So, I'll walk with you in the shadowlands, till the shadows disappear.

 November. November?!

How in the world is it here already?! I couldn’t be more surprised about this Speedy-Gonzales-passage-of-time. I’m going to blame my ignorance of all-things-November on the fact that the weather hasn’t changed at all during my time here. It’s been a perpetual summer, and every day brings the same glorious thing: I wake up to sunshine and go to sleep with the rain. Sometimes, during dinner, we have remarkably monsoon-ish storms with wild spurts of pink lightning…which are fully capable of ripping tin roofs off of houses! My homestay house stayed intact, however. I’m pretty sure I heard a cat being flown off our roof once, though…Crazy.

Speaking of my homestay, my last day with them was on Tuesday…and I’m so sad to leave them. True, trying to do research whilst living with them would be near impossible, but if I was just living life in Gulu (rather than trying to live life in a studious manner), I would want to stay with them for much longer. But, my average day with the fam left no room to do schoolwork. Instead, I would arrive home from school around dinnertime, sit around the neighbors’ fires while everyone cooked (they gave up on teaching me to cook, although I did learn how to make a decent cup of African tea). Then, I’d eat with the fam until I thought I would puke (they got real hardcore near the end about making me fat), watch more dubbed over soaps, take my second bucket bath of the day, have some heart-to-heart time with Hedwig and then—as Hedwig says—sleep like a baby. [I actually moved out of my Mom’s house and into a room with Hedwig, which I loved. Every morning with her went the same way: I would be still sleeping like a baby, and before my alarm went off at 7, I would hear Hedwig’s voice break through my unconsciousness saying, “Marrrrrrria!? Good morrrrrning!”

“mumble mumble, good morning Hedwig! mumble mumble”

“Marrrrrrria? How are youuuuu?”

“So! Good!”

And the day would begin!]

 Highlights of the homestay that I really should expand on but lack the time/mental capacity to do so now include: the time I almost got married (apparently they were negotiating my dowry in the living room); the time I spazzed out like no other and dropped my cell-phone-as-flashlight in the latrine (OOPS); the time I went to church with our neighbor, Tata Arnold (Baby Eva’s dad); the time I taught the neighborhood how to pirouette; the homestay farewell party, etc. etc. And I will surely have more Gulu-Family stories; I’m moving into a house with 11 other SIT kids when I get back, (woo!!!) but seeing as my host-family lives two doors down from Coffee Hut, I’ll most likely see them every other day or so. For now, though, I’m in

KAMPALA!

Can I just say—getting here was a struggle. We started our 6 hour expedition from Gulu to Kampala in our two faithful matatus (i.e. four-row vans), Lucy and Gus. Lucy’s usually the Debbie-Downer of our trips. On our trip back from Baker’s Fort (Wikipedia it!), Lucy got stuck in the mud and we had to recruit a whole village (really, a whole village) to push us free… Then, Lucy just plain broke down and we almost had to pull her to the next town with the villagers’ rope. She’s such a drama queen of a vehicle. But, on the way to Kampala, Lucy was golden. Huzzah! However, GUS died a horrible, horrible car-death. Meaning, instead of taking the drive in two buses as planned, we had to strap our luggage to Lucy’s roof and cram 18 people into Lucy’s four rows. Please, take a moment to visualize this.... Can’t quite picture it? Well, at one point I was sitting/lying in a question mark shape (feet touching the roof of the matatu and legs in the air) because leg-room failed to exist, while Achsah, on my right, tried to alleviate the situation by sticking her feet out the window… And while trying to manage how to position elbows and knees with Achsah and David (on my left), I thought, “This must be what if feels like to be triplet…in the womb.” Or as Dani, sitting in front of me, said, it was “experiential learning: what it feels like to be an illegal immigrant.” But we made it to Kampala, and I’ve regained feeling in my legs. All is well J

The city seems so different from when I first arrived here—much more manageable and much more delightful. Also, since my first post, I’ve had seven marriage proposals so far (all in one especially auspicious day), I’ve probably heard muzungu about 2780932 times, and the traffic here is no longer intimidating. Also, last night I went clubbing with the SIT group and the Nicest Ugandan Man I’ve Ever Met. So fun. I was long overdue for some dancing, and the eclectic mix of music at the club (which ranged from Ke$ha to Blink-182 to the Killers [yes, we interpretive danced to “Human”]) was just the right amount of absurd to be enjoyable. Oh Kampala, I really do like you.

Kampala seems even livelier than usual at the moment, thanks to the up-coming elections. I think local elections are happening now, and the Big-Kahuna Presidential Election is happening in February, when the current President (Museveni) will go up against seven opposition candidates. In preparation for February, the streets are filled with cars plastered with political posters, all beeping their horns and making good use of their vuvuzuelas… They are also big trucks loaded down with people—all with stereos strapped to them—that serve the same purpose, and to me, they look like giant dance parties on wheels. On the one hand, I absolutely love this party-for-politics atmosphere, because everyone seems so enthusiastic and hopeful about the political process.

