Galentines

 

For Valentine's Day this year, Amara had a party based on a new trend. Galentines, where you have a party with friends where the romantic component is removed. It's just a bunch of pals hanging out. The ever thoughtful Amara decked out the living room with pink and heart decortations. We found a Valentine themed welcome mat for the front door and she had candy and gift bags for those in attendance. Amara planned out the menu including drinks and brought out the karaoke machine. She also had craft stations to make bracelets and earrings, which was a hit.

As the parent observing, I found it all very sweet. A room full of teenagers, having good, clean fun. They laughed, they crafted, they ate, they sang. It was sweet.  While I normally turn my nose at holidays, I found myself a fan of this new Galentines!

Muzunghu Driving

 

Before I even set foot in Rwanda/Uganda, I was warned by my Ugandan brother, Ken, that I would hear the word  muzunghu throughout my travels in Uganda. Apparently, if you are white this is the name given to you. I told Ken I was mixed and so that I should not be called that. It did not matter, he said, if you were not African you were a muzunghu. Initially, I felt a little offended, especially since I am mixed and because I felt it put me in some typical tourist category. But then when I realized there was no malice in the use of this word, I embraced it and even had fun with the term. There are not many non-African tourists traveling throughout Uganda. Those who do stick to the safari route. We were not the typical tourist and made our way down unpaved roads, into local eateries and places where many of the locals did not often, if ever see a muzunghu. Ken told me that in the village we would be visiting, there was a lot of excitement and anticipation to see not one but two muzunghu. So, I practiced how to say it, even told the family of the new name I'd have and off I went and with me the idea to really go with the term.

Thus, when I got to to Uganda and would talk with people who were looking at me with curiosity (and I heard them whisper the word), I would make a friendly gesture or say hello. When I was trying to bargain one of the (too) many baskets I wanted to bring home, I would say, "No muzunghu prices. African prices." That would often get a laugh but the bargaining would then continue to the point where my brother, Ken and even our hired driver, would join in with the same sentiments. They were relentless by the way, in getting non muzunghu prices, resulting in the acquisition of many lovely baskets (which I mostly gifted upon my return.) When I was driving the car myself, people were quite surprised to see me behind the wheel. I was told I drove like I always drove on the left side of the road (well, I did learn to drive manual transmission in Jamaica, which is also on the colonial left side of the road), and that I seemed to understand the Uganda roads quite well (only 26% of the country is paved!).  When I would park and folx would stop and stare, I'd get out of the care and say in a loud, playful tone, "muzunghu driving." I had a lot of fun with that one. When Ken's wife did my hair, we joked about my slippery muzunghu texture. The overall feel, where ever I went was that while I was a muzunghu, people were friendly, curious, welcoming and warm. There was not hatred, anger or fear, as I have too often heard with other labels of other people.

When I was preparing to leave Uganda, I realized that a shift had occurred. While I had initially felt resistant and offended to be labeled and given this name for a non-African it hit me that I would miss hearing the daily calling to me, muzunghu. It had become something like a sweet nickname. As I packed my bags I knew the next time I set food in Uganda and someone said, muzunghu, it would feel like coming home.

(here are random photos))

 

The Road to Kisoro

 We knew that when we would head into Uganda, we would go overland and cross the border in the western part of the country. 17 years ago Don & I went flew into Kampala from safari and immediately began a ten hour car ride to Kisoro. The roads were paved and so the scenery stuff of movies. It was easy to sit for hours and look out at the emerald green landscapes, terraced farms and all the people, working so hard but in colors that were bright and festive.  

So when we knew we had a 3 hour drive to the Uganda border, I was excited to see the landscape, and how people lived in Rwanda.  It was very interesting, the similarities, reminding me that borders and politics really are meaningless. People are people and culture is more influential. Still, it was interesting to see how very few cars were on how many people walking riding bicycles. There were so many people who were carrying produce and products to and from markets, heavy loads on their heads or other bicycles sometimes needing two or three young men to push the bicycle up the endless hills. 

Like its neighbor, Rwanda is a deep emerald green, and has read earth and terraced farms that produce corn as far as the eye can see. There was also cabbage and other vegetables along with some livestock, but the thing that stood out was the people just walking up and down the roads, young and all the like coming and going knowing that they have been doing this for their whole life.  People spend most of their life  on small farms and in small village, the weekly trip to the market their main outlet into the world. 

It was such a stark difference from own life and it forced me to look at my own life experience, and how my own privilege has allowed me to see the world in a different way. For me, personally, being abandoned at birth, and then raising a family, not in my own biological origination has allowed for me to have a very privileged and blessed life. Although I use the word, blessed lightly because everybody’s blessed even if they don’t have the privilege that I have. But as I saw along the long road to the border, the reality of my everyday existence and those around me; it felt imbalanced. I had more in terms of things like money or conditions (indoor plumbing, running, drinkable water, electricity) and  yet, in the 'first world' nations, we are so disconnected from the earth, our families, our neighbors and ourselves. Having so little distractions (like wifi, a car to take you to and from work, school, social activities), even for short time I am here, I find it easier to listen within, to make a point to connect with others, to be in the present more. I don't think either is better (well some aspects are more balanced for sure) but perhaps there is a middle ground where more of us meet in the middle. Where we all have the access we need to thrive not just survive and laugh but also remain connected to the earth and each other. I don't know for sure. It is far too complex to even comprehend let alone to put into words in one small blogpost. But as I drove along that long road, I realized that this planet is large and there are many, many different ways of living and that we all deserve dignity, opportunity