If you have an idea for how you want to change, create, move, grow, and you want someone to tell you that you are unequivocally the right one to make that change, creation, movement, growth, regardless of the truth, then you should ask me. Because I can only see how you are the absolutely perfect person to do that thing you want to do, and I can't convince myself otherwise, even if I try.
If, however, you want an assessment of your actual skills and abilities in relation to your dream, please don't ask me. Because you will only get the other thing, the dreamy thing. I tell the truth because I can't see the truth. I mean, if it is the truth anyway.
Because even as I write this, knowing that I am ridiculously, helplessly, overly optimistic, I can't help but think my perspective is right.
But I know it isn't. Or at least suspect.
And, although it may sound like I am bragging about what a great friend I am, let me tell you that I am not. Because this stupid optimism stunts me. Because I am just as optimistic about my own abilities as I am about yours, and I have learned the hard way that just because I believe I can do something doesn't mean I can. But I still believe I can. So I don't know what my actual abilities are.
And one of you will say that that's ok, just go for it anyway, never know 'til you try, and I know that you are another one of those annoying, overly optimistic, dreamy people.
Here's another confession, the really terrible one: sometimes I don't start things because I'm not sure if I can finish, or do a good job, or live up to my own expectations. I feel like Alice, just knocking around with no idea of the outcome of this silly dream.
Only I don't have a mad hatter to compare myself to and see what's crazy. So I just keep living in wonderland, unsure of how ridiculous anyone's dreams are, especially mine. Don't ask me for advice-- I'll just invite you to my tea party. Dream and sugar? yes, plz.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
i love this!
It's been a while since I wrote about what is happening in my life. I'm back in North Carolina, and I want to talk about it for a little bit. I was planning to stay in Uganda until October-ish, but my baby sister (actual age:18 -editor) was going to Taiwan to teach English for a year at the end of August. She called me and asked me to come home to see her, and how could I say no? Coming back, I had no commitments: no job, no mortgage, car payments, school I had to be at next semester, nothing. Scary but exciting, right? I briefly considered moving back to Connecticut, moving to Cali, the Northwest (for like a day), and then my dear friend and former roommate, the lovely Katie DeConto, emailed me to tell me that her sister was moving out, so she had an empty room, and did I want it? I couldn't think of anything I wanted more. So corny, but so true.
Anyway, I flew back to the States two days before my sister left. I was excited to see her, excited about running water, an oven, endless baking supplies. I was home for one week when a tropical storm came through and knocked out the electricity, and the water. I was again without running water and cooking over a fire. So I decided it was time to come to Durham. Sweet Suzanne flew up to CT and we drove back together. We arrived to a house full of friends, art-in-progress, and yummy food. I can't imagine a better homecoming.
While I was in Uganda thinking about coming home, I felt like God told me I would love the next two years of my life, and so far, I do. I love my friends, love being this age, love the opportunities I have, and am excited about the loose plans I have for the next few years. I'm busy with work (I waitress), volunteering, friends, baking and little side business-y things. And also this:
Hey, that's a very important part of being a 20-something.
Anyway, I flew back to the States two days before my sister left. I was excited to see her, excited about running water, an oven, endless baking supplies. I was home for one week when a tropical storm came through and knocked out the electricity, and the water. I was again without running water and cooking over a fire. So I decided it was time to come to Durham. Sweet Suzanne flew up to CT and we drove back together. We arrived to a house full of friends, art-in-progress, and yummy food. I can't imagine a better homecoming.
While I was in Uganda thinking about coming home, I felt like God told me I would love the next two years of my life, and so far, I do. I love my friends, love being this age, love the opportunities I have, and am excited about the loose plans I have for the next few years. I'm busy with work (I waitress), volunteering, friends, baking and little side business-y things. And also this:
Hey, that's a very important part of being a 20-something.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
In Praise of Tears
I love traveling. But when I've been gone for a while, I start daydreaming about the first shower I will take at home. I miss knowing the exact spot to turn the tap to get the temperature I want, what the water pressure will be (and that I won't run out of hot water), standing in the shower seeing my full sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash. As the water runs down my body, I feel like it washes off not only the grime and dirt of the plane, the car, my previous location, but also any tiredness, disconnect, or confusion I may be feeling as a result of my trip. The water reminds me of who I am, what I've forgotten about myself while travelling. It's when I start using the muscle memory of my normal life again. Home becomes the reality, and my trip becomes a memory.
