An Honest Man

Today I went to buy some pork from the stand where I've been buying it. The usual cost is 3,600 shillings per kilo, less than a dollar a pound.

Today I thought the guy selling it said 4,000 shillings per kilo. It looked a bit more lean than usual, so I didn't question the price. I asked for two kilos. (By the time I cut off all the fat, it's not that much.) He said 7,200 shillings. I corrected what I thought was an error and said, "Don't you mean 8,000 shillings?"

He in turn said, "Sister I wouldn't cheat you, it's 7,200 shillings."

I know this guy is poor because I've been to his house and he has a bunch of kids. He could have used the few extra shillings. Still, he's honest.

I was impressed. I'll buy from him again.

Happy Thanksgiving

There was no way I was going to teach on Thanksgiving evening so I gave my students an independent assignment and accepted an invitation for dinner at the home of the Embassy Public Affairs Officer, Lisa Heilbronn.

While Thanksgiving is one of those very American holidays, Ugandans are familiar with it. Barnabas, one of the deans at UMU told me that Americans would shoot you if they couldn't celebrate Thanksgiving. I don't feel near that violent about it, but I did feel a strong need to eat turkey and stuff myself to the gills preferably in the presence of others who are doing the same.

Lisa had set up probably eight tables (I should have counted) with about six chairs per table under a large canopy. The evening was warm even if Bry'Chell did have her sweatshirt zipped up to the very top.

The food was great--turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, white potatoes, baked apples, green beans, bread and butter and even two kinds of canned cranberry sauce. For dessert there was pumpkin pie and apple pie. The only useful thing I did all evening was to whip the whipping cream.

The other Fulbrighters were there some with spouses, some Ugandan Fulbright alumni--Ugandans who have studied in the US as Fulbright scholars--and some embassy staff--those people who make my life easier when I get confused navigating life in Uganda.

Lisa, her housekeeper, Bernie, and Bernie's niece, Judith prepared the meal. They did a fantastic job. I can't believe they came up with all the ingredients. Most things were pretty easy to find, but some, like the cranberry sauce (even if it was the canned variety) took a bit of ingenuity. As I often say, any meal I don't have to cook is a great meal. This is the case a hundred-fold on Thanksgiving.

All in all, it was a wonderful evening. Thanks, Lisa.

Travelling on Something Besides my own Two Feet

Yesterday afternoon Bry'Chell and I put our newly purchased bicycles to use. Bry'Chell said she didn't want to go, but I told her she was going. This was followed by a discussion about helmets. The helmet discussion was entirely predictable. We have it every time she gets on her bike in Chicago. Equally predictable, she wore her helmet. I don't know why she bothers to bring it up. Helmets are non-negotiable. OK, I had to threaten to not do her hair in order to get the helmet on her head. I'm not above threats.

We rode quite a ways--I'd guess about five miles each way over hilly terrain. I've been away from California too long and Bry'Chell has never ridden hills. We both had a good workout.

The countryside was beautiful, but we pretty much had to keep our eyes on the road. Except for the main highway, all the roads are dirt. I wouldn't ride a bike on the highway. It's way, way too dangerous. Once we were off the main dirt road most of the traffic was pedestrian. There were some boda-bodas and two trucks--lorries as they're called here. Lorries are generally not big trucks, just open bed trucks a bit larger than a pickup truck.

Many of the people we saw were on their way to get water. They carried large plastic jerry cans. I would guess they hold five gallons. Getting water is mostly a job for kids and teenagers. Some had bicycles to carry their cargo, but most were carrying them. Many were coming a good distance--a kilometer or more. The pump was along the road and people streamed to it from both sides. Those cans must weigh at least 40 pounds when they're full.

The hills were fun to ride down and less fun to ride up. A couple of times we just couldn't ride all the way up the hills and ended up pushing our bicycles. I usually hung on to riding a bit longer than Bry'Chell did. I have a little more practice with using bicycle gears than she does and more experience on hills. I didn't grow up in flat Chicago. Still, I'm out of practice and Bry'Chell is pretty determined.

