The last safe birth workshop was today, in a village that took about an hour to reach between motorcycles and hiking down paths through maize and potato fields. We gathered a crowd of over 50 women under a big tree, who laid out huge patterned straw mats to kneel on. These women seemed to go to great lengths to chase away children and men who tried to join the audience, and applauded politely after each of us spoke. The only man in the crowd was an intimidating bald gentleman by the title of the “LC of defense”. I took on the role of the pregnant woman who had been in labor for more than 12 hours, and tried to wail as convincingly as the rest of my teammates, though I think I have lost my flair for the dramatic somewhat since reaching adulthood.
Today I learned how to make a necklace out of a cassava leaf. I found out that a cassava leaf actually makes a beautiful accessory. Our Ugandan team member, who made necklaces for several other team members, does not flirt with me, either because I’m unattractive or married or both. And so I resolved to make my own necklace. Next on the list is learning how to make a ring from a banana leaf.
I hurried from the village, as the sun set lower and lower, to try to reach dad’s soccer tournament match before dark. Dad has been working with 2 orphanages in the Iganga area, and today the larger orphanage pitted its dormitories against one another, and named each team after its respective dormitory. Thus the ultimate battle: “Grace versus Peace”. The orphanage houses 83 boys and girls. The boys took each other on in ‘football’, and the girls had a netball match. Grace and Peace each took one game, so everyone seemed to end up feeling somewhat victorious. I arrived after the game had ended, and dad had bought a goat for the teams to feast on. The goat was chopped into many small cubes and put onto sticks for roasting. When I arrived, the kids were clustered into four small groups around piles of charcoal, furiously blowing on the coals as billows of smoke rose up around them. I almost didn’t notice one very large ‘kid’ huddled with them, my dad, the ‘tournament sponsor’. As we chatted with the orphanage administrators, the kids proudly paraded around with their goat kebabs that had been grilled to a crisp. I finally saw the soccer field that they had been playing on, and only a photo can do it justice. I will try to post one. Favorite quote of the day: “Your dad is a very good man,” the orphanage administrator told me. “I know!” “The children love him so much, and I have found that I love him too.” “Oh… good!” I said, trying not to laugh.
On the weekends, my team members are rotating through cooking us dinner, so last night was ‘Pad See-ew” and tonight was tuna noodle casserole. It’s amazing what you can make here, yet the Ugandan menu is very bland. I was very excited tonight because my darling husband gave me a call, which unfortunately kept being punctuated by cries of “mzungu, bonga!” and “mzungu bye!” and even “mzungu, I love you so much.” I got so distracted as we made our way down the dark but crowded road that I fell into a ditch while I was talking to Geoffrey, and a sympathetic chorus of “oh, sorry! Sorry!” came out of the darkness from the bystanders who saw me go down.
As a final point, I will explain “mzungu, bonga!” Since I last came to Uganda, the infamous ‘terrorist fist jab’ has become the new trend in greetings. The government has apparently conducted some campaign to reduce infection that centered on utilizing the fist bump, rather than shaking hands. This campaign is fantastic because it means that I don’t have a million grimy hands grasping mine as I walk down the street. Instead, the giggling kids run up, fist outstretched, and delightedly cry “mzungu, bonga!” and are satiated with a simple touch of the knuckles. It amuses me that the gesture that became vilified in American politics was promoted in this country as the preferred politically correct way to say hi. And now I will bid you goodnight, with a virtual fist jab, as my teammates are having a late night snack of chapatti and Splenda sandwiches.
edit: the photo is of the soccer field next to Ekyaro Kyaife, the orphanage... can you see the slope?
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