Today Bry'Chell is officially a teenager. This morning when we called Tiffany, her mom, in Chicago it was still Wednesday, March 18th. This led to a discussion about whether she was really thirteen yet since she was born in Chicago. I told her that it didn't really matter--either she was thirteen now or she would be in three hours. Either way was close enough for me.
For some reason Bry'Chell does not want to be a teenager. She keeps using the jingle from the Toys R Us commercial--"I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toys are Us kid. There's a million toys at Toys R Us that I can play with..."
I told her that if she doesn't want to be thirteen, she can just have anniversaries of her twelfth birthday. That doesn't seem to satisfy her. Her next line is that she will be a Huntress--this is some type of character from one of her books that stays the age she is when she becomes a Huntress. I don't get it, but Bry'Chell is convinced that she's a Huntress.
Since tonight's a school night we're not doing anything, but tomorrow night she's having a sleepover. There were supposed to be four girls coming over, now there are seven. Joy.
I told Bry'Chell to ask her friends what they wanted to eat. American kids would say things like pizza, pop, chips and candy, maybe hamburgers and hotdogs. These kids said one thing--meat. One girl specified pork.
The boarders at St. Mary's only get meat once a week, on Sundays. I'd guess it usually either chicken or goat, but I really don't know. In a culture where meat may be eaten twice a year, Easter and Christmas, meat is a big deal.
I bought meat--pork and chicken at Quality Cuts in Kampala. We'll see how it goes.
Bry'Chell tried to convince me to leave the house while her friends are here. Fat chance. Like I'm going to leave eight teenage girls alone over night. Yeah, right.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Ugandan Ingenuity
Ugandan ingenuity beats American ingenuity hands down. These folks can do anything with nothing, or at least it seems that way.
Today I was on my way back from Kampala (more immigration issues.) We were driving past a row of shops along the road. In front of one shop were two guys. One was holding part of the frame of a wrecked car and the other one had a hacksaw and was sawing through a piece of metal that was part of the frame.
Now in Chicago, I've seen wrecked cars get stripped down for all their usable parts, but the shell of the frame is still usually left. Not here, the frame itself is used for the metal which is sawed, pounded, welded and shaped into something else, like cooking pots. NOTHING goes to waste around here.
People I've come to know sometimes give me food from their gardens--bananas, avocados, passion fruit, mangoes, maize--whatever is ripe at the moment. The kids will bring the gift in a bag and wait while I unload the food so I can return the bag. We're just talking cheap plastic grocery bags, but if you don't buy much, you don't get bags, so they're a commodity to carefully preserve.
When I buy pork the guys at the shop have started wrapping my purchases in banana leaves and tying it with fiber they cut from the stalk of the banana leaf. I figure it is more biodegradable than the plastic bags, which I'm not likely to reuse after they have fresh meat inside--OK--after they have fresh, greasy meat inside.
Even the kids know which plants are edible and which are not. Some plants can be used to sooth an upset stomach, others take care of a headache. You'll sometimes see a kid chewing on a bunch of leaves. If you ask, you find out they have a headache and these leaves will get rid of it.
I sometimes think American ingenuity, for all the talk of it, is a thing of the past. We are spoiled. We just go to the store and buy stuff. Here, people figure things out. They make due. They use their creativity to survive and develop little creature comforts. There's a practical knowledge here the people depend on for survival. It's amazing.
Today I was on my way back from Kampala (more immigration issues.) We were driving past a row of shops along the road. In front of one shop were two guys. One was holding part of the frame of a wrecked car and the other one had a hacksaw and was sawing through a piece of metal that was part of the frame.
Now in Chicago, I've seen wrecked cars get stripped down for all their usable parts, but the shell of the frame is still usually left. Not here, the frame itself is used for the metal which is sawed, pounded, welded and shaped into something else, like cooking pots. NOTHING goes to waste around here.
People I've come to know sometimes give me food from their gardens--bananas, avocados, passion fruit, mangoes, maize--whatever is ripe at the moment. The kids will bring the gift in a bag and wait while I unload the food so I can return the bag. We're just talking cheap plastic grocery bags, but if you don't buy much, you don't get bags, so they're a commodity to carefully preserve.