Bry'Chell actually admitted that she had a good time. She did run into five different classmates and was totally mortified to be seen in her helmet. I was unsympathetic, but did buy her a bottle of pop at the trading center on the way back.

Today I'm sore in all the predictable places. I don't mind.

Giant Flying Cockroaches

The insect life here is interesting and varied. Many of the bugs come in a variety of sizes--ants, for example, come in small, medium and large. The small ones are everywhere, especially in the house. However, they're easy to control. One swipe of a hand wipes out the whole line making their way to the sugar bowl. The medium ones are occasionally inside and definitely outside. The large ones bite. They're not fun, but they're fairly easy to avoid.

About cockroaches--they also come in many varieties. I don't mind the ones that are like the US ones. We really don't have those, although I have seen a few. The giant ones I strongly dislike. I, who despise poison, actually put some down to get rid of them. I've never seen more than one or two, but you can hear them moving around knocking things over. At this point they're dead and I feel no compunction about their untimely deaths.

Just recently I've run into the giant flying cockroaches. They are disgusting. They're about four to five inches in length with large translucent wings that overlap on their backs when they're crawling around. The wings act like armor. They can move pretty fast, but mostly they're almost impossible to kill because the wing seem to protect them. I tried to kill one by stepping on it but was unsuccessful. Fortunately that was at the Grail, not in our own house. I found one in our house last night and used a copy of Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America to smash it. (de Tocqueville's book is a sociological classic of about 800 pages.) It worked. I'll skip the gross and gory details. It won't bother us anymore. So much for the litany of Non-Violence. I figure roaches and mosquitoes are exempt.

Graduation at UMU

Yesterday's graduation, while long, was really nice. Having graduation outside reminded me of being in California. It was a beautiful day, a bit warm but considering that it could have rained, I'll take heat over rain any day. It was warm, but not nearly as bad as St. Mary-of-the-Woods (Indiana) in August.

The American Ambassador was the guest speaker. He was good. His talk was about uniting as a country and moving beyond tribalism. It can be a real issue in the country. Unfortunately, the divisions were exacerbated by the colonial rulers who played one groups off against another and played favorites.

He mentioned my name--being the first regular Fulbright lecturer to be at UMU--and he actually pronounced Birgen correctly. That's rare.

More impressive than the ambassador pronouncing my name correctly were the deans pronouncing all the graduates names correctly. There were over 1,000 and all those who received degrees had their names called.

One of my neighbors, Bill (a Peace Corps volunteer who helps at the Gardens--local eating and drinking establishment catering to students and Muzungus) has some good pictures on his blog.

A Rough Day

Joseph, the purchasing officer was supposed to get my work permit taken care of and renew our visas which expire today. Neither one happened.

I filled out the paper work for the work permit the first or second week I was here. I was assured that it would be taken care of. Now, Joseph blames the folks at Immigration, but I'm not real sure when he actually filed the papers. The folks at Immigration claimed they lost the paper work, but yesterday one of the staff at Immigration suggested to Joseph that things might go smoother if I paid a little something to grease the wheels. I don't likes bribes and corruption, so I said no.

Tomorrow I call the American Embassy. I know they'll help, but I was hoping to get it taken care of without bothering them.

A much greater tragedy occurred today than my visa problems. The parents of one of our graduating students, Adong Christebella, were killed today on their way to graduation. Graduation is tomorrow and they were on their way. Both parents were killed instantly and her two younger brothers were critically injured. Please keep them in your prayers.

Buying Bicycles in Kampala

Yesterday I finally bought bicycles. We went for used mountain bikes. Fortunately, Connie, another professor-type was along. She did the negotiating. I just stood around and looked pathetic. Well, I did pick out the bikes and go for a trial ride or two on each potential bicycle.

It was pretty entertaining. I'd see a frame I liked, but it might be missing a seat and peddles. The sales guy would point to the mechanic guy who would go and scavenge peddles and a seat from a pile of parts or from another bicycle. I'd ride around the brick parking lot, come back and make my comments. The mechanic would make more adjustments and I'd go for another ride. We got it down to about four bikes and Connie started negotiating.

