observe. I keep the assumptions popping into my mind at bay, so that I limit my anxiety, and also maximize my learning in the new environment. It’s easier to notice the pattern of life in a new culture by exercising patience, accommodation, and to distance oneself from quick judgment of others.

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Friday fun

June 17, an eventful day

On our way back from lunch, we noticed a big crowd of people gathered around two men. It turned out to be a fist fight between two men, apparently fighting over a cheating wife. There were people from the town gathered, as well as children from the primary school beside where they were fighting, plus some high school students who had the day off. It was a great big show, and everyone was shouting their comments, heckling, laughing, and others were trying to pull the two men off each other. Even the woman was there, with her baby strapped to her back as women do here. The men were told to move their fight elsewhere, and the crowd kept following them. Almost 50 people would follow them as they moved the fight from place to place. I wonder if the husband was trying to gather the crowd, to shame his wife and also the man with whom she had extra marital relations with.

After the fun and frenzy moved far away, we headed back to the library. All day, the school across our workplace had loud music blaring. Apparently it was a celebration dance welcoming the new S1 and S5 students (start of junior and senior high). We were curious to see what a high school dance looked like, so we gathered around the windows to peek. We should’ve known that the students would drag us into the dance, seeing a chance to party with the muzungus.

The dance hall was really just a plain, bare classroom, with leaves decorating the window panes. We were ushered into the room, where catchy African tunes had everyone dancing and having fun. Dancing (and clubbing) here is not as awkward as it is back home, in my opinion… people here are a lot more natural when it comes to breaking out their dance moves, probably because children are brought up to learn and perform the traditional dances. When we got onto the dance floor, all the boys danced their way to surround us, cheering us on, and dancing away. It was great fun. We snapped some pictures, then darted back out because it was so hot and humid inside. On our way out, I noticed that there were several explicit drawings of men and women on the blackboard, but I didn’t ask about it. For a society where religious studies is a major part of the school curriculum, it surprised me to see sex pictures explicitly drawn onto a high school blackboard.

We had dinner plans with the town doctor, who is also an amazing cook. We arrived promptly at 6pm, as arranged, but he was stuck in theatre (operating room) as he was last time we were here. We waited around but he didn’t arrive until close to 8pm. He must’ve had a really long day, he looked quite exhausted but he was still rather chatty at that. He proceeded to ask his cousin to go out to buy some vegetables, then began to prepare the food. Being busy all the time doesn’t allow him much time for socializing, so he took the chance to chat with us as he prepared dinner. By 9:30pm, the vegetables were still being chopped, but we had learned most of his dating history. We didn’t get to eat until an hour or so later. He was an animated story teller, for sure. When we had finished, he called on a driver from the hospital to help him escort us home, which was a treat because the cheaper alternative would’ve been to ride a motorcycle home in the dark. We got home, and all fell asleep soon afterwards as it had been a long, eventful day.

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Weekend reflection

A couple days ago we bumped into an American Peace Corp volunteer shopping at the local supermarket that regularly visit. (Supermarkets in the towns are really just tiny convenience stores stocked up with basic things like sauce, water, school notebooks, and cheap candy. ) We learned that her name was Audrey, and she is staying at a town around the same distance to Busolwe as we are. It was such a nice treat to chat in English with someone else from North America. She is on a 27 month assignment, and she’s only been here for about 2.5 months, a month more than we have. We invited her to visit us at the library sometime, and she mentioned that she was on her own, so she definitely will.

Later, Steph, Anna, and I talked about how much harder this experience would be if any of us were on our own. I owe a lot to my housemates, and to UBC for fixing up our arrangements. It’s been really comforting to have that Vancouver connection with my housemates. Plus, we are all similar in our goals and aspirations, but are different personalities so life is always interesting.

We seem to take turns getting sick. It is currently my term, apparently. I hope it’s not malaria, and that’s all I wish for. Being sick here is five times harder than it is back home. It makes me cranky and irritated and more on guard than usual, but also allows me to be more bold in my bartering and confrontational skills with boda drivers and the like.

I’m so incoherent this weekend. Tired. Sick. Update better tomorrow, or next weekend. We only have access to internet on the weekends when we are at our hotels.

I hope everyone is doing well back home.

It surprises me how different NGO volunteers approach their assignments. I wonder if some of the other foreigners staying here at this hotel went through classes on ethics. I wonder if we are doing our projects in the most sustainable and ethical way possible. We will probably look back on our time here and see where we could’ve done better.

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