When I buy pork the guys at the shop have started wrapping my purchases in banana leaves and tying it with fiber they cut from the stalk of the banana leaf. I figure it is more biodegradable than the plastic bags, which I'm not likely to reuse after they have fresh meat inside--OK--after they have fresh, greasy meat inside.
Even the kids know which plants are edible and which are not. Some plants can be used to sooth an upset stomach, others take care of a headache. You'll sometimes see a kid chewing on a bunch of leaves. If you ask, you find out they have a headache and these leaves will get rid of it.
I sometimes think American ingenuity, for all the talk of it, is a thing of the past. We are spoiled. We just go to the store and buy stuff. Here, people figure things out. They make due. They use their creativity to survive and develop little creature comforts. There's a practical knowledge here the people depend on for survival. It's amazing.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Trust or Desperation?
Haircuts have been one of the challenges of this year. The first time I needed a haircut I went to the barber in the trading center. It was not a good experience.
The second time I cut my hair myself--at least everything I could see--and had Bry'Chell trim the back. However, Bry'Chell refused to actually cut the back--she would just trim the bottom.
Once again I was getting desperate. Carmen--the owner of CJ Vogue in Oak Lawn, who usually cuts my hair--has really spoiled me. Ordinarily when I call him, he gets me in the same day, like within an hour after I call. I have not developed good planning habits when it comes to haircuts.
I've been planning on getting my hair cut when I go to Kampala, but the past two times I've had a my plate full for the Kampala trips. There just hasn't been time to work in a haircut.
Yesterday I was once again at the desperation stage. I've been pestering Bry'Chell about cutting the back--not just trimming the bottom edge. She refused.
My hair is really thick in the back and it was just getting to be too much. Every time I ride my bike the back of my head would be dripping with sweat. There was just too much hair back there. I needed more than a trim at the bottom.
Friday, Bry'Chell did not get home from school at a reasonable time. Now, it was not entirely her fault, but I was worried so I rode my bike down toward her school only to see the students walking toward me. OK, I figured they were dismissed late, not Bry'Chell's fault. However, the kids are streaming up the road and there's no sign of Bry'Chell. After about 15 minutes, she comes poking along at the end of the crowd with her buddy. I was not happy. I figured if they get out late, the least she can do is hustle her little butt home. She knows she has to be home by 6:15 PM. It was now after 7 PM. This is a time to hurry, not poke. As a consequence, I told her I would walk her home from school this week. Now I am aware, that this is the ultimate of uncoolness. I really don't care.
Saturday it occurred to me that these consequences give me a little bargaining room.
"If you cut the back of my hair, I'll let you walk home by yourself one day this week."
"OK."
That was easy.
Sunday I went in the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror and cut the front part of my hair. I cut it, and it looked OK--way better than the barber in the trading center. It felt a LOT better.
I have a small hand mirror that, together with the bathroom mirror, allows me a fairly good view of the back. I gave Bry'Chell my basic theory of cutting straight hair--based on years of watching Carmen--and turned her loose with the scissors and the comb.
The kid has a good eye for detail and is pretty coordinated, so I trusted her. If I wasn't completely sure about the trust angle, I was desperate.
Even with her ongoing commentary about how I have hair growing in strange places on the back of my neck, she did a good job. She even cleaned up some of the places where I had cut that she judged inadequate.
This is the best haircut I've had since I arrived. Carmen--move over--you may have some competition!
The second time I cut my hair myself--at least everything I could see--and had Bry'Chell trim the back. However, Bry'Chell refused to actually cut the back--she would just trim the bottom.
Once again I was getting desperate. Carmen--the owner of CJ Vogue in Oak Lawn, who usually cuts my hair--has really spoiled me. Ordinarily when I call him, he gets me in the same day, like within an hour after I call. I have not developed good planning habits when it comes to haircuts.
I've been planning on getting my hair cut when I go to Kampala, but the past two times I've had a my plate full for the Kampala trips. There just hasn't been time to work in a haircut.
Yesterday I was once again at the desperation stage. I've been pestering Bry'Chell about cutting the back--not just trimming the bottom edge. She refused.
My hair is really thick in the back and it was just getting to be too much. Every time I ride my bike the back of my head would be dripping with sweat. There was just too much hair back there. I needed more than a trim at the bottom.