Since it was in Luganda, I didn't understand a word but Connie translated for me later. The sales guy started at 190,000 Ush per bike, that he said in English. Connie pulled me aside to ask what I was willing to pay. I told her I thought 120,00 would be fair. He told her that since I was a Muzungu I could afford 190,000 and that's what they were worth. Connie told him that I was her guest and that what he charged me he was really charging her, besides, I was buying two bicycles, so I should get a better price. She finally got the price to 150,000 per bike. It seemed fair. I bought two bikes for less than one new one would cost at Game and they're probably better bicycles.

It's not like at home where you find an ad on Craig's list from somebody who wants to clear a dusty bike out of their garage and get some extra cash for Christmas. This is what these guys do for a living. The bikes have to be imported, so that adds to the expense. These aren't used bikes that were used in Uganda. They're used in Japan, Korea and even the U.S. and imported to Uganda from there. Fortunately, I do know a little bit about bicycles, so I knew I wanted a Shimano derailleur, heavy duty knobby tires and a few things like that. I got what I wanted.

By getting the bikes used I actually got better bikes and paid way less than new ones would have cost. They'll serve us just fine.

My next stop was Game for helmets and locks. It's never considered safe to buy used helmets even if you can find them since you never know if they've been in an accident and therefore are useless. (End of sermon.) Bry'Chell doesn't like to wear a helmet. Too bad. She can wear one anyway. She says she doesn't want to stand out any more than she already does. Oh well, such is life.

We may not need the locks, but I think they're a good idea. I prefer to avoid leading others into temptation.

I also did my monthly shopping for the stuff I can't get in Nkozi. We're stocked up for the near future. Even better, I went to a real bookstore. Bookstores are dangerous places for me. I could easily spend way more money than I could afford. I didn't, but I did get a couple of books for Bry'Chell. Books are not easy to find in Uganda. There's not a culture of reading. American kids may not read that much, but most American kids who are good students do read. Here, even the good students don't read because they can't get books. If they can get books they often don't have electricity to read after dark which may be the only time they aren't busy with work or school.

Bry'Chell runs a mini library with the books she does have. Right now, all her books are out on loan. Some students give up because the books are too long or too difficult to read--remember these are kids who are in secondary school. Still, some enjoy the books and pester her for more. She's fairly strict in her lending practices. She checks up on her books and makes sure the borrower has not passed them on to someone else. So far, one book is missing in action, but there's a tracer out on it.

Chigger, Jiggers or Whatever

Sunday night as we were finishing up supper, I realize my foot was itching like crazy. I figured it was a mosquito bite, but I was sitting at the table and couldn't be bothered to look.

After dinner we were sitting in the living room and I remembered to look. It wasn't a mosquito bite. It was a bump, sort of infected looking with puss and stuff with a little black spot in the middle.

I remembered Marie Ester and some other folks talking about "jiggers". I figured it was just a local mispronunciation of chiggers. I went on-line and found that the mispronunciation is more than just local, but being a good Girl Scout, I know the word is chigger and I had one in my foot.

After draining the gross gunk, I put a band aid on it and went to bed. The next morning I mentioned it to Sr. Cecilia after mass and she sent me to the infirmary. The nurse at the infirmary gave me a little lancett thing, a cotton ball soaked in betadine iodine and sent me home to fix my own foot.

I don't mind gouging out my own foot, but I don't like someone else cutting my foot. That nurse was smart. I dug it out, the chigger is gone and my foot has stopped itching.

The Garden

We have a garden on the side of our house. I hesitate to call it "my" garden. For it to be my garden, it seems that it would be necessary for me to be doing the work. I've done some work in the garden, but not enough to call it my garden.

When we arrived there was this large, overgrown garden beside the house. I wasn't sure if it belonged to anyone, so I pretty much left it be. A few weeks after I arrived, some of the grounds staff cut it down. I figured it didn't belong to anyone. A couple of weeks after that I checked around and found it didn't belong to anyone and that, if I wanted, I could plant stuff. Cool.

I found that for a mere 5,000 shillings, one of the men would dig it up so it was ready to plant. He did. I bought a rake and was diligently raking when another guy came by and offered to rake it out for me. Sure, for another 5,000 shillings he raked the whole thing.