Yesterday I was preparing to run errands, when my roommate brought up a relationship that I've been struggling with for over a year. There's pain I thought I'd worked through, but she (rightly) felt that more forgiveness was needed. As we talked, we both began to cry: pretty little streams trickling down her checks, big ugly sobs shaking my shoulders. I hadn't cried like that in a year, which is a long time to go without a soul shower. Crying is muscle memory for my heart-- it reminds me of who I am, and the feelings associated with being human: pain, sadness, forgiveness. I had been trying to block these feelings out, but to do so is to deny my humanity. I am not ceramic: hard, repellant, breakable. I am made of clay: soft, absorbent, pliable. Sometimes I need to be reminded of that, because sometimes I forget. Fortunately, I have roommates and tears to help me along.
Syncrobloggers strike again! This is a post on the subject of Water. Read my fabulous friends' fabulous essays here.
Yesterday I was preparing to run errands, when my roommate brought up a relationship that I've been struggling with for over a year. There's pain I thought I'd worked through, but she (rightly) felt that more forgiveness was needed. As we talked, we both began to cry: pretty little streams trickling down her checks, big ugly sobs shaking my shoulders. I hadn't cried like that in a year, which is a long time to go without a soul shower. Crying is muscle memory for my heart-- it reminds me of who I am, and the feelings associated with being human: pain, sadness, forgiveness. I had been trying to block these feelings out, but to do so is to deny my humanity. I am not ceramic: hard, repellant, breakable. I am made of clay: soft, absorbent, pliable. Sometimes I need to be reminded of that, because sometimes I forget. Fortunately, I have roommates and tears to help me along.
Syncrobloggers strike again! This is a post on the subject of Water. Read my fabulous friends' fabulous essays here.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Do Not Open Until Oct. 4, 2001
Oct. 4, 2011
Dear 15 Year Old Alisha,
Hi! Just a little note from me, your 25 year old self. Don't freak out, ok? I know you still haven't seen Back to the Future, so the idea of time travel still seems like something only science nerds like, and your first blog is still two years away, so you have no idea what a blog even is, but don't worry. You'll figure it all out. I'm just visiting from the future to give you some friendly advice.
I just want to tell you a few things to help you make it through the rest of your teens and into your twenties successfully. First of all, I know what you really want in life is to be a "media-tition" (a word you so cleverly made up), but why don't you sit down and actually define what exactly that means before you just run off and apply to the the first college you've literally ever heard of (hint: majoring in "communications" at your parents' alma mater Bible college isn't what you're looking for)! Trust me, this will save you at least two transfers and a few classes. Do the research, baby. Also, are you absolutely sure that you want to make movies? I know you like taking photos and all, but is that really your passion? Yes? Okay-- just asking.
Secondly, in the next few years, you may find yourself obsessed with spending money, and end up working all the time to feed your crazy habit of buying every sale item you see when you walk into a store. Please don't. You really don't need all that stuff, and you'll spend all your time working and miss out on memories with your friends. You'll regret that. Promise. Also, it will lead to some questionable fashion choices and having to figure out if you're going to store or give away junk every time you move (which will happen roughly once a year for at least the next ten years-- get ready).
Thirdly, um, (Mom and Dad, if you happen to find this letter by some unfortunate chance, you can definitely skip this part) don't be so scared to kiss boys. You might like it (okay, full disclosure: you will). You don't have to kiss every boy who wants to kiss you, but a few are fine. Just sayin'.
And lastly, please don't have such high expectations for me. I'll tell you right now that I don't live up to them. But don't worry, even though your teens and twenties won't be what you expect, or necessarily want now, you are going to enjoy your life more as you age. I mean, at least until 25. I can't speak for 26 and on (but I do have a hunch!) Your life won't be perfect; like most of your peers, you'll spend a long time figuring out exactly what you want when you grow up, but that's okay: don't be afraid of it, just enjoy learning. The fact that you don't know everything about yourself is actually fine, and the sooner you learn to enjoy learning about you, instead of telling yourself who I am, the smoother the transition will be. Just take a chill pill. The future is not as scary, or as predictable, as you think it is.
Love,
Future Alisha
twitter: @alishasharayah
facebook: asagemy.facebook.com
email: gmail.com
(i know all of these web addresses mean nothing to you, but i have to prove i'm from the future somehow, right? also, in the future, no one uses capitalization-- i just did in the letter so you wouldn't be alarmed).
ps- this letter is part of a synchroblog you will participate in with some of your friends! find out more about them here.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Learn to Fall
Fall = Fail?
