Remembrance

 

It's funny how the actions you take can affect the decisions other people make. I never really thought that by coming to Uganda, I could change the decisions of people I left behind in Victor Harbor. I am talking specifically about my sister who was never interested at all in coming to Africa. And yet this week she and my mum are arriving to visit me. If I had not come for this extended stay, there is no doubt in my mind that neither of them would ever have come here.

So I am slightly excited. Kathy and Nat are coming to stay for two weeks and I am looking forward to showing them around the bits of Kampala I know (maybe even exploring a bit beyond that!) and then coming to Mbarara so that they can see where I have been working, meet the people I have met, experience some of the things I have experienced and visit some of our HOPE schools and sites (even though it's school holidays).

It's been an opportunity for me to reflect on all the things that have been normalised for me since coming here and to try and think about what it was that shocked, overwhelmed and astounded me when I first arrived the first time I came here in 2008. I was with a team of people, some who had been before, so possibly our experiences will be different. But I think that if you are from a western country any time you come to a place where 35% of the population live below the poverty line you will find some differences.

I remember the sight of flying in over water to Entebbe at dusk, not captured so well in the photos I tried to take, but it felt magical.

I remember the smell and feel of the air as I stepped off the plane. It was thick. Now I love being warm and I love the tropics. When I visited Darwin I enjoyed the weather. It's not for everyone, I know, but for me, it makes me happy.

I remember the confusion of all the taxi drivers vying for our custom at the door of the airport (especially for this large group of muzungu) and the cloud of smoke that accompanied them.

I remember the street stalls that we passed on our way to Kampala and the traffic that we encountered. Traffic is a big experience. Whether you're stopped in the middle of a jam or negotiating the non-indication of turning, it's definitely different to what I'm used to and, now that I drive here, always an adventure.

I remember the sound of people yelling 'Muzungu' as we walked past. Coming from country where it's not very PC to call someone 'black' let alone yell it at them as they walk down the street, the irony of going to a country where if you are white you are in the minority and children and adults alike will remind you of it as you walk by, was not lost on me. Other favourites to tell people are that they are fat and old. Imagine. As a side note, pretty sure in Australia you'll never see a sign that says 'For weight gain call…..'.

I remember that kids loved us because we were white and would flock to us, especially in the more rural areas. Except for the ones that screamed and cried when they saw us. I remember the feelings of inadequacy when approached by people asking for money for school fees, rent, food… Some even asked for a job. This is a constant and results from the perception that all whites have money, which I guess in most cases is quite true.

I remember seeing police, army, security guards all holding rifles or semi automatic weapons. Like in the carpark of a shopping centre.

I remember the food. Most of it I loved. Things I had never seen before. Things that I wasn't sure were meant to be eaten.

I remember going into the Garden City mall in Kampala and thinking that that was where all the whites were hiding. In the air-conditioned comfort and security, sipping their lattes (although who am I to talk? I love the place!).

I remember being overwhelmed on seeing the HOPE schools and being so grateful that in some small way I was a part of what they were doing. I hope I never lose that sense of gratitude at being part of something that is so much bigger than anything I could do on my own.

I remember going to the street boys project where the boys put on a concert for us. I remember meeting Kiiza at the home who told me that his shoes were too small (the ends were slit so his toes could poke out). I remember once again feeling helpless to do anything (when I came home, remembering that helpless feeling, I found his profile so I could sponsor him).

I remember going to Nakivale Refugee Settlement and thinking that I wasn't anything like I imagined. It wasn't like the images from the news. It was more like a village. But a village of people from different backgrounds and places that had nothing in common and for the most part didn't want to have anything in common. Each nationality in their own area. A village of people resigned to live far from their homes, many of whom, although their hearts were in another country, would not want to go back there if offered.

I remember meeting Mandela in Nakivale and the impact that he had on me. A young man of 16 who had lived in the camp since he was 6. An intelligent and caring kid who wanted to study but has probably not had the opportunity even up to now. He could speak 7 languages and wanted to be a pastor when he grew up.

I remember the cultural norms that I couldn't quite get my head around (some of them I still can't!). Things that went against the grain for someone who has grown up in a culture that often dictates things that are quite contrary. Our Aussie 'non-culture' while seemingly subtle when surrounded by it, but ingrained never-the-less, can have quite a kick when challenged I have found.

I remember the joy of handing out balloons to kids who were excited to get them. To find the same joy in a kid at home, it would have to be a REALLY good present (maybe that's slightly cynical but it's not far from the truth).

I remember feeling heartsick that I might never come back as we left certain places.

I remember the feeling of being at home yet not being able to understand the language. I think this played a major role in my coming back here.

I remember sitting in my office back home and having the somewhat unexpected reaction of wanting to punch many of those I came into contact with. Not being a violent, or even an expressively emotional person, this side-affect of reverse culture shock, certainly shocked me.

As I said, I'm looking forward to showing Mum and Nat around, but maybe more than that, I'm looking forward to seeing things through their eyes and seeing their reaction to this place that I love.

I hope to continue with my (mostly) Wednesday deadline but if I do miss a week please forgive me. I promise to make it up by taking lots of photos of the bazungu I will be hanging out with and showing them to you.

Have a blessed week (I know mine already is!)

bron