I bought seeds during one of my visits to Kampala and planted tomatoes and watermelon. I've never grown tomatoes from seed, so I wasn't sure how many to plant. It turns out I planted way too many and I planted them too close together. I had hoped for maybe a dozen plants. The men again came back and offered to weed the garden. Sounds good to me. I asked them to transplant some of the tomato plants. They did and when all was said and done, I counted sixty plants.

One day I bought some fresh beans in the trading center. A couple of days later I noticed a few of them had sprouted. I figured it they sprouted, they would grow. I planted the beans and now I have beans growing. They look like green beans, but I think if I let them grow they grow into a red bean/pinto bean type of bean. I need to ask. They looked like pinto beans when I bought them, so that's what they'll grow into. What I don't know is that if I pick them early will I be able to cook them like green beans? I'll find out.

The same thing happened with some fresh green peas. A few were sprouting. I planted them and now I have peas growing. There aren't that many pea plants, but I figure a meal or two.

After my beans were growing, one of the guys came back with a bag of beans and offered to plant them. Sure, why not. He dug up another section of the previous garden and planted more beans. I will have enough beans to feed the whole campus. The leaves on the second set of bean plants look a bit different from the first crop.

Some of my neighbors have asked if I plan to sell my produce. I don't. I figure what we don't eat, I'll give away. Now that I know how to make tomato sauce, I can use some tomatoes that way. I'm not planning on getting into canning. We're only here for one year and that's too much of a commitment.

I'm still having fun.

Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings have become our sleep-in day of choice. It's the only day we can sleep in. However, my idea of sleeping in has changed over the years. I can no longer sleep until noon. It's mostly an age thing, although here there are many reasons. The people next door have two small children--Hakima, age four and his sister, Ieka--age two. Small children have yet to discover the joys of sleeping in.

The birds outside start making a racket about six. I can often sleep through birds, but the noises these birds make is not firmly enough engrained in my psyche to allow me to sleep through their cacophany.

I consider myself lucky if I can sleep until eight. I came close this morning. I managed to stay in bed until 7:40 AM. I got up, did some reading, checked my email and and corrected some school papers. That took me to about 9:30.

Bry'Chell has end of term exams starting next week, so she has a weekend of studying ahead of her. Lucky kid. Just as I can't sleep in like I used to, she is at the other end of the spectrum. She's at the age where she has discovered the joys of sleeping in. When she was nine years old, I would often wake up to see a face peering around my door, just to check if I was awake. Now, she can sleep the day away if I let her.

I've developed a sort of bah-humbug attitude about sleeping in. If I can't, neither can she. Besides if she sleeps in too late today, it will be impossible to get her up tomorrow.

I let her sleep in some, but there's a limit. Bribes are my preferred means of coaxing her out of bed. This morning it was pancakes. I mixed them up and then went to wake her.

"Sweetheart, it's time to get up. I made pancakes for you."

She sees right through my facade of kindness. She knows that it's just beyond me to allow her the total joy of staying in bed for the whole day. Too bad.

She did roll out of bed with a minimum of grumbling and staggered out the the kitchen. We had pancakes. They were good. Now Bry'Chell is studying and I'm writing.

Silliness All Around

Since I had such good luck with the last picture, I figured I'd try another one. This is Bry'Chell and Sr. Cecilia. It's from the day we walked down to the Equator. We were window shopping in a few of the gift shops. They decided to try on these hats.

No Shopping Today

Every time I write, or at least most times, I try to load a picture. I'm seldom successful, as you can tell, but there's a picture of Bry'Chell with Joan and her mother. If you look back a couple of posts, you'll see that we went to visit them on Saturday.

I had hoped to go to Kampala today for what has become my bi-weekly grocery shopping. I can get quite a few things in the trading center--the stores/stalls near campus--but for some stuff I have to get to Kampala. I can buy flour, sugar, produce, eggs, margarine, fresh pork and rice at the trading center. Of course, on any given day any item may not be in stock. However, I can't get brown sugar, mustard, yeast, baking powder, oil (or at least not any that looks edible), raisins, catchup, vanilla, tuna, skim milk or macaroni. That shopping list I have to fill in Kampala. Bread is not on the list because technically, I can be bread at the trading center, we just don't like it as well as the bread we get in Kampala.

