A New Home

Some days I wish I was back in Uganda but I also know being in Canada is a huge privilege. The thing I miss most is having things figured out. In Uganda I had time to think about my desires and values. Life in Canada feels faster paced, I do not have time for thoughtful reflection, I have to keep up. It feels like I'm running but not reaching the destination any faster. At the end of my trip I felt like I had all the answers to life and just had to implement them, but life's priorities got fuzzy once I returned to Canada. It is harder to make decisions, because I have not taken time to think about what I really want; this means rash decisions get made.

On a brighter note, I feel like I am completely adjusted to being back in Canada. I remember being in Uganda thinking I would always be a "Canadian," that I would always fit back into Canadian culture but I found myself being mystified at a lot of Canadian norms once I returned. For example, I could not understand why people would get upset at being late, they would drive their cars fast, cursing as their blood pressure rose. I laughed inside while quietly mentioning to them," You know, your life is pretty great, you're at the top percent of human standards of living, being late is not a problem. Not having enough food or access to medicine is a problem. If we're late, we're late, we'll just catch the next bus/ferry/movie." I would think, "white people are crazy," to which my boyfriend always reminds me, "You know you're white too, right Kirsten?" It has become a bit of a joke, but I think it illustrates just how disconnected I felt from my own country.

Its November now and I've managed to adjust, I still go running in the mornings, just like I did in Uganda, work at a coffee shop that sells fair trade coffee and is completely sustainable and I'm meeting people. This time I'm not attracted to people from small Canadian towns, but the international students and people that have travelled abroad. I'm glad to be back in Canada but I've managed to find an international community  that makes it feel like home.

Just in case you were looking for a good read, I have two recommendations. "Dead Aid," is about how foreign aid is making some countries in Africa dependant and "Paved with Good Intentions," a book about the role of the Canadian government in toppling the democracy and exiling the President of Haiti while Canadian NGOs remained silent in exchange for substantial grant increases.

Colonization

After four months of intense reflection and self analysis in Uganda I realised that knowing my traditional language of Saulteaux is a necessary and missing part of my identity. Knowing the value it would bring to my life I decided to take language classes upon my return to Canada.

Once in Canada the VIDEA program put its interns in touch with educational mentors. My mentor is a Political Science professor at the University of British Columbia known for her grassroots involvement and work ethic. Over a coffee she told me that the best way to secure employment for myself in the International Relations field was to take "coloniser languages" such as French and Spanish instead of traditional First Nations languages. She continued by saying it was unfortunate, but that the educational priority should be coloniser languages before my native tongue. Interestingly it was when I did a short speech on National Aboriginal Day about the importance of connecting with my culture that she approached me and offered to be my mentor.

Freedom

While living abroad in a small community like Ktechyme, Uganda it is important to fit in. If you eat, think and say the right things you will be accepted by the community members but if you stray too far outside the social norms it can be an isolating experience. Examples of how to fit in include wearing modest clothing below your knees, living in accordance with God and acting in culturally appropriate ways. Maybe the most common piece of advice I received was to avoid men. With high rates of HIV and AIDS transmission and infidelity many women told me in groups or in private that they did not trust a lot of the men to be faithful. For this reason among and to fit in with societal standards many young women choose to wait to have sex until they are married.

In contrast living in Canada feels a bit like being a kid in a candy store with $30 worth of nickles. You can wear whatever you like: bohemian, punk, business casual, classic, grunge and decorate your body with piercings and tattoos and no one will bat an eye. You can choose to be religious or atheist and often being religious can carry more of a stigma than being nonreligious. You can engage in premarital sex or sex after marriage. You can eat bananas or oatmeal everyday or eat food from different nationalities at every meal, you could never eat the same thing ever again if you wanted. Independence and individual freedom has never been so tasty.

When One Door Closes Another Opens

Just as I am feeling settled in Kamloops it is now time for me to move onto the next chapter of my life.  My family is currently selling our house and holding a giant garage sale. It is so overwhelming to see truckload after truckload of household items being given away. We have collected too many items that we no longer use, it is easy to give things away now that I know what is really important: your family and enough items to fill a suitcase, the rest does not matter.

I will be moving to the University of British Columbia to attend university where I will be majoring in International Relations with a double minor in languages and sustainable development. I am very excited about my upcoming Cree language class. My grandmother used to speak Cree but after Residential school she rarely spoke it around us and the language died with her. In addition to connecting with my traditional language I have also started drumming. I was incredibly humbled to be presented with a drum by Bruce Perisian at the Victoria Friendship Centre on National Aboriginal Day and have been playing ever since. It is amazing how quickly you pick up traditional songs and start incorporating it into your life. I played it recently for the first time in public at my grandmother funeral service as we prayed for her safe travel into the spirit world. I think she would have liked that.

I have Uganda to thank for realizing that a connection to my culture is important to me. Hopefully this is the start of something great.