On the other hand, I have become completely, utterly, hopelessly disillusioned with politics since I arrived in Uganda. Seriously, I have no faith in the political system here, and I doubt many Ugandans do either. That’s the tragic thing about it: crowds of people are dancing on top of politically-themed buses, but then people are also shaking their heads, telling us that the election will surely be rigged…it is no secret that the current government has a strangle-hold on the power here, even if they do so under the guise of democracy. Seriously, Museveni will only step down if and when he wants to, and from the look of things in Kampala—where every spare surface is yellow-wall-papered with Museveni’s sunny campaign posters—he’s not planning on stepping down anytime soon…if anytime at all. Add to that the fact that people seem to be joining Museveni’s party just for the financial benefits and sketchy governmental handouts, and that northern Uganda (where I live) is still crippled by an ongoing civil war, one that Museveni’s government has consistently failed to end for a good twenty-four years, and Uganda appears to be in a very troubling place indeed.

The implications of all this are staggering to me. What happens when someone comes to power, loses favor, and refuses to relinquish their once-elected position via questionable means? Scary things: coups; corrupt back-room deals; blood-on-hands. Uganda’s never had a peaceful exchange of power, and the most terrifying thoughts in my head are about what will happen in 2011, and then, in the election after that. If Museveni doesn’t step down in a (miraculously) free and fair election, then that means he will either puppet-master one of his pals into his old position (i.e. corruption wins again) or there will be a coup. There will be fighting. There will be people dying. And I hate that. If Museveni—or any other political force—takes/keeps power through violence (whether that manifests itself through explicit fighting or covert intimidation) I will interpret that move as thus: the people in power care more about said power, and therefore themselves, than they care about an entire country. They’d rather silence the opposition than give up hearing their voice parroted back to them by their people; they’d rather have “relative peace” and their own security than a real, lasting stability in their country. In that case, greed, fear and individual selfishness would win out over truth, justice and the common good. And while that sentence sounds very vague and theoretical, I know it means very serious, tangible things here—radio stations and newspapers being shut down, censorship causing people to lose their jobs, disgruntled constituents rioting, the government retaliating, and inevitably, people getting killed.

I’m not okay with that.

And the saddest thing is, Uganda’s not unique in this regard. Even Rwanda, which at first seemed like the Holy Land to me when contrasted with the blatant corruption in Uganda, is still rife with eyebrow-raising issues of governmental shadiness, and if I dwell on it for too long, I become amazingly bitter. I suppose I’m not just disappointed in the political systems here, though. It goes deeper than that. I think I’m disappointed in humanity—how we (yes, we, not just the Idi Amin’s and the Museveni’s, but all of us) so easily choose our own safety and success over others’, even if that means doing horrible things in the process. Studying here has shined a spotlight on that awful human tendency for wrong, and it makes me want to shake the dust of this place off my shoes and make a hasty retreat.

But then, I remember—this place has gotten under my skin, and really, how can I wash my hands of it? For example, the other night Hedwig and I were watching Sometimes in April (a movie about the ’94 genocide in Rwanda which I definitely recommend), and I was slammed by just how much more personal the movie was to me now. The movie is set in Kigali, where I stayed, and everything looked so achingly familiar…And I kept picturing the faces of my Rwandan family and friends intermingled with all the actors’ faces, and I just started bawling. I was a hot mess. And I realized, I think I’ve been changed by being here more than I’ve even begun to comprehend. I think, when you’re planted in a place for a period of time, and come to know (and love) the people you find there, their problems become your problems in some way, and in a way that hurts much deeper than it would have if you had never established roots in their soil. Does that make sense? I’m not sure if I can really even articulate this, but all I know, is that there is no way I can survey the political scene in Uganda/Rwanda in a removed, “Oh, that’s really a shame; I hope they get a fair election” kind of way. I will be down on my knees crying for some kind of miracle, because I know their names, and I recognize these faces:

Baby Eva and Little Arnold

Nancy (rain-friend)

My sister Vanessa and my Mama

Hedwig!

My brother Morris

My pal Victor

"Let's make silly faces!"

 They make every cold shower, bug bite, cockroach battle, homesick moment, and inner tantrum over politics/human nature infinitely worth it. 

And I don't think I could forget about them even if I wanted to.

Mary

(p.s. This post was written throughout several days as I procrastinated yet another ten pager. Now, I'm back in Gulu, having just moved into my new HOUSE! I'm in love. Stay tuned for me waxing poetic about its spacious rooms and papaya trees.)