So many ways to fall
So many ways to fail
Prancing barefoot across a mossy log
feet slip
Covered in mud
don’t do that anymore
balanced on a ladder hanging lights
Ball, cat, dog, kid
Wobble, teeter
No more ladders, thanks
Skiing, jump rope, ballet:
So many chances to fail
Speaking, singing, loving:
So many chances to fall
falling
Learning from mistakes
Understanding
That it is better to stay
Close, close
Down
Down to the ground.
Don’t stand too high—
Don’t jump
don’t dance
Don’t risk the fall
Don’t risk the fail
And falling can be failing,
And failing EQUALS fear
Sometimes. Unless
Remember?
That one who slipped,
That one who slipped,
And, covered in mud,
Discovered: that the fall
Was not quite as
Expected?
Decided: that falling
Was not scary as
Suspected.
Take the chance:
To dance!
To sing!
To speak, to joke
To do your thing.
And you may find
That though you fall
You do not fail
And thus your fears
To no avail.
And I say
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Not Gone (Forever)
I just arrived back in good ol’ RDU after spending six months in Uganda. If you had told me when I left that I would be this happy to be back, I would have thought that you didn’t know me very well. I always thought I was the kind of person who didn’t have problems relating to people—any people, even if we only sort of spoke the same language, or had been raised in different cultures. I thought for sure I would love Africa and maybe just stay there forever. I didn’t buy a return ticket, because I didn’t know if I would need it.
At first, I adored Uganda. It was so laid back, so beautiful. Everyone I met was so nice, and so interested in me. I was ok with sharing a room with 9 other girls, and taking cold showers, and eating lots of carbs, because I didn’t have a job and got to eat fresh pineapples and mangos and dance to my roommates’ drumming. Everything was exactly like I expected it to be. But as time went on, things began to change. Life began to get more difficult-- I began to get annoyed—what once seemed like laid back, slow paced living began to define itself as tardiness. I got tired of tripping over the beautiful uneven African roads as I walked everywhere. And I realized that people were interested in me because I was a foreigner, not because I was so witty and interesting. Bummer. After 3 months, I didn’t have running water anymore, and I got tired of getting water out of a jerrycan for everything from bathing to cooking to drinking. I was tired of Africa and wanted my mom. I was grumpy.
I started to have an identity crisis. I wasn’t the culturally flexible person I thought I was. To my horror (and I really don’t want to admit this), I even found myself smugly thinking that there were certain things that we do better in America. I began to think that maybe I shouldn’t be in Africa, and I bought my return ticket. I was ready to go home, get an office job, and buy an iPhone and a little house with a white picket fence, and never leave America again.
I played basketball for one season when I was like 12, and I was horrible. The game is too fast-paced for me, and I hated running back and forth up the court the whole game. I thought it was stupid, but my dad told me since I had chosen to play, I wasn’t allowed to quit. That season was hard, but at the end, I was really proud of myself for sticking with it, and I learned that I can stick with something, even if it’s hard.
Even as I waited to leave Uganda, I knew I will have to go back to Africa. I may not be the person I thought I was—I may not be able to just slide flawlessly into any role, but I’m not about to give up without a fight... a long one. I am not the person I thought I was when I went to Uganda,-- I have problems relating to people, adapting to new places—but I won’t always. Africa, I’m happy to be here now, but I’ll see you again. I still have lots to learn from you.
This post is part of an awesome synchroblog, The Creative Collective, that my friends and I write together. Read their entries here: http://synchrobloggers.wordpress.com
At first, I adored Uganda. It was so laid back, so beautiful. Everyone I met was so nice, and so interested in me. I was ok with sharing a room with 9 other girls, and taking cold showers, and eating lots of carbs, because I didn’t have a job and got to eat fresh pineapples and mangos and dance to my roommates’ drumming. Everything was exactly like I expected it to be. But as time went on, things began to change. Life began to get more difficult-- I began to get annoyed—what once seemed like laid back, slow paced living began to define itself as tardiness. I got tired of tripping over the beautiful uneven African roads as I walked everywhere. And I realized that people were interested in me because I was a foreigner, not because I was so witty and interesting. Bummer. After 3 months, I didn’t have running water anymore, and I got tired of getting water out of a jerrycan for everything from bathing to cooking to drinking. I was tired of Africa and wanted my mom. I was grumpy.
