Elap iuni (3 months)

Before joining Peace Corps, I made contact with a lot of RPCVs and each proclaimed the first 6 months at site to be most difficult. Well, with five months under my belt, I’m ready for calmer waters, but that isn’t meant to be an inclination of disturbance. My third month at site in the Northeast of Uganda passed on the 10^th of July, signifying the first milestone in-country: the ability to go and visit other sites and collaborate with fellow volunteers to bring new and refreshing ideas to my own work. I’m excited to work with those near and dear to my Ateso heart, both American and Ugandan. For my friends back home, I feel as though I must illustrate the great people who surround me in my current life. I consider them my network of support and without their presence I’d be a basket case. Rather than describe their sites, personalities, and physical traits, I’ll write a quick ditty about each.

Sarah

The theater was dark and crowded but the screen illuminated our tear-stained cheeks as we watched our favorite foursome exist amongst the high-rise skyscrapers and the sea of anonymity we decided to sacrifice in the name of peace. While inappropriate, the salty waters continued throughout the two-hour event and we welcomed them as though they were packages from home. Our hands clasped to one another with the silent knowledge that we both missed our own version of brunches with Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda. Just being with Sarah brings contentment because our experience is so closely bound in character that explanation isn’t a necessity. Instead, laughter ensues and we discuss whether or not we think this will be the week that our bodies betray us and we fail to run the 30 meters to the latrine in time, sacrificing our American adulthood for a Ugandan childhood.

Chad(d)

In celebration of the Fourth of July, we sat in a row, our legs pressed to the cool wall. It was a long night of dance party and imaginary ice-skating after a dinner of Indian food and ice cream. Nearly midnight, we all felt fatigued and sat in silence, reflecting on our own thoughts when, out of nowhere, Southern drawl vernacular blurts out, “If I were Mormon, I’d marry y’all.” Chadd’s mile-a-minute mind fascinates and entertains every interaction. Jumping from Mormonism to Kentucky Derby to cave spelunking, his intellectual capacity is limitless. “Where did that come from?” I asked the wall, too tired to move my gaze to meet his. “I just love y’all.” In another second, before I am able to respond, he springs to his feet and screams, “Let’s punch each other in the face to get this party started!” Terri, your son is the rock of the Teso bunch.

Marcy

With every minute, the sun inched closer to the horizon. Darkness neared. . . . I decided to go home with Marcy to use her shower, a small luxury in my simplistic world. We were to meet friends at 7 PM to go to dinner, but we found delay in leaving the convent. The nuns spoke of different ways to reach the main road, deciding the best route to be the short cut through the bush villages. Now in the middle of nowhere, Marcy and I couldn’t stop our laughter despite the taunting of small children, knowing that we’d never make it before dusk. The cut was anything but short, and we relied on our cell phone torches to light the way. Upon arriving, cell service failed and our friends, who tired of waiting for us, went into town for dinner at an unknown location. We sat on the front stoop laughing over our situation and decided to make the best of our night. We caught bicycles into town just as drizzle turned to rain. The whole way, our laughter filled the night air with the occasional game of “Marco Polo” to assure our existence and safety from the lightening.

Okello Nathan and Charles Dickens

“Let me come over. Are you home?” he asked over the phone. Knowing he only lived across the grounds, I responded, “Nathan, you don’t need to waste your minutes to call and ask if you can come over to my house. You’re welcome anytime.” A minute later he knocked on my door to deliver a piece of paper that read: “Your presence is most desired for lunch of chicken and rice this Sunday afternoon.” With a chuckle, I invite him in for a glass of lemonade and accept the request for lunch, realizing it’s been years since I received a paper invitation. Nathan’s attempts to be culturally sensitive are the moments in my day when I value the thoughtfulness of my village. After the assurance that lemonade will not poison (yellow water?!), we sat down to enjoy the refreshment together as we discussed the day, only to hear the sound of a 2 year old motorcycle making his way to my house. Charles Dickens, the son of Okello Nathan, can never be far from his father— his hero. To make his presence known at every moment, he makes the sound of a motorcycle as he wobble-walks. “I apologize. I didn’t tell you of his presence. He is disturbing us now,” he apologized as the bare-bottomed Dickens climbed the concrete slab and made his way into my house. “Your family welcomes me everyday. They are free to come and visit,” I assure him as I hand Dicks a banana. “But, in America, this would be unacceptable,” Nathan states matter-of-factly. While the villagers don’t fully understand my culture, their efforts to respect mainstream American culture (thanks Hollywood for portraying such a Eurocentric notion) shows in their calls to come visit, invitations for dinner, and gifts of Irish potatoes in lieu of millet bread.

Omoding Adam

At home, it was easy to forget one’s “self” because the world at-large is so consuming of time and space and awareness. The allowance to analyze your very being is shuffled around until it reaches its destination at the bottom of a to-do list. Why are finding a mate, making money, and getting a haircut more important than discovering oneself? Living and working in Uganda brought me the best gift: a sense of identity. In the African context, people are defined in terms of others: the relationships they form, the interactions they create and sustain become the definition of existence. Yet, it is impossible to be the only white person for hours without knowing who you, alone, are and what you stand for in life. As I become comfortable at site, I find I become comfortable with the ambiguity of purpose. For now (to quote Avenue Q), I take pride in my ability to relate to others (regardless of purpose), stay true to my own set of morals and values, and continue to learn who I am. To be culturally relevant, I define myself in the African context, through my reflection in other people: I see myself in the progressive education pedagogies of Kindergarten teachers I mentor, the improved decision-making abilities of the 6^th grade boys and girls I meet with to discuss life skills, the look of doubt in the girls who, at age 14, are married and pregnant but not in school, the trust in knowing that whatever happens, life will continue. Just as everything changes, I will change with that continuation. And that is where I am now. Not to mention my testosterone’s at an all time high. . . .

As usual, I think of you all often and miss you more than you know. I save all post and read them in times of great frustration and they provide a sense of home and belonging that I'll never achieve in Uganda, no matter how hard I try. Some days I long for the easy company of friends over bottles of wine and fancy dinners that filled my life prior to my dive into the bush. However, I know that I will meet you each again over those very circumstances when I get back, only both being a bit wiser and older.

From the bush,

Omoding Adamg 

P.S. My beard. It's for you, mom.