Unfortunately, today the campus vehicles are busy picking up and dropping off people at the airport. The timing is such that a trip to Kampala won't work. It's not a big deal.

My other reason for wanting to go to Kampala is that I want to trade some dollars for shillings and the exchange rate is much, much better in Kampala than at the Nkozi branch of Barclay's Bank. I find it somewhat annoying, but it's not in my control. I just try to do business with anybody but Barclay's whenever I have the chance.

I have decided that we are getting bicycles (and helmets). We've sort of hit the limit of our range on foot. I don't mind walking. I actually like it, but offers a limited range. Bicycles would extend that. Now that I'm more comfortable in the country, I will experiment with buying a bike at the market rather than at Game (the local Target-type store I've mentioned before). They will be the same quality and significantly less expensive. I will, however, pay more than the locals would--it's not just the Muzungu thing, anyone who doesn't speak Luganda would be charged more. I can't really send anyone because a bike has to fit. I need to try it for myself. It will still be less expensive than Game.

Ground Nuts

When I first heard the term ground nuts it was in relation to a sauce--ground nut sauce. My ears heard it as nuts that were ground up and put in the sauce. Wrong. Ground nuts are peanuts. They grow in the ground, therefore, they are ground nuts. They are also called G-nuts--as in G for ground. Consequently you have things such as G-nut butter (peanut butter) and roasted G-nuts.

A couple of weeks ago one of my new friends, Sr. Elizabeth came by and asked me if I liked roasted ground nuts. Sure, I like roasted peanuts. She gave me a jar. They were clearly home grown and roasted. They were quite good, so good that I didn't get very many. Bry'Chell ate most of them. In fact, I found the almost empty jar on her bed, even though she knows she's not supposed to eat in her bedroom!

Saturday Joan's mother gave me a bag with some food in it. I glanced at it quickly before thanking her and thought it was beans and bananas. That was fine. We like beans and bananas, although not usually together.

When we finally got back home, I looked more closely and realized that what I had thought were beans were really peanuts. I sampled one and realized they were raw. Bry'Chell not believing me, had to sample them as well. She had to sample two or three.

Being the typical modern American, I went on-line to find a recipe for roasting peanuts. It wasn't hard. There were probably a dozen. Anyhow, I vaguely remember Mom roasting peanuts once or twice when we were kids. However, all the recipes said to sprinkle the nuts with salt after roasting. The one's Sr. Elizabeth gave us were salted, but there was no grainy salt to suggest that they had been salted after roasting.

After mass on Sunday I asked Sr. Cecilia how to salt them. She said to dissolve some salt in half a cup of water and sprinkle it on the nuts before roasting. Ah ha! It worked. I made about four cookie sheets of roasted peanuts. The first tray was a little over done, the second was a little underdone, but they were all fit for consumption. In fact, they're about half gone as I write.

I must admit, the fresh produce, including peanuts, is superior to what I buy in Chicago. G-nuts are just the latest adventure.

I should also note that the peanuts had been shelled, that is taken out of their shells. That's a lot of work and a real sign that the peanuts were meant to be a special gift. They were.

Visiting

This weekend Bry'Chell and I went visiting. One of Bry'Chell's classmates, Joan has been asking us to visit her home. Several times it just didn't work out, but this weekend I was determined that we would get this visit done.

On Friday, I had met Joan's father. He works at a small stand that sell pork. We're talking fresh pork, like straight from the pig who was walking around this morning. I bought some pork. This was the first time I've bought local meat, except for what I buy from Stanray, the chicken guy.

The guy at the stand had this big hunk of meat hanging from a hook. He hacked off a piece with his machete and weighed it on a banana leaf. Once it balanced with the one kilo weight, I had my meat. The other customers received theirs wrapped in banana leaves tied with piece of dried vine. Mine was put in a plastic bag. I think it was in deference to my Muzungu status. I would have been happy with the banana leaves. At least they're biodegradable.

