The experiences I had last Tuesday
demonstrate “Africa” time and little challenges and obstacles on a typical
day. But the conversations I had also
illustrate the great sense of humor that the people around me have and how they
remind me to keep mine when it’s much easier to feel frustrated.
We had a SMP Quarterly Review Meeting in
Kumi on Tuesday.
This was our intended schedule:
7:00 am: Leave SMP
8:30 am: Start meeting
1:00: Leave for Kampala
This was our real schedule:
8:30: Left SMP
10:30: Started meeting
2:30: Left for Kampala
So, my American mindset is to arrive at the
office at 6:55, just on the off chance that we’ll actually leave on time. Once,
Chime, our Chief of Party, said to me “Don’t use Ugandan time”. Ever since then, I’m still afraid to be late.
I have my smaller backpack stuffed into my
larger one as I huff and puff on a bike to the office. The bike seat kept
leaning back and up, so I kept having to stop and try to hammer it back down
with my hand. It’s mostly flat and the weather is cool, but by the time I
arrive I am really sweaty. Of course,
the only person there is the security guard.
Around 7:30, Paul, Ruth and Benjamin start to arrive. When I told Ruth that I rode the bike here
with my backpack she said “Now I know you’re a real African woman!” Then we
joked that now I just needed to learn how to carry a bucket on my head with a
baby strapped to my back.
At 8:00, Steven (one of the drivers)
arrived and said he was going to pick up Badru.
I joked to Paul (the other driver) that he could have picked me up as
well. When he said that it could have been
arranged, I replied that I didn’t know that was an option. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to hold up
the group because we had such a long day of travelling. I
still struggle with the idea of being the foreigner who gets driven around and
sometimes needs extra help.
When Badru finally arrived, he said
“Ashley, now you know African time!” I
laughed, but told him I had been there since before seven. He apologized, which made me feel guilty for
even saying anything.
Badru is Muslim and has been fasting the
past few weeks for Ramadan. Despite not eating or drinking for 12 hours during
the day, he always has a great
attitude. He has been nothing but kind,
patient, and funny with me and the other team members. I can’t imagine fasting. So, if he can be so great during such a time
of sacrifice, and I’m feeling frustrated over getting up an hour earlier for no
reason, sitting in a crammed truck for five hours, and travelling to Kampala despite our training
being cancelled, I have to ask myself, “what the hell is my problem?!”
Kampala is a five hour drive from Kumi in a
private car. One hour is on an extremely bumpy road riddled with huge
potholes. When we turned onto the main
road, we saw Dr. Julius (who used to be the SMP Soroti Team Leader and was the
one who requested a Peace Corps Volunteer) and asked him if he was going to
Kampala. I’m thinking “NO!!! There are
already 4 of us in a small truck with bags.”
When I voiced my concern about my bag potentially being stolen in
Kampala out of the bed of the truck (petty concern I know), Badru said, “We
can’t say no (to Dr. Julius)”. In
retrospect, he’s right. I would hope
someone would do the same for me.
Guess who sat in the middle? Me. While my legs were held tightly together,
I kept looking over at Benjamin whose legs looked much more comfortable in a
wide stance, I thought “why can men do that and I can’t?!” But Dr. Julius was great to talk to and he
helped me hold my big backpack across our laps when it started to rain. The conversations I had with those guys was
worth the stiff knees. At one point, we
talked about how many children women and families “produced” in Africa. The best line I heard all day was when Badru
turned to me and said “In Africa, we die a lot.” We all cracked up. What he meant was that the life expectancy is
so low, that families feel the need to have many children.
When we reached Seeta, a town about 30
minutes outside of Kampala, Badru called Agnes, his contact to ask about our
training the following day. He told us
that it had been cancelled and just died laughing. I just laughed along with him. When he laughs, it’s almost impossible for me
not to. Agnes had emailed him, but he
had been too busy with the meeting in Kumi to check it. I’m still not sure why she just didn’t call
or text, and could have saved us the trip.
Zen me ban? What can you do?
The road between Jinja and Kampala often
has “jams” because it is the main road connecting the port of Mombasa, Kenya, to
Kampala. Big trucks transport cargo and
fuel along this two lane road. So, when
we got into our first “jam”, Ben said “turn here, it’s a short cut”. As we went down the crowded side street, we
quickly realized a night market had been set up and that our short cut was
turning into a detour. I laughed and
exclaimed “TIA!!!” When I explained it
meant “This is Africa”, we all laughed.
After getting back onto the main road and
sitting in another jam, Steven, our driver pointed across to a dirt road as
another potential shortcut. I joked,
“Steven, you know there’s another night market down that road”. But, as we took it, so did a lot of other
drivers, but it seemed so remote for being on the outskirts of a capital city. I
was expecting to hear dueling banjos right out of Deliverance. Badru said
“TIA: This is America.” Then, I turned it into “This is Ashley”.
The next day, I spent at the Peace Corps
and SMP Offices. I had to visit the
Peace Corps doctor because the skin around my eyes was burning, which was
really bizarre. It turned out to be fine. Throughout the day, I also felt waves
of frustration as SMP staff discussed the myriad of challenges about my housing
situation. That afternoon I walked back
to my guest house through the hills of Kololo, past embassies and UN offices. The skies had cleared, the wind was blowing
and as I walked among palm trees and bougainvilleas, I couldn’t help but think
“this is paradise”. TIA.
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