In less than 24 hours I'll be boarding a plane back to the US. I feel
that in some respects my transition home from Uganda will be easier
than the one from Rwanda, since the purpose of this trip wasn't to
study genocide and visit massacre sites. But my time here has been challenging
in other ways most notably, searching and struggling to find my place
in the world. I know that life has gone on without me back home and part of the challenge of returning to the U.S. is reinserting myself into a life that I have not been a part of in so long.
When I think that I won't experience culture shock, though, I look around me and realize that this Ugandan life has become somewhat normal to me over the past few months. I expect to find fruit and vegetables being sold every couple of feet on the side of the road. I expect to see women carrying food, jerry cans, or luggage atop their heads. I greet automatically and sometimes even kneel for elders. The dirt roads and potholes are no longer a shock, nor a disturbance. And some days, I actually crave mashed plantains. I already struggled to readjust from the village to the city following my research, so who knows how it will be readjusting from an African city to an American one.
As my departure time approaches, I realize how significant this experience has been for my personal growth. Although not academically rigorous it has forced me to ask and answer tough questions and subsequently grow intellectually, spiritually and emotionally. I will forever be grateful for the people who guided me and supported me throughout this adventure, for the families who embraced me and cared for me, and for the friends who kept me company along the way.
Things I will miss from Uganda:
10 cent mangoes
5 cent bananas
20 cent avocados (that are double the size of those in America)
Lantern lit dinners
Hand games
The sunsets
Organic food at every meal
The hospitality
Boda bodas (motorcycle transportation)
The pace
Mosquito nets (but not the mosquitoes)
Tea time
My friends
My families
The villages I lived in
The challenges which force me to grow
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
L'hitraot - Leaving the Abayudaya
I leave the Abayudaya in two days and I am by no means ready to go. I know I have done a terrible job of keeping my blog updated, so here is an entry to try and summarize my experience.
I have been living blissfully here, asking all the questions I can think of to all sorts of people, eating well at every meal (and in between meals), moving around, playing, learning. Everyone here tells me to delay my departure, that they are sad to see me go. One of my host sisters told me I’m leaving a hole behind and their next visitor will not be able to fill it. I’m not sure if they are just paying me lip service, or if they are genuine, but it sure is comforting to hear.
The past few weeks have been my happiest in Uganda. Some days, without any reason, I experience this overwhelming sense of giddiness. I just get so excited about where I am, what I’m doing, and whom I’m spending time with. I’m going to miss the dark nights lit by a single lantern, all of the kids singing, playing guitar and teaching me hand games. I’m going to miss philosophical Jewish discussions in the middle of rural Uganda. I’m going to miss the friends I have made, the families I have been welcomed into. I will miss the African melodies during Shabat services, drinking beer for Kiddush instead of wine, sniffing lotion at Havdalah instead of spices.
My first week here I couldn’t get over the Jewish presence in these villages. I thought it didn’t belong. Living such a life in such a setting seemed awkward. But now, now it is completely natural to me. I don’t think twice when kids break out into “David Melech” or when I see men wearing kippot. It doesn’t matter that the founder of this community wasn’t born Jewish. What matters is that people here have been Jewish for generations. They have been Jewish from their birth up to today. They know they are Jewish – what could make them more Jewish? Sure, I feel connected by my lineage, but they feel connected by the Torah. Their existence is therefore no more bizarre than the Jewish populations in Ethiopia, India, or the United States for that matter. We are the same – believing in an ancient religion, upholding old customs, perpetuating a similar culture.
I can’t deny, though, that I have grown up in a different place with different privileges, and therefore will always be different from this community. But still, when I leave Saturday, I will leave knowing that I will always have a place here.
I have been living blissfully here, asking all the questions I can think of to all sorts of people, eating well at every meal (and in between meals), moving around, playing, learning. Everyone here tells me to delay my departure, that they are sad to see me go. One of my host sisters told me I’m leaving a hole behind and their next visitor will not be able to fill it. I’m not sure if they are just paying me lip service, or if they are genuine, but it sure is comforting to hear.
The past few weeks have been my happiest in Uganda. Some days, without any reason, I experience this overwhelming sense of giddiness. I just get so excited about where I am, what I’m doing, and whom I’m spending time with. I’m going to miss the dark nights lit by a single lantern, all of the kids singing, playing guitar and teaching me hand games. I’m going to miss philosophical Jewish discussions in the middle of rural Uganda. I’m going to miss the friends I have made, the families I have been welcomed into. I will miss the African melodies during Shabat services, drinking beer for Kiddush instead of wine, sniffing lotion at Havdalah instead of spices.