Friday, Bry'Chell did not get home from school at a reasonable time. Now, it was not entirely her fault, but I was worried so I rode my bike down toward her school only to see the students walking toward me. OK, I figured they were dismissed late, not Bry'Chell's fault. However, the kids are streaming up the road and there's no sign of Bry'Chell. After about 15 minutes, she comes poking along at the end of the crowd with her buddy. I was not happy. I figured if they get out late, the least she can do is hustle her little butt home. She knows she has to be home by 6:15 PM. It was now after 7 PM. This is a time to hurry, not poke. As a consequence, I told her I would walk her home from school this week. Now I am aware, that this is the ultimate of uncoolness. I really don't care.
Saturday it occurred to me that these consequences give me a little bargaining room.
"If you cut the back of my hair, I'll let you walk home by yourself one day this week."
"OK."
That was easy.
Sunday I went in the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror and cut the front part of my hair. I cut it, and it looked OK--way better than the barber in the trading center. It felt a LOT better.
I have a small hand mirror that, together with the bathroom mirror, allows me a fairly good view of the back. I gave Bry'Chell my basic theory of cutting straight hair--based on years of watching Carmen--and turned her loose with the scissors and the comb.
The kid has a good eye for detail and is pretty coordinated, so I trusted her. If I wasn't completely sure about the trust angle, I was desperate.
Even with her ongoing commentary about how I have hair growing in strange places on the back of my neck, she did a good job. She even cleaned up some of the places where I had cut that she judged inadequate.
This is the best haircut I've had since I arrived. Carmen--move over--you may have some competition!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Culture Day at UMU
Saturday was Culture Day at UMU. There was food, exhibits, singing, dancing and a fashion show. At home when there was some celebration of culture it was the usual European mix--France, Ireland, England, Italy, Germany, maybe Poland or Russia. Of course Mexico would be there and maybe another Central or South American country. There would be a token Asian culture, either China or Japan--and AFRICA--like Africa is a country--not a continent.
Here the cultural mix is a bit different. Yes, there were a few token European cultures--those that have students here on a cultural exchange. However, since the countries here are mostly colonial designations and do not represent cultures of their own, Culture Day reflects the various ethnic, or tribal, identities of the students and staff.
During the day there were exhibits of cultural artifacts and food--including the local brew. The local brew is a banana concoction fermented with sorghum. Since it cooked over a wood fire it has a very smokey flavor. One sip was enough for me. Although with a little practice, it might grow on me.
I didn't get to the event in time to try the food, but I think I've had my share of local food. I would have liked to try the Canadian food--pancakes with maple syrup. They didn't last long. Since I make pancakes most weekends, I could do without. Although, the maple syrup would have been nice--we're into homemade syrup these days. Still, the pancakes would be a bigger taste treat for the UMU students.
The big event was the evening when the traditional dances were displayed. Several people were taping them, so I hope I can get a DVD at some point. The range of dancing was spectacular. It's almost impossible to compare the dances since they were so different. The group from Rwanda were Tutsis. They did several dances and all of them were elegant. The group from Burundi were Hutus and they brought in this drum troup who did this amazing dance with these large, very heavy looking drums. There were a group of Masai from Tanzania. I'm told this was the first time a group of Masai students had performed. The energy that went into the dances was astounding. Of course, there were several Ugandan groups--some from the southwest, near Kabale, did a celebratory dance. Of course there was the traditional Buganda dance, the Kiganda (the K is pronounced like a Ch--it sounds like Chiganda). Bry'Chell actually knows that dance, but I doubt that she'll do it for anyone. It involves lots of hip motion. Dancers from the north did a circumcision dance--not the real thing, but it wasn't hard to follow the idea--knife and all. Young men are circumcized during late adolescence. I'm told the goal is not to cry. No kidding.
I was glad Bry'Chell was there since she usually misses the stuff that's during the day. I know she's seen local dancing, but the range of dances was much broader Satuday night. Although the troup from Burundi were professionals, the others were all students. They've been working on the dances for weeks. We could hear them drumming late into the night practicing every night for the past two or three weeks.
It was sort of funny Sunday morning to see the dancers back in their conservative church clothes for mass after seeing the traditional wear the night before.
