Trading Spaces

For those of you who have done similar expeditions as the one I am embarked on or have been to Uganda or have travelled quite often, I hope this blog does not become lackluster. I am trying to find a way to explain the smaller details to the unfamiliar while providing a more substantial content for those who may be looking for more beyond stories of held orphans and the wonder of how people live (neither of which I look down on or am oppose to just try not to subscribe to). On that note I am going to talk about where I live.

I arrived at my host family on Tuesday evening. Anytime you enter a new living situation, there is a bit of harbored uncertainty. The drive to my house began with a 10km car ride from Jinja to a township called Kakira. As we turned off the main road, we head up a long straight pristine hilled road lined with gigantic shady trees and not a bit of trash (RARE). We then passed through two guarded gates, passing a horse corral, an air strip, expanses of sugar cane fields, and immaculately landscaped flower beds. I was beginning to wonder just where I was. Then we came to a round-about which perfectly captures the polarization that is Kakira and explained everything. On one side is a typical African village with dirt roads, roaming livestock, multitudes of people living in small homes and rickety structures, alongside markets and trash. On the other side is a high functioning sugar cane factory open in 1985 which is owned by several East Indian gentlemen, then on the final side is the large properties and facilities in which the owners of the factory spend a portion of their time. As we left the road and entered the village, the reason the factory is able to function is apparent, lots of cheap labor and a vast amount of picturesque sugar cane fields. Atop a hill, next to the mosque at the far end of the village is where my home is. I entered the home I was immediately greeted with laughter and cake. I decided I much preferred my village to the clean roads and riding horses.

My host family is full of spirit. I was beginning to doubt if I would be able to do with Ugandans the one thing I love most- laughing and grinning, particularly of the full-hearted kind. But I think there was an unseen hand in my placement. My family loves laughing and teasing. William is the host brother and is apparently the mover and shaker of town. I am sure everyone knows this guy, he is everywhere, knows everyone, has a hand in everything, but no one is quite sure what he actually does. William’s sister Annette is a very smart woman who owns her own school and loves to talk books and funny things. The head of the house is Josephine who I call maama. She is a farmer, mother of 10 children, wants to learn more English but talks to me in Lugandan and is convinced that I don’t eat enough, ever. There are also a handful of younger children who are in and out but never particularly constant in the home. As to be expected of me, one of the best features is the fact one of the older boys likes to run and joins me every morning at 6am. Though I normally like to run solo, a personal guided tour of the area by a handsome young fit African guy is a good substitute for solitary. (picture- right my brother, left his friend didas)

The house itself is a bit nicer than usual. I have my own room with my own wash bucket and mosquito net. There is a kitchen and family room with a 10in TV that apparently only plays Indian shows. A couple of other rooms and then another section of quarters behind the house. We have cows, chickens, goats, lizards, plenty of ants and mosquitoes and several neighbors who like to come look at the muzango (white person). I am fairly positive that I am the only muzang in the lives in the entire village or even 20km area. And trust me Ugandans are not shy at ensuring I am aware of this fact.