My first week here I couldn’t get over the Jewish presence in these villages. I thought it didn’t belong. Living such a life in such a setting seemed awkward. But now, now it is completely natural to me. I don’t think twice when kids break out into “David Melech” or when I see men wearing kippot. It doesn’t matter that the founder of this community wasn’t born Jewish. What matters is that people here have been Jewish for generations. They have been Jewish from their birth up to today. They know they are Jewish – what could make them more Jewish? Sure, I feel connected by my lineage, but they feel connected by the Torah. Their existence is therefore no more bizarre than the Jewish populations in Ethiopia, India, or the United States for that matter. We are the same – believing in an ancient religion, upholding old customs, perpetuating a similar culture.
I can’t deny, though, that I have grown up in a different place with different privileges, and therefore will always be different from this community. But still, when I leave Saturday, I will leave knowing that I will always have a place here.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I have been living with the Abayudaya, a Jewish tribe in Eastern Uganda, for over a week now. At the last minute I changed my Independent Study Project (ISP) from evaluating indigenous knowledge in development schemes to examining how Jewish philanthropy has affected the Abayudaya. I could not be happier with my decision. My first few days in their village, I struggled to wrap my mind around the reality of this community. I was initially touched by the community’s spirituality as well as perplexed by its existence here. To me, Judaism is cultural. Can it be cultural here when it is two foreign cultures bottled as one? The Hebrew, the prayers, the talitot are all comforting. Patterns of behavior mimic those that I’m used to at my home synagogue. But why do these people choose to be Jewish? I identify with the spiritual and cultural aspects of Judaism. It is odd to me that they are drawn to the religious ones. Judaism makes sense to me. But I don’t expect it to make sense to everyone. Perhaps that is why I’m surprised that this community, which six generations ago had no connection to Judaism, decided to embrace it.
I’m living with a host family 6 km or so away from the main Abayudaya village. The family has a large and successful farm, so I’m stuffed full of fresh mangoes, avocados, pineapple and bananas. I love the drastically different pace of life in the village as compared to life in Kampala. I can sense myself getting antsy every now and then while I sit in the shade of a tree for hours with one other person for company. Or when I’m walking at a snails pace from point A to point B with my Ugandan companion. But I remind myself there is something to appreciate in these (painfully) relaxed moments. And when I am conscious of my own restlessness I remind myself to be grateful of where I am and what I’m doing at that moment (even if I am doing nothing at all).
Passover was great. I was a bit homesick (there’s nothing like having a familiar Seder with those you love). But there’s also nothing like cooking for 300 people without electricity. I spent six hours Wednesday sifting through a 100 pound bag of rice! Both men and women were involved in the preparations. When I arrived in the morning, the men were slaughtering and skinning goats and the women were koshering the plates. The first night’s Seder was about twice as big as the second night’s, but the service was nothing alien. Quite similar to what Jews do in The States (minus the goat).
The people here are wonderful. Some of the community members have truly taken me under their wing. I don’t know if they do this for all visitors, or if they are trying to make a good impression for my research, or if I’m something special. I’d love to say the latter, of course, but I think it is probably a mix of all three. Nonetheless, it has made for an extremely meaningful experience. In less than a week I found my niche in this community. It definitely took effort on my part, and was aided by the people’s open demeanor. But I feel comfortable now. I feel at home.
My entire study abroad experience has made me question where I belong. But for the time being, I know that I’m right where I should be.
I’m living with a host family 6 km or so away from the main Abayudaya village. The family has a large and successful farm, so I’m stuffed full of fresh mangoes, avocados, pineapple and bananas. I love the drastically different pace of life in the village as compared to life in Kampala. I can sense myself getting antsy every now and then while I sit in the shade of a tree for hours with one other person for company. Or when I’m walking at a snails pace from point A to point B with my Ugandan companion. But I remind myself there is something to appreciate in these (painfully) relaxed moments. And when I am conscious of my own restlessness I remind myself to be grateful of where I am and what I’m doing at that moment (even if I am doing nothing at all).
Passover was great. I was a bit homesick (there’s nothing like having a familiar Seder with those you love). But there’s also nothing like cooking for 300 people without electricity. I spent six hours Wednesday sifting through a 100 pound bag of rice! Both men and women were involved in the preparations. When I arrived in the morning, the men were slaughtering and skinning goats and the women were koshering the plates. The first night’s Seder was about twice as big as the second night’s, but the service was nothing alien. Quite similar to what Jews do in The States (minus the goat).
The people here are wonderful. Some of the community members have truly taken me under their wing. I don’t know if they do this for all visitors, or if they are trying to make a good impression for my research, or if I’m something special. I’d love to say the latter, of course, but I think it is probably a mix of all three. Nonetheless, it has made for an extremely meaningful experience. In less than a week I found my niche in this community. It definitely took effort on my part, and was aided by the people’s open demeanor. But I feel comfortable now. I feel at home.
My entire study abroad experience has made me question where I belong. But for the time being, I know that I’m right where I should be.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
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."
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."
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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.
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.
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