I started to have an identity crisis. I wasn’t the culturally flexible person I thought I was. To my horror (and I really don’t want to admit this), I even found myself smugly thinking that there were certain things that we do better in America. I began to think that maybe I shouldn’t be in Africa, and I bought my return ticket. I was ready to go home, get an office job, and buy an iPhone and a little house with a white picket fence, and never leave America again.
I played basketball for one season when I was like 12, and I was horrible. The game is too fast-paced for me, and I hated running back and forth up the court the whole game. I thought it was stupid, but my dad told me since I had chosen to play, I wasn’t allowed to quit. That season was hard, but at the end, I was really proud of myself for sticking with it, and I learned that I can stick with something, even if it’s hard.
Even as I waited to leave Uganda, I knew I will have to go back to Africa. I may not be the person I thought I was—I may not be able to just slide flawlessly into any role, but I’m not about to give up without a fight... a long one. I am not the person I thought I was when I went to Uganda,-- I have problems relating to people, adapting to new places—but I won’t always. Africa, I’m happy to be here now, but I’ll see you again. I still have lots to learn from you.
This post is part of an awesome synchroblog, The Creative Collective, that my friends and I write together. Read their entries here: http://synchrobloggers.wordpress.com
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
African English
Uganda, like many African nations, was colonized by the British, and as a result, their national language is English. It's not people's first language-- most people speak the local language at home, and learn English when they go to school. Like most English speaking nations, Uganda has her own unique brand of English that's a little different from the rest. I've provided here a handy list of words and phrases that you should know if you ever come to Uganda.
"I have ever" - If you hear this phrase, you may think that the speaker means "I have always", but don't be fooled! It just means, "At some point in my life, I have..." ex: "I have ever seen someone standing on her head under a tree."
"Somehow" - any time you hear this, just substitute the word "somewhat" in your mind. It used to bother me, but now if I hear the word used the American way, I have to really think about it to determine if it's wrong. ex: "Are you sick?" "Somehow."
"Flu" - the first few times I was sick, people asked me if I had flu, and I said no. It took me a while to realize that here, "flu" is used like we use "cold" - a catch-all word for when you're feeling under the weather.
"He or she" - I'm pretty sure I have never heard the words "they" or "their" leave a Ugandan's mouth. Along with this is a formality of speech that feels so wordy to my American brain. ex: "Thank you all for gathering here tonight. If anyone left his or her towel outside, I would like to request him or her to take the time to go retrieve it after the meeting is adjourned". On the other hand, my African friends tease me that I eat my words (I don kno wha theyre taukin abou!)
"move" - can be substituted for any of the following words as appropriate: drive, walk, run, ride, etc. You get the idea. Makes sense, but took me some time to get used to.
"pants", "trousers" - if you use the wrong word, you may end up embarrassing yourself, as I have done on several occasions. ex: the time I whispered "I like your pants" to my friend on a crowded bus and he thought I was hitting on him.
"mzungo" - if you happen to have light colored skin, you will hear this word more than any other word. I think I mentioned that in a previous post.
"someone" - usually when I say the word someone, I don't know who a person is specifically. Here, it's rare to hear people refereed to directly by name. "Someone" is used to refer to a specific person, and I'm pretty sure that everyone always knows who the person is. ex: "Someone has cooked a delicious supper tonight", "Someone is about to step in the water I spilled."
"Sorry" - I think I've mentioned this before. My friends think it's so funny that Americans say "Are you OK?" if someone gets hurt. They say "Ohhh.... sorry!"
"Welbee back!" - instead of "Welcome home!" I have no idea where this came from, but it's by far my favorite African-Englishism.
These are all the words I can think of right now. If I think of a lot more, I'll do a part 2, because this was kinda fun. :)
"I have ever" - If you hear this phrase, you may think that the speaker means "I have always", but don't be fooled! It just means, "At some point in my life, I have..." ex: "I have ever seen someone standing on her head under a tree."
"Somehow" - any time you hear this, just substitute the word "somewhat" in your mind. It used to bother me, but now if I hear the word used the American way, I have to really think about it to determine if it's wrong. ex: "Are you sick?" "Somehow."
"Flu" - the first few times I was sick, people asked me if I had flu, and I said no. It took me a while to realize that here, "flu" is used like we use "cold" - a catch-all word for when you're feeling under the weather.