Here the cultural mix is a bit different. Yes, there were a few token European cultures--those that have students here on a cultural exchange. However, since the countries here are mostly colonial designations and do not represent cultures of their own, Culture Day reflects the various ethnic, or tribal, identities of the students and staff.
During the day there were exhibits of cultural artifacts and food--including the local brew. The local brew is a banana concoction fermented with sorghum. Since it cooked over a wood fire it has a very smokey flavor. One sip was enough for me. Although with a little practice, it might grow on me.
I didn't get to the event in time to try the food, but I think I've had my share of local food. I would have liked to try the Canadian food--pancakes with maple syrup. They didn't last long. Since I make pancakes most weekends, I could do without. Although, the maple syrup would have been nice--we're into homemade syrup these days. Still, the pancakes would be a bigger taste treat for the UMU students.
The big event was the evening when the traditional dances were displayed. Several people were taping them, so I hope I can get a DVD at some point. The range of dancing was spectacular. It's almost impossible to compare the dances since they were so different. The group from Rwanda were Tutsis. They did several dances and all of them were elegant. The group from Burundi were Hutus and they brought in this drum troup who did this amazing dance with these large, very heavy looking drums. There were a group of Masai from Tanzania. I'm told this was the first time a group of Masai students had performed. The energy that went into the dances was astounding. Of course, there were several Ugandan groups--some from the southwest, near Kabale, did a celebratory dance. Of course there was the traditional Buganda dance, the Kiganda (the K is pronounced like a Ch--it sounds like Chiganda). Bry'Chell actually knows that dance, but I doubt that she'll do it for anyone. It involves lots of hip motion. Dancers from the north did a circumcision dance--not the real thing, but it wasn't hard to follow the idea--knife and all. Young men are circumcized during late adolescence. I'm told the goal is not to cry. No kidding.
I was glad Bry'Chell was there since she usually misses the stuff that's during the day. I know she's seen local dancing, but the range of dances was much broader Satuday night. Although the troup from Burundi were professionals, the others were all students. They've been working on the dances for weeks. We could hear them drumming late into the night practicing every night for the past two or three weeks.
It was sort of funny Sunday morning to see the dancers back in their conservative church clothes for mass after seeing the traditional wear the night before.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Carrying Bricks
Since Bry'Chell doesn't really write in her blog, I wanted to share her "sports" activity from school yesterday.
The last hour of school--4:40 to 5:40 PM is for sports--the Ugandan version of gym class. The girls play netball, which Bry'Chell doesn't play. It's sort of like basketball but not really. Bry'Chell doesn't play because she doesn't want to confuse the few basketball skills she has. She would like to play soccer, but the boys play soccer, not the girls. She's played a few times, but gets tired of being teased by the boys for playing.
Yesterday, Bry'Chell came home with her blouse really dirty. I inquired as to the cause of the dirt. Since Bry'Chell tends to be a neat and clean type of kid, it was a change from her usual appearance. It turns out there was a different activity for sports yesterday. The students carried bricks from the pile near the girls' dorm to the kitchen area--no small distance.
It might help to understand that people make bricks here. The soil has a high clay content, so it's possible. The clay is put in a wooden mold, formed and then sun dried. After they are dried, they are stacked into a kiln--not inside some pre-made kiln, the bricks themselves are made into a kiln which is covered with mud and a fire lit inside the opening that is left at the bottom middle. Additional grass is piled on top and burns. Once the process is complete, you have bricks. Now, I've probably oversimplified the process, but basically that's it.
I've noticed the process of making bricks at St. Mary's over the past couple of months. I'm not sure what these are for--the new library or another project, but yesterday students were moving bricks.
The school motto is "Live, Toil, Learn." Sister Sanyu believes in taking the motto literally. The kids indeed toil--as well as live and learn--whether it's cleaning the compound and classrooms every morning or carrying bricks for gym class, the kids work. Sr. Sanyu reminds me of Dad in that way. Part of the point of having kids around is to have them work. They've got to be good for something.
The last hour of school--4:40 to 5:40 PM is for sports--the Ugandan version of gym class. The girls play netball, which Bry'Chell doesn't play. It's sort of like basketball but not really. Bry'Chell doesn't play because she doesn't want to confuse the few basketball skills she has. She would like to play soccer, but the boys play soccer, not the girls. She's played a few times, but gets tired of being teased by the boys for playing.
