It’s beginning to feel a lot like hell-o from Uganda!

Sometimes the Nile really is a river in Africa

Big news from the bush: I baked on Sunday. My community is already confused with the cleanliness and style of my home, so baking only makes them bewildered. How can a man do all of that? Is it possible? Yes, I bought two pots and a sigiri (charcoal grill) and baked. Not only did I bake, I made a pumpkin pie from scratch. ‘Tis true, I went Martha in the middle of nowhere. The baking time took longer than a stove, reaching nearly three hours but the fact that I baked is reason enough to celebrate. Some may wonder the occasion for such crazy behavior: Thanksgiving. Need I say more? The NE volunteers decided to host Thanksgiving and I’m in charge of pumpkin pie, apple pie, rice pilaf and buying a turkey. Since Sunday’s productivity, people in my community started demanding I bake wedding cakes (three tiers), birthday cakes and preschool graduation cakes. . . In the village I can’t do anything for myself without multiple demands to do the same for other people. To remedy the requests I invited people to come and watch me bake pies and cakes this Thursday (my SERIOUS baking day) but people rolled their eyes. It is transparent they don’t want to know how; they want me to do it for them. Frustration. Speaking of, I believe I’m unconsciously frustrated and homesick due to the looming holiday season. I use the term unconsciously because my definition of holidays includes cold weather and a chance of snow showers. Instead, I’m in hell. The weather here is 105 degrees and clear sunny skies. Not a cloud in the sky. . . As the grass dries and dies and the wind increases, dust storms form to sting my eyes. People in the village tell me life stops in the dry season. People lay under mango trees when the sun is high in the sky, only working and living in the earliest and latest moments of the day. However, it is wicked cold through the night and into the early morning. Due to this fact, I wake up at 6 AM to hang my hammock and lay in the chilly weather. It is the closest I’ll have to home. I hope everyone enjoys their Thanksgiving celebrations. I am giving thanks for having all of you in my life. Stay well and I’ll be in touch with updates and pictures of the T’giving bacchanal in Uganda.

The Uncle and the Corpse: The Story of my People

Once upon a time the rain grew less and less in the lands of what is now known as Ethiopia. The rains grew so infrequent that people who lived on the land decided to carry what little they had on their heads and backs and make for a better life. No horses to carry them, they walked until days turned to months through wind and heat so fierce many died until they reached a land with rain. However, the group of people split in their decision to settle. The older half was tired. They walked for months without much food and water. They made their decision they would stay and make their new life exactly where they were. However, the younger half wanted to walk farther Southwest. They didn’t know why, but they had the feeling life would be better if only to walk a few more days, weeks, or months until they knew it was right. The older and younger people exchanged harsh words with one another. The younger group called the elders “Uncles” and bid them farewell. The older group exclaimed the younger group would die a most painful death in their journey and gave them the name “Corpse.” That is the story of how the Kiramojong and the Teso people came into their ethnic names.

Flash forward: In the late 1980s, the Uncles made their way down into the territory of the Corpse to take cows they thought rightfully belonged to them. The Teso people lost most of their livestock, which symbolized their wealth and cultural pride. It is tradition in the Kiramojong culture to take cows as a coming-of-age for boys. Today the land of Kiramoja is semi-desert, forcing the Uncles to come down to the land of the corpse and work the field for payment of food such as maize, sorghum and cassava.

More stories to come. . .

Me Update: I’m extremely busy compiling all the translations of schemes and the information I gathered in my community interviews to create new Ateso vocabulary. My mind is in a constant state of fatigue from reading and typing Ateso. In fact, I am starting to dream in Ateso and the first language I use is Ateso. Very strange yet exhilarating. Too bad I won’t be able to use the language when I return home. . . People in my village continue to tell me I am now a true Atesot and that I look more mature. I think it is the hair, which is getting longer by the day. I caught word of a woman who cuts white people hair, which excites me to no end (even though she is a cool 7 hours away). I love and miss you all bunches. Stay well.

From the bush,

Omoding Adam G.