"He or she" - I'm pretty sure I have never heard the words "they" or "their" leave a Ugandan's mouth. Along with this is a formality of speech that feels so wordy to my American brain. ex: "Thank you all for gathering here tonight. If anyone left his or her towel outside, I would like to request him or her to take the time to go retrieve it after the meeting is adjourned". On the other hand, my African friends tease me that I eat my words (I don kno wha theyre taukin abou!)
"move" - can be substituted for any of the following words as appropriate: drive, walk, run, ride, etc. You get the idea. Makes sense, but took me some time to get used to.
"pants", "trousers" - if you use the wrong word, you may end up embarrassing yourself, as I have done on several occasions. ex: the time I whispered "I like your pants" to my friend on a crowded bus and he thought I was hitting on him.
"mzungo" - if you happen to have light colored skin, you will hear this word more than any other word. I think I mentioned that in a previous post.
"someone" - usually when I say the word someone, I don't know who a person is specifically. Here, it's rare to hear people refereed to directly by name. "Someone" is used to refer to a specific person, and I'm pretty sure that everyone always knows who the person is. ex: "Someone has cooked a delicious supper tonight", "Someone is about to step in the water I spilled."
"Sorry" - I think I've mentioned this before. My friends think it's so funny that Americans say "Are you OK?" if someone gets hurt. They say "Ohhh.... sorry!"
"Welbee back!" - instead of "Welcome home!" I have no idea where this came from, but it's by far my favorite African-Englishism.
These are all the words I can think of right now. If I think of a lot more, I'll do a part 2, because this was kinda fun. :)
Monday, May 23, 2011
Arua
Things I've done this week for the first time:
-Made tea for 12 people over a fire
-Carried water, in a jerrycan, from a well, to use for bathing, cooking, etc.
-Been asked to share a meal by an old lady who didn't speak English, gladly accepted and started eating, then realized there were fish heads in the greens I was noshing.
-Been laughed at so hard for my dancing (ok, ok, definitely not the first time!)
What I've seen of Arua is great. The people are very poor, but hospitable. We've been interacting a lot with the community, picking up trash, meeting with health workers and community leaders to try to help improve the community.
Short, I know, but that's it for now.
-Made tea for 12 people over a fire
-Carried water, in a jerrycan, from a well, to use for bathing, cooking, etc.
-Been asked to share a meal by an old lady who didn't speak English, gladly accepted and started eating, then realized there were fish heads in the greens I was noshing.
-Been laughed at so hard for my dancing (ok, ok, definitely not the first time!)
What I've seen of Arua is great. The people are very poor, but hospitable. We've been interacting a lot with the community, picking up trash, meeting with health workers and community leaders to try to help improve the community.
Short, I know, but that's it for now.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Meetings and Malaria
Internet at the base has been spotty for a few weeks, and then we haven't had it at all for about a week, so, between that, the busyness of school, and my natural aversion to writing (see: every other post), I haven't had a chance to write for a while. But there has definitely been a lot going on.
My program is 5 months long-- 3 months of classroom training and 2 months of practical community interaction (outreach). Our outreach starts around May 15, and so we've started getting ready for it. There are 24 students, and right now it looks like 12 will go to Tanzania and 12 will go to northern Uganda. I'm part of the group going to northern Uganda. We've begun to have team meetings and talk about what we will be doing and how we will be dividing up different responsibilities. I was sick the day the jobs were given out, and I ended up with secretary, which means I'm supposed to keep a record of what we do and who we help, prayer requests, etc. Not my favorite thing (I'm allergic to writing, remember?) but I am determined to do a good job and not complain.
A week or two ago we had a day out at Kingfisher Resort-- we had classes,
ate a yummy lunch,
and spent the afternoon swimming in the pool. Such a fun day.
A few days later I woke up not feeling great, and then developed a fever during classe. I was sore and achy, and certain people were convinced that I had malaria. For someone who wasn't born in Africa, the most important thing if you have malaria is to get quick treatment. There's an easy test you can do-- it's like a pregnancy test: you put a drop of blood on it, wait 5 minutes, and check for one line (clean) or two (malaria!) Then, if you have malaria, you start taking medication and everything is fine-- you're back to normal in like 3 days. But if you wait too long you have to go to the hospital, and it's complicated and serious. So the key is to have a malaria test as soon as you feel yucky or have a fever.