I brought it home and really had no idea what to do with it. Fortunately, Sr. Cecilia came by for some help with something she was writing. She told me how to cook it. First, cut off the skin, cut it up and fry it in the skillet. After that, put it in the oven and cook it some more. I figured for pork that was a good idea. The more it's cooked, the safer it is. Especially since there was no refrigeration anywhere in the process.

Surprisingly enough, it was really good. I was hoping to have enough left over to use it in fried rice, but Bry'Chell polished it off.

I confirmed that Joan would come and get us at 2 PM on Saturday. She came at four, because she had to go see her grandmother. We went anyway. It was a longer walk than I had anticipated, but that was fine because I wanted the exercise.

Unlike most Saturdays, I had put on a skirt since I know that when you go to visit, you wear your good clothes. During the week I wear skirts, but on the weekends I tend toward pants. However, the people in the countryside can't quite deal with sister in pants--actually, they can't deal with women in pants, although exceptions are made for foreigners. Although women on campus wear pants, it's rare for women to wear pants in the villages.

We arrived to this small house house built of local bricks with a corrugated steel roof. Joan's mother invited us in and we sat on the two low stools that were the only place to sit except for the woven mat on the dirt floor. The house had no electricity and no plumbing. It was small, but clean and neat. Joan's father was at work, so we didn't see him.

I knew we would be offered food and I knew it would be rude to refuse it. I had discussed this with Bry'Chell beforehand who told me that she wasn't going to eat, but when we were served food, she could see that we could not refuse. We were served rice with a soup-type sauce made of tomatoes and green peppers. Since they don't grow rice, the rice was a luxury.

We were also served jack fruit. I don't know how to explain jack fruit. It grows in these large thorny-looking pods in very large trees. You open them up and the jack fruit is inside, but it's buried in this other pulpy stuff that's not edible. We were given tea to drink. I was glad because we couldn't drink the water unless it was boiled and I knew the water for the tea had been boiled. We were given English Breakfast tea, but Joan and her mom drank a tea made of local leaves steeped in water.

Joan's mother didn't really speak English, so Joan translated. Joan's English isn't the best, but it's way better than my Luganda which is non-existent.

Strange as it might sound, it was fun. The company was pleasant and the food, simple as it was, was good. I took a few pictures before we left. I printed them out and will send them with Bry'Chell to give to Joan and her family.

Joan walked us back a different way than we had come. She wanted to show us the bricks her 6th grade brother was making and the crops her family had in the fields. Although they have almost no cash, they are pretty self-sufficient. They grow bananas, maize (corn), jack fruit, beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers, coffee (to sell), peanuts and sweet potatoes. They probably grow more, but that's what I could see.

Today, we went to the Equator with Sr. Marie Ester for a fruit smoothie and wraps. It's a bit of a treat for both of us. Bry'Chell took a book so she wouldn't be bored with the adult conversation.

We got a ride down in a pick-up truck and were going to catch a taxi back, but couldn't find one, so Marie Ester took a boda-boda and Bry'Chell and I walked. We were about halfway home when we ran into Marie, the girl who sells bananas, and her mother. They invited us to their house. Although I hadn't planned on doing any more visiting, we could both tell this meant a lot to them, so we went. Again, it was a longer walk than I anticipated, but walking isn't going to hurt us, so we went. Because our visit wasn't anticipated, we didn't have to eat, but they did insist on sending us home with some lemons and a mango. They tried to give us more stuff, but everyone has been giving us bananas, so we really couldn't take any more.

Marie's house was even more simple than Joan's. Where Joan's was brick, Marie's was mud plaster, more the traditional type house still used by the poorest families. I'm not sure who all lives in Marie's house, but in addition to her mother, we met her aunt and older sister, Joyce. The aunt was sick. She was laying on a mat outside. Around here, you don't lay in bed unless you're really sick. So she was really sick.

We didn't stay very long. It was getting late and I wanted to get home before it got dark. We stayed long enough to make some small talk and be stared at by all the neighborhood kids.

All this visiting made for a pretty full weekend.

