Where's the girl power?

Some old friends of my father (pasteurs from a large church in Kampala) visited this week. My sister was visibly shaken to have these "big people" show up unannounced. After greeting them on my knees, as Bagandan culture calls for, I helped hide the transportation of the good glasses from their shelf in my parents bedroom to the kitchen. We put them in my sister's backpack and she explained to me, "I don't want them to wonder, 'Why do these people keep their glasses back there?'" After serving them drinks we excused ourselvs so the men could catch up.

How odd it is to be thrust into unfamiliar gender roles. At first it was sort of amusing for me to play along like a game of "House". But I can't imagine to be trapped in this role indefinitely. Recently, I have become more annoyed with women's role in this community, and the constraints I face traveling as a white woman.

I spoke yesterday with a man who was on this program a few years ago. He told me about how he hitchiked his way across East Afrcia. There's no way, that as a woman, I would ever be safe doing that. Another boy on my trip replied, "Yeah, my motto is 'never say no.'" Well what about me? At times I must say no to protect myself. And if I say yes to a new experience, that experience will be quite different than a man's experience in the same situation. Not only does a penis grant you greater access to places and information, but it allows you to interact with indiviudals without fearing their ulterior motives.

Just this morning I boarded a taxi for town. I sat next to the driver who immediately struck up conversation. I'm very intersted in the public transportation system here, so I saw this as my chance to learn more and started asking him questions. Yet the conversation kept turning to me, and how the driver could get my contact information. "When will you call me?" "Can we travel together?"

I learned little about the taxi system on my drive to town. But hey, maybe I found a hitchike buddy.

21 going on 6

Tonight I wasn't trusted to escort guests to the road by myself. They think I will get lost on my way home in the dark. Then, as I prepared my bath water, my dad pointed to the shoes I washed last night and said, "Next time, I will wash those. You didn't do a good enough job." I was so proud of myself for washing my shoes. For remembering to clean them and spending the time to scrub the dirt from them! The American in me is thinking, "Who washes their Tevas? You wear them on your feet. You're sweaty feet. And then you walk on dirt and mud roads...and you wash them?!" I understand their logic, and the huge empahsis on personal hygeine, but I tried! Only to be reprimanded. It's partially amasuing and partially frustrating to be constantly treated as if I am six. I'm lucky to even be considered six. If it wasn't for thier English skills and my common sense, I would be about as competent as a fetus.

But that just makes the moments in which my parents allow me to cook, to wash, to clean, to function as any 21-year-old Ugandan, that much more meaningful.