As I sit here in Uganda, I am desperately searching for the words to paint a detailed, accurate picture of this extraordinary country. I want to describe everything, but perfectly. I realize that words do no justice to the encounters I have each day, the people I meet, or the experiences I endure. However, I will do my best to portray my life here through photos and retelling and reliving my experiences thus far.
I have traveled to the city for the weekend, as we have finished our work in the village for the week. Now that I have gone back and forth from the village to the city, I think I am gaining a better perspective of what life here in Uganda is actually like. I try to make an effort to chat with everyone I come in contact with. Staying here at the hostel is unique because I have met so many people from all walks of life, both travellers and locals, volunteers and businessmen, partiers and humanitarians. Everyone is here for a different purpose and reason, but everyone asks the same question: "People are so poor here, but why is everyone so happy?". I wonder the same thing when I walk through the villages and see women sitting on the dirt floor of their home, fingers bleeding, with babies drinking milk from their breasts, smiling, laughing, and chatting with their neighbor, who is doing the same thing. I wonder about this happiness when my students enter class, no shoes, torn shirt, 15 minutes late. When I ask them about their tardiness they chuckle and say "Sorry, I was biking from Kalisizo. Kalisizo is a village 40 km from our school. I think about the misery I would feel if this was my daily life at home in California. But here I have come to understand what a waste of energy being unhappy is. I think each day of life is valued so much here because life is so unpredictable. There is no time to waste energy on stress or sadness. I must learn from these people to value and respect my life in the same manner.
I would like to share a moment of kindness I experienced from a complete stranger on the bus ride from Masaka to Kampala. After my experience on the Matatu, I opted for the bus this time. While the speed was safer, the whole experience was just as unique. I have become intrigued with local transport as it is always a memorable experience. So here is what happened leading up to the act of kindness I shared with this stranger. Ok, so I asked Fred (local who works at school with me) where I could catch the bus to Kampala. He told me "Just walk to the bottom of the hill". I say "I didn't know there was a bus stop there". He looks at me entirely confused and says "There isn't". Now I am confused so i ask "Then what do I do." He looks at me again, but now as though I am from a different planet. In a sense, I am. He says "When you see the bus you want to take just wave them down." Alright, so I throw my backpack on, and hike to the bottom of the hill and wait for 30 minutes until I spot what looks like a "safe" bus. I wave it down and shout to the conducter, "Kampala?". The bus driver barely stops and as the conducter grabs my backpack, I jump on the bus as it is still moving. He points to a seat which required me stepping over suitcases, bags of potatoes, posho, and millet. I plop into my seat and I'm off onto another exciting and interesting journey to Kampala. Five minutes into the ride, the driver swerves to avoid a pot hole, but the back tire catches and the bus begins to tip. The girl, the complete stranger, sitting next to me screams and grabs my leg. I think, "Oh shit, you are not suppose to be scared, I am". We exchange empathetic smiles and I slouch in my seat, mentally preparing myself for another enduring trip. The bus continues to drive at a decent speed, slowing down as we approach villages to pick up passengers, regardless of whether or not there are available seats. I avoided breakfast back at the house, as I didn't think I could stomach another meal of fried ants and mashed bananas (matoke). Ok, imagine this....as we approach villages, all the passengers open the windows of the bus and the street vendors, what seems like hundreds, rush the bus, shoving sticks of goat meat, chapati (local bread), fried bananas, and bottles of water and passion fruit juice, through the windows for the passengers to purchase. As the bus begins to move again, the vendors (usually 10-12 yr. old boys) run along the side of the bus just to complete a transaction. It's an overwhelming experience, but my growling stomach urged me to muster up enough courage to buy a piece of chapati. I hand the boy 500 shillings and he returns just one piece of chapati. My ignorance and my want to avoid conflict, makes me assume it cost just that, 500 shillings (33 cents). The girl, complete stranger, sitting next to me starts yelling at the seller in Luganda and I wonder what is going on. She then proceeds to put her whole body out the window and grabs the boy's shirt. He hands her 400 shillings and she turns to me, handing me the money, saying "He cheat you. I help." I grab her hand and say "Webale", which means thank you in Luganda. She didn't have to do that, it was just a genuine act of kindness. I always feel so inspired by people's kindness, it makes me want to emulate this behavior. Blessings!
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