Snoozer

"How will you cope with the stress of constantly feeling on display?" the Peace Corps recruiter asked his second hypothetical question, looking even more serious than he did with his first one.
I'm not one for hypotheticals because it diminishes the experiences of those people actually living in the reality of that lifestyle. Knowing this wouldn't suffice for an answer, I throw out one of my favorite hobbies, "I'm a therapeutic sleeper."
Who knew. . .

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The weekend in Kampala was better than expected. I bought 2 lamps and 2 pairs of Diesel jeans. I caught up with friends from afar. I met the National Ugandan basketball team. I went out until 4 AM each night and enjoyed the kind of fun I only experienced at home and in Brussels. Gelato for an a-bar is the closest I get to Dairy Queen. Most importantly, I had the most exhilarating surprise; definitely something I didn’t expect in Uganda. Indeed, my weekend was much better than expected. Now, I find myself walking through the streets of Kampala before sunrise, just as shopkeepers sweep garbage to the street. I near the bus park and glimpse the Teso Coach ascending the hill towards the main road leading east.
“Ajai eong. Epuda eong alosit ko Soroti! Ipupi ijo? Emere? I’m here. I need to go to Soroti. You hear? Yes?” I shout to the conductor hanging out the boarding door. He quickly waves me over as the bus slows without stopping. I start to jog to keep up while avoiding holes in the street.
“Kobia ne! Kopani. You come here. Now,” he screams as I throw my backpack onto the bus and lag a few meters behind the entrance. Running uphill, if at all, is not a part of my workout in Uganda or at home, for that matter. After a few gasps for air I catch up to the bus and jump onto the loading platform. “Kiboikin. Sit,” the conductor points to the empty seats of the bus, noticing my confusion. “Ejaasi Kiramojong ko Jinja. Kiboikin kopani. There are Kiramojong in Jinja. Now sit.” Again, he points to the back of the bus.
Slowly, I drag my tired and fabulous ass a few rows and lift my pack onto the overhead storage. Then, I fall into a seat, throw my iPod on and fall into the most relaxing nap.

“Edeke! Edeke! Jesus God. Jesus God.” Screams resonate throughout the bus, now full of Kiramojong with their tattered clothing and tribal scars spanning cheeks and foreheads. A horrifying noise echoes from below the bus; almost like a hammer striking a concrete column. I rub sleep from my eyes, press my forehead to the window of the bus and see shredded tire flying through the air. Confused, I open my window, looking to the wheel well and finding sparks flooding the concrete. People grow more hysterical as the noise grows louder. A chicken flies into the air a few rows ahead. I laugh and decide upon a playlist. Doll Revolution it is. Thanks Nicole!
The bus stops eventually and people storm the exit for a look at the damage. I open my window fully to find two tires completely shredded, the tailpipe of the bus a few meters behind and the side panel of the Teso Coach on the ground. A group of women continues to scream prayers of thanks for saving us from the swamp on either side. A chicken walks through the row by my seat and I shoo it away, rub my eyes and smile at the thought of my unexpectedly amazing weekend, falling back to sleep.

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Every Wednesday I ride my bike 15 kilometers to the speed bumps on the dirt road, turn right and ride another 3 kilometers to my favorite primary school. I wouldn’t tell anyone the last part, but a school with a principal who takes initiative breeds a motivated staff. I usually reach my destination by 10 AM, passing the chicken coops, brick ovens, piggery and the cow pasture. Today is not usual, but is any day in the bush “normal?” I don’t dare answer the question.
I wake at 7 AM promptly. I sweep and mop while listening to BBC for a daily dose of current events, boil water for my oatmeal (sans coffee; a great envelope!) and eat breakfast while watching Sex and the City. More specifically, the episode where Carrie dates the short story writer.
A quick and warm shower later, I’m pedaling out of the village and into the bush. I make five minutes and feel beads of sweat flow down my brow and back. Running my fingers through my hair, I feel sweat saturating my scalp. Ten minutes into the trek, I pull into the shade for a rest and a chance to dry off, taking a seat in the dirt, past the point of caring.
A breeze blows and I feel my mood turn positive. Then, the bush rustles behind me, causing me to weigh the option of looking or ignoring and hoping for the best. Against my gut, I turn around and see a monkey bearing fangs. Sadly, this is not my first run-in with a bitchy monkey. Quickly, I throw my water bottle at its head, causing it to return to the bush. I laugh as I think how I responded in my first days of village life. A year past and a bit of my fear went with it. A few breezes later, I’m on the dusty road again pedaling at a leisurely pace. Forty minutes pass and I bike through a small trading center to find catcall reminders of my skin color. I notice my pedals feel loose but chalk it up to dehydration until both fall from the bottom of my feet to the ground.
“Damnit. Now what do I do?” I ask myself as I place the pedals in my bike’s basket. Without any other option, I turn around, cross to the left side of the road and start walking the 12 kilometers home.
Sweat pours from my face and drips to the ground after five minutes in the pounding sun; not a cloud in sight. People pass on their bicycles and ask why I would rather walk than ride my bike but I refuse to speak Ateso. My anger would seep into my words and punch my fellow villagers in the face. Instead, I wave my hand, clutching a pedal and continue to walk.
A few hours later, I see the monkey standing on the dirt pile where I first rested. Again, he bears his fangs as a taunting action. Without a full water bottle to use as a weapon, I settle on my pedal, hitting the monkey on the arm. The animal screams and I wait for an attack but it only climbs a tree and watches me until I’m out of sight.
That afternoon I make my valiant return to the village, ignoring the waves and questions of my impending marriage to an unknown Teso woman. Walking through my compound, I throw my bike to the ground and fill a basin of water to the rim. My neighbors analyze me, soaked through with sweat, and gasp as I dump the water over my body, still fully clothed with shoes on. They see my face and know not to question. Walking into my house, the sound of water dripping to the floor, I crawl into bed and drown myself in sleep.

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From my life to yours:
Note: “Sympathize” by Amos Lee
Boat: It rained last night, finally
Gloat: My camera arrived today . . . pictures resume soon.