I Started an Organization

I wish I had done a video blog for my blog to talk about my experiences but I have finally made one. With the help of my friend Cam we put together a video produced with the beautiful sacred mountain in Kamloops as its backdrop. Please visit

 my website at http://www.medicaltextsafrica.org/


the video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Va0ocoj96sA&feature=player_embedded

A New Perspective

"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."
                                                                                                           -Alan Cohen

I knew I had changed as a person in Uganda because every day I learned new things, grew more peaceful and happy and saw things from a new perspective. Lately I am realizing how much I have changed, how some things that I felt were so important when I left Canada have become meaningless, and how other things have dimmed in their importance and I am now making decisions based on my values rather than things I love, or even once felt addicted to. 

It is tempting after a life changing experience to hope you will turn back into the person you were before you left. A combination of sleep deprivation and culture shock confuse you just enough for a few days into thinking you can pick up your old life, your good old life, where you left it. Once that haze wears off though you realize you have changed and that you will never be the old you. That is where the scary part starts, you realize you need to change your life to fit the new you.

The good news is I know myself better than when I left, I know what makes me happy and what I value.

I have chosen to continue this blog, the process of writing is enjoyeable and I am on a new adventure to move to a major city in two weeks where I am starting an International Relations degree and integrating into a new community where I hope to focus on incorporating the lessons I learned in Uganda into my new life. I hope to write about how to live more sustainably, connecting with my first nations culture and my new perspective on Canadian culture.

See you soon,

Kirsten

Newspaper Article

http://www.kamloopsnews.ca/article/20120629/KAMLOOPS0101/120629746/-1/kamloops/student-returns-from-africa-internship-inspired-by-camaraderie-yet

Connecting with Uganda

What did I eat? How do people live off of $1.25 a day? Join my team as we recreate the average week of eating in Uganda. It is called the Global Solidarity Challenge and it is organized by the organizatin that sent me to Uganda as a Health and Women's Empowerment Intern:
http://solidarity.videa.ca/videaday/participantpage.asp?uid=3101&fundid=1731#.T-u3sEchVNc.facebook

Some days being back in Canada feels like Utopia..other days I wonder how many diferent types of bread do Canadians really need?

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Want to donate medical supplies and textbooks to a good cause?

Send them to a new midwifery and nursing school in Kyteume, Uganda and empower countless students to learn and care for their own communities and tackle the millenium development goals.

This new universty has the necessary buildings, teachers and infastrucure but is lacking the necessary books to begin enrolling students. They tried to purchase textbooks from the U.K but each book will cost the 800 pounds to be sent over. Donate supplies and books for their library to:
...
Hope Integrated Academy
35KM Masaka-Mbarara Rd
P.O. Box 1220
Masaka – Uganda

Bea part of sustainable healthcare development!

First thoughts upon Returning to Canada

1. Why do young Canadian men dress like slobs? They have money to dress up and yet they look like a serious haircut and shirt tucking is in order.

2. Who are all these Muzungus and what are their stories?

3. Noone is asking me who I am, they just want to take my order :(

4. Hot baths are amazing.

5. I love my washer and dryer laundry machines.

6. Everyone is in a hurry and they are stressing themselves out.

7. People are not finishing their meals and enough food to feed a child is being thrown away.

8.

DAVID: Kirsten,do you want to go out for a walk?

ME: No, it is almost dark. (PAUSE) Oh...I guess it is safe to go for a walk in the dark here, isn't it?

9.
HOST MOTHER WENDY: Just go into the grocery store and pick a loaf of bread.

ME: *Stares at 40 identical loafs of whole grain brown bread for 10 minutes.*

HOST MOTHER WENDY:  *takes a picture of the confused woman and picks a loaf of bread.*

10. HOST MOTHER WENDY: What would you like for dinner tonight? Fish, chicken, steak?

ME: Ummm...could I just have some porridge please?

Canada

Uganda

Reintegration Culture Shock

Leaving Uganda on June 16th from Entebbe Airport at 12:00 am was a different experience than arriving four months earlier on Feburary 12th. I did not mind waiting in line, did not have any anxiety about finding my gate or having all my important papers in place. Maybe I was still running on 'Ugandan time' or it could have been the fact that the airport only has four gates and my yellow fever vaccination papers were unecessary to re-enter Canada. I think the real reason is that my best friend Caroline had stuffed a letter in to my bag and I was reading it in the lineup.

Leaving the community of Kytegyme had filled me with a great saddness. Fortunetly Caroline hadtold me that I had to go back to Canada because I hadimportant things to do, and once I had finished university then I should come back. So I stood at the airport knowing that although I loved the community, my new friends and family, going back was necessary.