There are only three people on the base who have access to the malaria tests: Msaki, my school leader; Lucy, my friend from the UK who does neo-natal care in one of the villages; and Dr. Tim, the base leader, but also a doctor. Unfortunately, that day, Msaki and Dr. Tim were out of town and Lucy was at work. I spent the afternoon in bed, wondering if I was going to die from malaria or not. People kept coming and asking me if I had it, and did I feel like I usually feel when I get it?
Finally Lucy arrived, and amidst much drama (I live in a dorm full of kind, motherly girl-women, remember) (also, the lights were out, so everything was done by flashlight) took my temp (38.3 C), and administered the test. More drama, as there was one dark line and a light line, so she wasn't really sure about my diagnosis, and she didn't have another test. We decided to wait and see how I felt the next day. Lucy brought me a soda, I drank it, Zoe took me for a walk, because I'd started feeling better, and then I broke my fever. I took it easy the next day, and felt fine the day after that. So I didn't have malaria-- I don't know what I had, but I feel fine now.
My program is 5 months long-- 3 months of classroom training and 2 months of practical community interaction (outreach). Our outreach starts around May 15, and so we've started getting ready for it. There are 24 students, and right now it looks like 12 will go to Tanzania and 12 will go to northern Uganda. I'm part of the group going to northern Uganda. We've begun to have team meetings and talk about what we will be doing and how we will be dividing up different responsibilities. I was sick the day the jobs were given out, and I ended up with secretary, which means I'm supposed to keep a record of what we do and who we help, prayer requests, etc. Not my favorite thing (I'm allergic to writing, remember?) but I am determined to do a good job and not complain.
A week or two ago we had a day out at Kingfisher Resort-- we had classes,
ate a yummy lunch,
and spent the afternoon swimming in the pool. Such a fun day.
A few days later I woke up not feeling great, and then developed a fever during classe. I was sore and achy, and certain people were convinced that I had malaria. For someone who wasn't born in Africa, the most important thing if you have malaria is to get quick treatment. There's an easy test you can do-- it's like a pregnancy test: you put a drop of blood on it, wait 5 minutes, and check for one line (clean) or two (malaria!) Then, if you have malaria, you start taking medication and everything is fine-- you're back to normal in like 3 days. But if you wait too long you have to go to the hospital, and it's complicated and serious. So the key is to have a malaria test as soon as you feel yucky or have a fever.
There are only three people on the base who have access to the malaria tests: Msaki, my school leader; Lucy, my friend from the UK who does neo-natal care in one of the villages; and Dr. Tim, the base leader, but also a doctor. Unfortunately, that day, Msaki and Dr. Tim were out of town and Lucy was at work. I spent the afternoon in bed, wondering if I was going to die from malaria or not. People kept coming and asking me if I had it, and did I feel like I usually feel when I get it?
Finally Lucy arrived, and amidst much drama (I live in a dorm full of kind, motherly girl-women, remember) (also, the lights were out, so everything was done by flashlight) took my temp (38.3 C), and administered the test. More drama, as there was one dark line and a light line, so she wasn't really sure about my diagnosis, and she didn't have another test. We decided to wait and see how I felt the next day. Lucy brought me a soda, I drank it, Zoe took me for a walk, because I'd started feeling better, and then I broke my fever. I took it easy the next day, and felt fine the day after that. So I didn't have malaria-- I don't know what I had, but I feel fine now.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Shopping! In Kampala
This morning my friends Ritah, Miriam, and I woke up before dawn to catch the bus to the capitol city of Kampala. Rita is from there, and she wanted to go visit her mom. Miriam and I wanted to shop and hang out. I've been here for 6 weeks now, and have used up all my clothing combos. I heard that they have cheap clothes in the market, so I wanted to check it out.
We were walking down the main road by 7am. I think I mentioned before that the buses drive on the other side of the road, same as England. I always forget and look the wrong way before crossing, and the drivers have to honk at me. Ah yai yai. Anyway, the taxis drive down the main road pretty fast, so when you see them coming, you stretch out your hand with your arm up or down (to indicate destination- Kampala or Jinja, respectively), and use your fingers to show how much you want to pay: 4 fingers to show 4000 shillings (about $1.70) for a trip to Kampala, or a fist to show 500 shillings (20 cents) for a trip to Jinja. We walked for a while, and finally a bus pulled over for us. We climbed in and made ourselvers comfortable for the 2 hour drive to Kampala. We drove a mile or two, and the door suddenly wouldn't stay closed, so they pulled over, and made us all get on a different bus. The new bus had a bunch of live chickens tied to the top, and my seat back way broken, so every time we went over a bump, i went flying and the chickens started squawking. Fortunately the roads are pretty smooth, so we didn't hit too many bumps.
