Serious and Not So

I’d like to quickly address a few concerns over all that is happening in my absence. Specifically, this is a call for self-reflection. Even in the Ugandan bush I hear about the crisis that is happening on both Wall Street and in many neighborhoods across America. I agree that it is a travesty to fall into such horrible fiscal status. I agree it absolutely unforgivable to allow so many people to lose their homes. Everyone is trying to find a way to bailout the American economy, whether through the government’s takeover of banks or legislation worth billions of dollars. While something needs to be done, we need to call these measures what they are: welfare and the socialization of the American banking system.

Welfare carries a stigma with it throughout the United States. The welfare that comes to mind involves food stamps, single mothers and stereotypes of Cadillac vehicles. Over the last few decades, citizens, active voters, politicians on the state and national level argued, reformed, diminished and ignored the welfare rights of women. However, we overlook the many other kinds of welfares that exist in America, such as tax breaks for homeowners. Now, in the spotlight of the global media is a huge welfare package to come to the assistance of many banks and homeowners. Why are we calling it a bailout package instead of welfare? Will it be more successful if certain terminology remains avoided? Can we, as a collective population, still criticize the welfare that gained such a horrible reputation? I certainly hope that those receiving assistance in their moment of need gain a new perspective and support coming to the rescue of others.

With the take over of two major private banks we enter an age where the government, in essence, is socializing lending. This now adds to the library system, fire and police response and education. However, we still fail to provide adequate health care to all people living in America. What does this say about our country? Do we value money more than the health of the general population? People are dying because they don’t have proper access to treatment for curable and treatable diseases; yet, we focus on the fact that people are losing their homes and may have to live a lifestyle that can’t keep up with the Jones’s. Does this seem democratic? Is this humane?

Can I get a witness?

Moving on . . . My blog is dormant, but definitely not hibernating because the weather is always the same: hot and sunny. It’s like Groundhog’s Day. I ask forgiveness for anyone who actually reads this rubbish pile that is my version of podcasting. I could blame it on the unusually slow Internet in town as of late or the fact that I’m sitting comfortable in the village which lacks Internet entirely. However, things that shocked me 8 months ago no longer make me jump. Without that fear in my heart, my writing continues to suffer. I apologize.

Thelma: I decided to lie down for a nap a few weeks ago. Naturally, I left the doors open in my house to catch a breeze. Deep in REM, I heard heavy breathing (think asthmatic) on the other side of my head. I rolled over, groggy, and opened my eyes to find myself face-to-face with a cow. It was eating the Kleenex my mother sent in a care package. I let out a 5-year-old scream and the cow seized. Due to its size, it was stuck in the doorway, going back and forth in an attempt to turn around. Eventually I pushed it back outside and it fell down the stoop. Now, the cow hangs out around my house and occasionally comes to take a drink of water from my mopping bucket. When Marcy came to visit, she named the cow Thelma. A white chicken follows Thelma around all day, so her name is Louise. We’re one happy family.

Frog Flossing: I’d like to comment on the treachery that is dental work. While flossing last night, one of my fillings flew out of my mouth and on the floor. Now I have a huge hole in my lower left molar to expose my nerve to food, beverage, and air. It hurts, to say the least. Thus, I am in town on my way to Kampala: the big city of Uganda. While I love larger cities, I’m a villager and I don’t like making the 9-hour trip into chaos, especially for dental work. Back to flossing . . . My filling fell to the floor. In an effort to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, I knelt down to collect it. What I found was a bright orange tree frog sleeping. Not a big fan of jumpy things, I retrieved my broom and tried to sweep it outside. It turns out the little guy wasn’t sleeping and escaped by scaling up my door with his sticky fingers. I was swatting the frog as it climbed higher, holding my cheek with the pain of having a holey smile. It all worked out in the end. The jumper lived. I’m still here. What more can I ask for?

Moral of my post: We all have homes. Some feel at home throughout life. Some feel at home in other’s homes. Some need to travel the world to find their home. Some have to lose homes they can’t afford in order to find ones they can. Some need to be pushed out of my home to be reminded of their home. I miss home. I miss you all.

Stay well,

With love from the bush,

Omoding Adamg.