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.
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