More on the U.S. Elections

Tuesday night it was good to be with Americans and others who shared the excitement of the presidential election. I was sorry Bry'Chell couldn't be there, but she needed her sleep more than she needed to stay up watching the election returns. Still, I do believe that these elections were/are a defining moment for the United States in particular and the larger world in general. I did have her watch Obama's acceptance speech last night on the Internet. That was one time when I wouldn't have minded having a television.

By the time I arrived Tuesday evening, the Obama buttons were already gone. The only buttons left were for McCain. I didn't take one. Although I must admit, I had much more respect for the man after his concession speech. If he had sounded like that during the campaign, I might have considered voting for him. Well, probably not, I still don't agree with his policies. Besides, I've known Obama since he was a state legislator in Illinois. He's always been somebody we could count on to work on issues that were important to us. (In this case, we and us is the Illinois Hunger Coalition.)

The other Fulbright lecturers were at the Sheraton event. Tavis and his wife were there, Ann Nelson, the pathologist working with the hospital research stuff was there. Of course, the embassy folks were present.

When I first walked in the room, I was trying to juggle the folder and stuff I had received when I arrived and get some food since I was pretty hungry, having missed supper. In the best of times, I'm not the most graceful person. So, I'm standing there, fumbling with a drink, a plate with finger food and a folder. I was trying to eat, but both my hands are full.

I'm standing by a couple of women who start talking to me. They were being friendly, trying to include me since I'm obviously alone at that point. I'm dropping things and making a mess trying to eat. The first woman introduced herself as Susan and her companion as Kim. Cool. They asked me what I was doing in Uganda. I said I was a Fulbright lecturer. Turns out Kim works for an NGO doing something interesting. Susan didn't really offer her position at first. She seemed more interested in what the two of us were doing. However, she seemed quite knowledgeable about Ugandan stuff in general. The conversation went on for a while. Finally, in response to my comment that she seemed to know a lot about Uganda, she mentioned that she was the ambassador's wife. Of course she's knowledgeable about Uganda.

Yesterday after leaving the Sheraton, I wore the sticker I was given at the election gathering. It said "I voted". Many Ugandans saw the sticker and asked me how I could vote when I wasn't in the United States. I explained about absentee ballots. They were astounded. I really didn't understand their amazement until I read an editorial in one of the local papers. The editorial observed that ballot box stuffing would be even more extensive if absentee ballots were allowed. The editorial was pretty entertaining in the way they explained how Ugandan politicians would use absentee ballots to expand the already obscene levels of corruption that are part of elections here.

I felt proud that our elections are basically clean and fair. Yes, there are occasional local situations that make me cringe and there are definitely policies that disenfranchise the poor and marginalized, but in general, elections are free and fair. You are unlikely to be killed for voting for the candidate of your choice. That's not a very high bar, but it's one that Uganda doesn't quite reach.

Many Ugandans have been following the US elections with interest. Many have told me that if the rest of the world could vote in the US election, Obama would have been elected by over 90% of the votes--their words not mine.

Some people here (not my colleagues at the university) were surprised that I supported Obama. I'm white, why would I support Obama? I tried to explain that many white people supported Obama. If that wasn't the case, he wouldn't have been elected.

People here like Obama for two reasons, first they believe that his policies will be more beneficial for the world community in general and Africa in particular. Secondly, they are pleased that his father is from Africa. The fact that someone with an African father will be president of the United States offers a recognition to all Africans that they are acknowledged as full and competent human beings. The history of colonization has made it clear to most Africans that the Western world often does not recognize their humanity and abilities. Obama's election refutes that assumption.

Pulling an All-Nighter in Kampala

Last night was a night of firsts. It was the first time I rode a boda-boda. It was the first time in a long time I stayed up all night. And of course, it was the first time the United States elected an African American for president.

All of these things are actually related. I rode the boda-boda to the Sheraton Hotel in Kampala to watch the election returns at a gathering sponsored by the US Embassy. In case I haven't mentioned them before, boda-bodas are these ubiquitous motorcycles that weave in and out of traffic all over Uganda. For a minimal cost you can hire a boda-boda, climb on behind the driver and ride to your destination. I have avoided them until last night. However, there was no way to get from the UMU campus in the Rubaga neighborhood to the Kampala Sheraton except by boda-boda. I tried to get a taxi but there wasn't one availabe that late at night (9:30 PM) so I got a boda-boda.