We arrived in Kampala, and stopped at Shop-Rite, which is a big supermarket with some American brands, like Heinz and Oreos, and lots of food variety you can't find elsewhere. When we arrived, there was a sign announcing Cadbury Easter eggs, and I was so excited, but alas- they were nowhere to be found. What I ended up with was shampoo, conditioner, and the most ridiculous purchase of the day: shaving cream, which was something like $5 for one can. Crazy, but after considering my unpleasant alternatives, I decided it might be worth it.
By this time it was 10, and we were hungry. We walked to Ritah's mom's house and Ritah made some delicious Irish (potatoes) and beans. Ritah's dad is a professor at a college there, and we cut through campus to get there. Here is a picture:
Here are a few pictures of downtown Kampala:
The Astoria Hotel! I thought that was so funny.
After a few stops we finally made it to the clothes market. It was a bit overwhelming for me. I got a lot of attention; because of my skin color, some people assumed I have loads of money to give away. It was awkward: I wanted to blend in and just watch what was happening, but couldn't. People walked up and asked me for my number without even asking my name... Maybe they were going to put me in their phone as "Muzongu" (light skinned)? Anyway, despite my discomfort, we ended up getting some deals that made up for the $5 shaving cream. For example, this outfit cost me <$4:
And I found skinny jeans. I was really regretting not bringing any (Ugandans are mad fashionable), but I was able to buy some in the market. It took me a while to find the right pair, and then when I wasn't looking, the guy switched out my pants for a different pair that was much smaller. The good news in, since everything is washed by hand and line dried, I was able to stretch them out enough to finally get into them:
Verdict: such a fun day.
We were walking down the main road by 7am. I think I mentioned before that the buses drive on the other side of the road, same as England. I always forget and look the wrong way before crossing, and the drivers have to honk at me. Ah yai yai. Anyway, the taxis drive down the main road pretty fast, so when you see them coming, you stretch out your hand with your arm up or down (to indicate destination- Kampala or Jinja, respectively), and use your fingers to show how much you want to pay: 4 fingers to show 4000 shillings (about $1.70) for a trip to Kampala, or a fist to show 500 shillings (20 cents) for a trip to Jinja. We walked for a while, and finally a bus pulled over for us. We climbed in and made ourselvers comfortable for the 2 hour drive to Kampala. We drove a mile or two, and the door suddenly wouldn't stay closed, so they pulled over, and made us all get on a different bus. The new bus had a bunch of live chickens tied to the top, and my seat back way broken, so every time we went over a bump, i went flying and the chickens started squawking. Fortunately the roads are pretty smooth, so we didn't hit too many bumps.
We arrived in Kampala, and stopped at Shop-Rite, which is a big supermarket with some American brands, like Heinz and Oreos, and lots of food variety you can't find elsewhere. When we arrived, there was a sign announcing Cadbury Easter eggs, and I was so excited, but alas- they were nowhere to be found. What I ended up with was shampoo, conditioner, and the most ridiculous purchase of the day: shaving cream, which was something like $5 for one can. Crazy, but after considering my unpleasant alternatives, I decided it might be worth it.
By this time it was 10, and we were hungry. We walked to Ritah's mom's house and Ritah made some delicious Irish (potatoes) and beans. Ritah's dad is a professor at a college there, and we cut through campus to get there. Here is a picture:
Here are a few pictures of downtown Kampala:
The Astoria Hotel! I thought that was so funny.
After a few stops we finally made it to the clothes market. It was a bit overwhelming for me. I got a lot of attention; because of my skin color, some people assumed I have loads of money to give away. It was awkward: I wanted to blend in and just watch what was happening, but couldn't. People walked up and asked me for my number without even asking my name... Maybe they were going to put me in their phone as "Muzongu" (light skinned)? Anyway, despite my discomfort, we ended up getting some deals that made up for the $5 shaving cream. For example, this outfit cost me <$4:
And I found skinny jeans. I was really regretting not bringing any (Ugandans are mad fashionable), but I was able to buy some in the market. It took me a while to find the right pair, and then when I wasn't looking, the guy switched out my pants for a different pair that was much smaller. The good news in, since everything is washed by hand and line dried, I was able to stretch them out enough to finally get into them:
Verdict: such a fun day.
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