Humans of Bugiri

I’d like to introduce to you some of my friends here in Uganda.  I think they’re all pretty great people, and I hope their stories will give you some idea of what their lives are like here.  There are others I have met and interacted with, but these are the people I know the best.  

Agnes

Agnes, my translator, is a lovely, strong, funny women.  She is a farmer, school teacher, the leader of Nankoma RPO (Rural Producer Organization), and the mother of eight children.  She has six boys (the only name I know is Andrew).  In her words, “For a time I was having a baby every year!  I was breeding like a rabbit!  So I finally said, enough!  We are going for family planning.”  (:  Later she decided she wanted to try for a girl, so Esther and Immaculate were born.  Her oldest boy just finished studying agriculture at the university, and her youngest, Immaculate, is six years old.  Her husband is a retired animal vet.  Agnes is the most fluent English speaker I know, so in waiting times before trainings we’ll talk about America and Uganda, especially pertaining to agriculture and food and health.  She shows me different plants and talks about all the different things that people eat, and every now and then she’ll buy me something to try.  You can tell that people respect her, and I won’t be surprised at all when someday she runs for a district office. 

Peeling sugar cane for me to taste.  You can't eat the fiber part, obviously, but you mush it with your teeth and suck out the sweet water.  These machete-like knives are everywhere.  I think it's the only kind of knife they have.  The little kids even walk around with them to cut up their jackfruit.

Esther and Immaculate, who I met when we briefly visited Agnes' home.  The boys were all out working or away at school.  Esther (11) was cooking silver fish, a common anchovy-like fish (or maybe they are anchovies, I don't know) that you buy dried in the marketplace.  Immaculate (6) always seemed to have a ornery look on her face, and I think she looks just like her mom. 

Hussein

Hussein, my driver, is the person I spend the most time with.  He is probably about 35, has a wife and two kids, and usually drives a taxi or something for a living.  When I asked him if he wanted more kids, he kind of groaned and shoot his head and said “No! I don’t want anymore kids.”  (:  He takes me to Nankoma every morning, hangs around while I do the trainings, and drives me home.  He’s also my go-between at the copy shop or market or restaurant to make sure I’m getting when I want and they don’t charge me extra.  He seems to have many friends in the town, so he’s often yelling or waving or honking at someone.  Because his English is barely conversational, most of our time together is spent in silence, punctuated by my curious questions. 

Hussein, do you have lions and elephants in Uganda?  

(Yes.  One time there was a boy, Ivan, riding with us, and he asked me if we had wild lions and elephants and leopards in the United States.  I sadly had to inform him that we do not.  There would be some logistical issues with wild lions and leopards in the US).

Hussein, why do you turn your turn signal on too when someone passes you?

(In Uganda, if a driver wants to pass, he must first request to pass, and the driver in front lets him know that it’s safe.  Can you imagine American drivers being that nice?)

Hussein, why do I often see men walking along holding arms or hands?

(I asked this one pretty carefully, and it took awhile for him to understand what I meant because he didn’t know that it was anything unusual.  Ugandans, and probably Africans in general, are just more physically affectionate with their friends, even the men.  (:  They’re very community oriented, and their personal bubbles are definitely smaller.)

Hussein, why is that small child wearing a fuzzy snow cap when it’s 80 degrees?   

That one is still a mystery.

When I ask things he usually says “come again?” and I repeat the question at least twice.  Sometimes I’m able to understand the answer, and sometimes I have to bring the question to Agnes.  Probably the longest back and forth conversation Hussein and I had was about politics.  Go figure.  For the record, he likes the Ugandan president.  But apparently he’s been in office for 30 years, so many people would like a new one. 

Hussein has to put up with the most of my questions and antics.   Every day after the trainings, we go to the restaurant for lunch (lunch here is later, around 1:00 or 2:00 pm… we usually get there at 2:30 or so). When we go to the restaurant, I insist on eating with my hands like he and most Ugandans do (shout out to Amudhan for teaching me).  Now, the chicken in Uganda is not like we have in America.  The chickens are definitely free range, so their meat is tougher.  One day specifically I had to gnaw and chew on that little chicken quarter in a most unladylike way, and he politely ignored me.  I generally make a mess and probably look ridiculous, but he doesn’t make fun of me (usually).  He also scolds me when I clean up the mess I’ve made on the table because he says it’s not my job.  He gives me suggestions and tips when I ask for them and tries to make sure I have what I need, like napkins (he usually offers to have them bring me a knife, but I stubbornly refuse).

Like most Ugandans, he is also perpetually late.  One morning I specifically told him to come at 8:45 because we needed to go to the copy shop and a store before heading to Nankoma.  He showed up at 9:30.  When I asked him why he was late, he said he was washing the car (eye roll… men…).  That morning power in the whole town happened to be out, so we also had to drive around to four copy shops before we found one with a generator.  I guess it’s all part of the adventure.

Hussein waiting for me to catch up as we walked through the market to buy sweet bananas.

Martha

Martha works at the reception desk at the guest house where I’m staying.  Morning and evening she always greets me with the biggest smile, and says “Amba, I have missed you!”.  We usually spend some time chatting in the mornings while I wait for the ever-late Hussein.  She’s somewhere in her early 20’s, and she actually started the job at the hotel only two days before I got there.  She is from Jinja, a city about an hour away and a popular tourist destination.  She had finished school (I’m not sure whether she meant secondary school or college) a year before, but it is very hard to find work in Uganda, so she spent a year applying wherever she could.  She says that to get a job in Uganda, you must either know someone or bribe them to hire you, if you have the money.  Finally, a friend who worked at the guest house was able to get her a job here.  She works 6:30 to 11:00 pm every day of the week, and I think the only free time she gets is on Sunday when she is allowed to go to church.  Every time I see her though, she’s smiling, and I think she’s just grateful for the opportunity to work.    

   

Namukose Nulu

Namukose, Agnes’ friend, is a mother of at least 6 children I think (it’s hard to keep track of them).  She is also a nurse, a midwife, and a chairwoman of a ministry for orphans of AIDS.  She’s always very helpful during trainings, passing out handouts and taking attendance and helping make soya milk, though I’m sure she must have many other things to do.  This afternoon as we were waiting for the soya milk to cook, Agnes casually mentioned that there was a newborn baby in the house next door, born just a little while ago.  At my confused and slightly worried stare, she explained that Namukose, who was sitting right next to me, had just delivered a baby a couple of hours ago in that house.  The woman didn’t have time to make it to the hospital.  She said, you want to go see it?  So we did.  And when I say we, I mean Agnes, Namukose, and the caravan of 10 children who went wherever I went.  We found the baby all wrapped up in blankets and the first-time mother both sitting on a mat on the dirt floor in their dark house.   It was actually the newest baby I’ve ever seen and touched, even newer than any of my nieces and nephews.  (:  It couldn’t have been more different than the sterile hospital rooms and hand sanitizer dispensers at all my other newborn baby visits. 

Namukose, Agnes, Me, and Hussein after one of the trainings.  If only they would smile in pictures...