It was an interesting experience to say the least. The driver was relatively safe, but relative is the operative word. I arrived at the Sheraton with my official invitation and my identification so I could get in.

At first, I didn't see anyone I knew, but as time went on all of the Fulbrighters found each other. Fortunately, we were all Obama supporters, so we had a good time watching the returns together.

However, since I literally stayed up all night last night, I think I'll finish this tomorrow when I have a good night's sleep behind me.

Gecko in Church or Late Trick-or-Treat

Bry'Chell was disappointed that Halloween is a non-event here. No costumes, no parties and worst of all no trick-or-treating with all that candy. Bry'Chell is a major candy addict. Ordinarily, we have rules about candy, but that hasn't been necessary this year. There's been very little candy around here and what there is she hasn't really found to taste like she expects.

Halloween was a bust. There was absolutely no acknowledgement of it as any kind of holiday. However, All Saints Day, being a Holy Day, found us in church at 9 AM. For Bry'Chell this was heaping insult on injury. Not only was Halloween a disappointment, but then she had to get up and go to church on Saturday. Her only day to sleep in and she had to get up. Worse, she had to get up and go to church.

As is pretty much true of every liturgy, mass was well attended. It was the usual, music from the seventies with added harmonies accompanied by drums, reasonably articulate preaching and a few babies crying.

On my way back from communion I had a little surprise. Again, the usual, semi-organized chaos, not the midwest pew-by-pew orderly procession, but random decisions by each congregant that it was now time to go to communion, with an equally random pattern of return.

As I was returning, there was a young man heading out of the pew, so I paused. Fortunately for me that I did. My head reverently down, eyes fixed on the concrete floor when all of a sudden, this gecko, drops through the air and plops right on the floor a few inches in front of my feet. If I hadn't stopped for the young man to exit the pew, it would have landed on my head! Yuck. I'm not afraid of geckos, but neither do I want one on my head, or worse, down the back of my shirt. Trick-or-treat! Happy All Saints Day.

Marie: The Girl Who Sells Bananas

A few weeks ago a ten year old girl showed up at our door one night. It was already dark, but I could see that the figure on the other side of the door was a child. I opened the door and asked her what she wanted. She had a large basket on her head wrapped in banana leaves and tied with rope.

She came in, took the basket off her head and opened up the package. She was selling bananas. I asked her how old she was. She told me she was ten. I bought some bananas since I figured any little girl out after dark selling bananas needed the money. She only charged three hundred shillings for a bunch of maybe ten bananas, that's about 15 cents. They're the little bananas which are the best tasting ones.

I've since found out that her name is Marie and she's in P. 5 (Primary 5 or 5th grade) at St. Patrick School. She sells the bananas and sometimes avocados or mangoes. She comes by a couple of times a week. I always buy something. Her prices are better than the trading center and I figure if I buy her stuff, she'll get home sooner. I don't like a ten year old girl being out after dark.

Today Bry'Chell and I went out walking, back to the hill with the great view. As we were walking along who should we see but Marie. She was pushing a bicycle with a large stalk of bananas tied to the back. She positively lit up when she saw us. Of course, she's usually smiling when we see her. I don't know if she finds us entertaining or if she's just a happy kid.

Tonight she came by again selling bananas, even though I just bought some from her last night. I bought some more, of course. This time she had the courage to ask us our names. I told her both our names. She had trouble with Bry'Chell's name. Actually, I think she's way more curious about Bry'Chell than about me. I'm just another Muzungu, but Bry'Chell doesn't fit any clear category. Besides, Bry'Chell is a kid. Even better, these days Bry'Chell is a kid who understands quite a bit of Luganda.

Well, I have to get the cake out of the oven. The last chocolate cake turned out so well I'm baking another one. I can't even take credit for baking this cake. Bry'Chell did the mixing while I dumped in the ingredients.