Yesterday, Bry'Chell came home with her blouse really dirty. I inquired as to the cause of the dirt. Since Bry'Chell tends to be a neat and clean type of kid, it was a change from her usual appearance. It turns out there was a different activity for sports yesterday. The students carried bricks from the pile near the girls' dorm to the kitchen area--no small distance.
It might help to understand that people make bricks here. The soil has a high clay content, so it's possible. The clay is put in a wooden mold, formed and then sun dried. After they are dried, they are stacked into a kiln--not inside some pre-made kiln, the bricks themselves are made into a kiln which is covered with mud and a fire lit inside the opening that is left at the bottom middle. Additional grass is piled on top and burns. Once the process is complete, you have bricks. Now, I've probably oversimplified the process, but basically that's it.
I've noticed the process of making bricks at St. Mary's over the past couple of months. I'm not sure what these are for--the new library or another project, but yesterday students were moving bricks.
The school motto is "Live, Toil, Learn." Sister Sanyu believes in taking the motto literally. The kids indeed toil--as well as live and learn--whether it's cleaning the compound and classrooms every morning or carrying bricks for gym class, the kids work. Sr. Sanyu reminds me of Dad in that way. Part of the point of having kids around is to have them work. They've got to be good for something.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
High School Drama
While school is no doubt about studies, Bry'Chell also manages to have her share of fun. The pictures she comes home with on the camera tell me more about school than her notes.This picture was taken a week ago Saturday at the first school party of the semester. Notice that even at a school party the students are in uniform. It's casual--they're wearing their house t-shirts rather than their white button-up uniform shirts. They also can wear casual shoes rather than black shoes and white knee socks.
The boy in the picture is Emmy (short for Emmanuel). He is one of many from whom Bry'Chell receives lots of attention.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Boys in Pink Holding Hands
Ahh . . . the joys of cultural differences. Boys in pink shirts holding hands has a very different meaning in Uganda than it has say, on the north side of Chicago, or, on the south side for that matter. In this case, the boys are wearing their school uniforms (which happen to be pink shirts and khaki shorts) on their way to the cathedral consecration.
People here hold hands. Girls walk along holding hands with their best friend, so do boys. Even grown people hold hands with their friends. It's not just a thing for little kids. High school kids walk along holding hands.
However, high school boys don't hold hands with girls too much (and vice versa), that might get them in trouble at school. Generally, it's against the rules to have a girlfriend or boyfriend, or as they say here, a "lover." Again, don't think what it means in the United States. Here a lover is just a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Since "coupling" is against the rules, few teens will admit to having a special friend of the opposite sex. Coupling can get you a caning.
Still, most of the teens have their special someone and the gossip is as intense as teens anywhere. Bry'Chell comes home rolling her eyes at the teen drama from St. Mary's. However, it may well be a case of "the lady doth protesteth too much."
Driving
Sunday I got behind the wheel of a car for the second time in the past six months. Once again it was Sr. Marie Esther's car. This time I was more comfortable driving on the left side of the road, but I still kept reaching for the stick shift with my right hand.
We didn't go very far, just a few kilometers to the Equator Cafe for fruit smoothies and chicken wraps. Although I take the bus to Rubaga to teach every week, I really don't get off campus that much--at least not further than I can ride on my bicycle. It was fun to drive. This is probably the longest I've gone without driving since I was 15 and received my learner's permit.
I told Bry'Chell she didn't have to go, since she complains about most of the places I drag her, but she chose to go with us. She gets out even less than I do. Of course, she goes to school everyday, but beyond that she's pretty much of a homebody.
We didn't go very far, just a few kilometers to the Equator Cafe for fruit smoothies and chicken wraps. Although I take the bus to Rubaga to teach every week, I really don't get off campus that much--at least not further than I can ride on my bicycle. It was fun to drive. This is probably the longest I've gone without driving since I was 15 and received my learner's permit.
I told Bry'Chell she didn't have to go, since she complains about most of the places I drag her, but she chose to go with us. She gets out even less than I do. Of course, she goes to school everyday, but beyond that she's pretty much of a homebody.
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