Jewish moms aren't the only feeders

I wrote my family about the immense amount of food I'm ingesting here. Platefuls of carbs,handful after handful of chappati and glasses of 4% milk (basically whipping cream). My dad wrote back gleeful that my stomach issues aren't persisting in Uganda. This is a misunderstanding, though, and I thought I should devote a blog post to my eating patterns (since it is much of what I do here) in order to clear up any confusion.

First of all, the food isn't bad . I haven't gotten sick of it and I enjoy all of the dishes - Even the ones typically unpopular among tourists. One such dish is called Matooke (Ma-toe-kay). This is a type of plantain which is boiled, softened, and then mashed into a thick yellow paste. No flavor is added, and it serves as the base to sauces, beans, etc. Another Ugandan staple posho. To make it, you add hot water to corn flour (over a fire) and it slowly expands into this flubbery white block. This also serves as the base of the meal and as your utensil.

For breakfast all I usually get is a cup of black tea and occasionally some white bread. So, when lunch rolls around ta 1:00, I'm starving and gorge myself on whatever food is cheap and near. I arrive home, still full from my mid-day feast around, 6:00 and am greeted with another cup of tea and a snack (usually popcorn). When dinner is served around 10:00 pm, I'm no longer hungry. In fact, I would much rather sleep than eat. But I muster some energy and fill my plate with posho, beans and Irish potatoes (buttery/salty boiled potatoes). I always serve myself a small portion because inevitably my host father demands in his thick, deep voice, "Magga, more mmere (food). More mmere." I know better than to refuse so I fill my plate higher the second time as the family watches over my shoulder. Some nights they will actually bring the pots over to me and put more food on my plate declaring, "We just love you so much. SOOO much!" By the time dinner is over I'm barely able to roll myself into bed.

I have heard that other host families employ different techniques to encourage their student's eating. One host mom begs, " Do it for Mama!" In another family, if the American refuses to eat more the mother declares, "Fine, if you are going without food, than so am I" and pushes her plate of food away.

My African Dad told me one dinner as he proudly watched me eat seconds of posho, "By the end of this trip, we will make you African."

Tips for Surviving/Thriving in Uganda

1. Carry a hankie with you at all times. It's hot and the air is thick with dirt, dust, grime and smoke. Make sure to wash the hankie frequently. It usually turns from white to brown within 12 hours. For excessive perspirerers out there apply baby powder to your face.

2. Leave your cravings for crunch at home. Ugandan food is mush: there's no such thing as an overcooked potato or bannana here.

3. Keep your eyes down when walking. Rocks, cracks, potholes and open manholes are plentiful here.

4. Keep your eyes on the sky when walking. Large vulture-like birds (Kaloli in Luganda) swarm the skies. They eat wood, animals, babies, garbage and metal. They have no predators because they are so toxic and when they die they lay rotting, untouched by other animals. If one of these unfortuante creatures poops on you, your chance of develpoing a severe infection is high.

5. Keep your head on a swivel. Cars and motorcycles appear out of nowhere. they will not stop for people. In my first week I saw a byciclist hit by a van and a man hit by a taxi.


6. Eat fresh fruit. Because the equator runs through Uganda the pineapple, mangoes and bannans are to die for. My host family grows papaya in their front yard and we often eat it for dessert!

7. Give yourself plenty of time to get anywhere in Kampala. My seven mile journey from home to school takes 45 - 60 minutes in the morning and up to 2 hours in the evening.

8. Be presentable. You can either be a muzungu, or a tourist. Tiourists are considered dirty with nothing to offer. If you are a clean Muzungu, however, you will be respected and receive help more readily. I have always considered myself a bit domestic. I enjoy cooking and don't mind cleaning. But I never picked up the knack for ironing. I never imagined receiving a tutorial on ironing from my middle-aged host dad in Uganda who wants me to look "smart".

9. Bring Toilet paper with you. My host family uses computer paper in its place, and let me tell you, it does not have the same absorption qualities. When I told my friend about this she said, "Oh, that's rough." I responded, "Why, yes it is." I recently learned, however, to crumple the paper several times before use in order to soften it.

10. Leave your map at home. First of all, they're confusing. Second of all Ugandans are extremely friendly. They are more than happy to help direct you and abuot 50% of the time they will escort you to your destination.

The End of Week Number One.

The other day a friend and I walked to a nearby market. As we were escaping the crowds, an old man munching on a snack stopped us and offered some of his food to us for free. We grabbed a small handful of the black and yellow blobs and popped them into our mouths. Salty. A little crunchy. Not too bad, except for the ant leg that was stuck between my teeth the rest of the day!

After the man became impressed with our mature taste buds he engaged us in conversation. When he learned we were from America he yelped in glee, "OBAMA!" and extended his fist for the Obama Fist Pound.


My birthday was 21st birthday was a couple days ago. Pretty anti-climactic but I didn't really mind. My academic directors bought me a cake (Uganda's version of carrot cake) which was really thoughtful, but didn't taste much like carrot cake. I chose not to tell me host family that it was my birthday because I didn't want them to feel obligated to buy me a cake. That decision came around to bite me though, because last night during dinner we were discussing birthdays since my host mom's is coming up.
"When is your birthday?" They asked me.
"Umm, the 12th," I replied.
"Of what?"
"February."
I was severely reprimanded after that for not telling them about my birthday, and my host father exclaimed, "We could have made you a taco!" (for some reason they think that is a staple in the American diet).

I love my host family, though. They are extremely warm, and the slight language barrier that exists between us does not diminish our friendship.

Last night my host sister tried putting a weave on my head. My brother said that I looked like a Russian army official with a fur hat.

Finally here.

After a delay in New York, a 12 hour layover in London (in which we could not leave the airport due to the terrible snow storm), and many more hours of traveling, I am here - safe and sound - in Kampala. The past few days have been devoted to an orientation for the 28 American students participating on this program, and only recently have we been let loose to discover the city for ourselves.

Kampala is overwhelming. Not because of the unfamiliarity of it, but because of the traffic, the noise, and the fumes which weigh on my lungs. It's risky crossing streets because cars rarely (if ever) stop for pedestrians. The motorcycle taxis here are on their last wheels, and no one wears helmets . I witnessed a car hitting a bicyclist this afternoon!

The beginning of any adventure to a new place is always a bit awkward: Forcing yourself to emerge from you comfort zone, make a fool of yourself tripping over the local language, and learning the subtleties of the culture. I have no problem being laughed at, but being a newcomer is a bit uncomfortable. I know I will always be an outsider here, an anomaly, a spectacle. But I look forward to the time when I will be an outsider with a sliver of an insider's knowledge.