Walking beyond security was a culture shock in itself, just beyong the checkpoint were aisles and stores full of alcohol, make-up and magazines. I stood in front of the display window for cosmetics admiring the new colours and products. As I walked past a wall of fashion magazines I realized four months is a long enough time for me to miss Jessica Simpson having a baby, men to start wearing rolled up pant legs and no socks and for belly shirts to become the new rage.
Almost immediately after sitting down I watched two incredibly blond women, a mother and daughter, stomp towards the door. Their quick gait was enough to catch my attention as people in Uganda tend to saunter while they move. On a number of occassions I have been told I walk like a soldier and have since then tried to slow down my pace. They approached a security guard and without asking how he was, proceeded to  yell about their dogs accomodations, who was being taken on the airplane. It struck me that a dog was being taken on a plane, a privilege few people have and I knew I really was going back to Canada now.

Quick Trips and Long Stays

There are two different types of volunteer experiences I have seen in Uganda; the people that come to be part of the community and those that come to do a quick project and leave. There is a saying in Uganda, “Not all visitors are good and not all who travel to aid others are welcome.”

Many people travel to countries like Uganda and think they have all the knowledge and they will be helping a community. Those people are sorely misinformed and will quickly realize that they will be helped as much as they help others. Helping another community requires understanding the community and their needs which requires living in that community and building connections for a minimum of 4 months. Helping is more about friendship and solidarity than “helping the unfortunates.” The longer you stay in a community the better you will realize this and have a greater chance of a life changing experience.

The other type of volunteer comes with a plan to help the community and works long hours, rushing everyone along to meet their own goals and deadlines. Due to time restraints of volunteering for a week to a month, they do not get involved in the community or make many relationships. Usually just by the time they get over their culture shock and would start to engage with the community or adjust to community standards of living they return to their countries. I have found in my experience that these people usually remain unchanged and go back to their countries thinking the same things and having the same values as when they came

To illustrate my point lets think about water use: I have met people that have walked over 20km to collect clean drinking water. I collect water with a jerry can from a tap for my laundry and bathing needs. Water, to me, now is a precious resource and a privilege. I will never again in my life waste water with a long shower. You can get just as clean with a one minute shower as you can with a 40 minute one. A team of volunteers have recently joined us for the past 3 weeks and when asked about water they commented that they would go home and have the longest shower of their life and enjoy every minute of it because they had lots of water in their country. So what life lesson have they learned?  They may come to do an incredible project like water sanitation or health care but if they treat the local community members as a disadvantaged people and not equals they will not be welcome back.

Four Months is a Long Time

I came out of the house and was greeted by a pair of the whitest male legs I have ever seen. I started to giggle, then laugh then lose my cool completely. In-between my manic giggling I apologized profusely “I am sorry, it has just been a really long time since I have seen a male Muzungus legs.” Reid, the American Engineering without Borders student stood in his bright red short shorts and long white tube socks and shook his head at me. I am sure there are many complex psychological reasons as to why I was laughing and any psychology students reading this would probably agree. Mostly though, no one bares their knees in Uganda and since everyone I see has black skin, his legs seemed to be quite the oddity.

The Life of Britney Spears

Being a Muzungu in Uganda is like being Britney Spears; everyone knows your name, relationship status, eating habits, comments on your clothes and feels drawn to stare at you and might even follow you around like paparazzi.

There is not room to have an “off day” and not smile or say hello to every single person that yells out “Muzungu!” There are not many international foreigners in Uganda, much less Caucasian visitors, so it is important to be on your best behaviour because you are an ambassador for your country, whether you realize it or not. Usually I am fine with the attention but sometimes when I am really tired it feels very overwhelming and I want to hide. Usually this happens when I am talking to my mom on the phone and have three small children following me or when I exercise in the mornings and children forget they are supposed to walk to school and instead sit down to watch me.  Being a minority can be a good or bad experience depending on where you go. Muzungs are thought to have lots of money and  volunteer in Uganda which thankfully is a reputation that makes me feel welcome in the community.

It is an interesting experience being a visible minority. In Uganda I live in a village with only two other aboriginal interns and our skin makes it impossible to blend into any crowd. Repeated cries of “Bye Muzungu, Bye!” from small children remind me that I look different than everyone else. If getting followed by children while I walk, talk on the phone, eat, breathe... does not let me know that I am different there is always the language barrier. The official language of the country may be English but everyone speaks Lugandan and few people can speak English fluently.  I also get charged “Muzungu prices” for items and can be asked to pay many times more than another person would.

I had a funny experience in a taxi coming home from Masaka when the Conductor asked for 4,000 shillings for the ride. I knew the ride only cost 3,000 shillings and so did everyone else in the taxi but they were keeping quiet. “Neda Conductor, Oohle moulaloo? Masaka n Mbarara 3,000 shillings!” (No sir, Are you crazy? The price from Masaka to Mbarara is 3,000 shillings!) I argued. Everyone started laughing and copying what I had said, they were so surprised that I could speak Lugandan and I knew the correct price. Even the Conductor smiled at me and took the correct change.

I went into town one day and a man came up to me and said "Are you here to buy Cassava again? You always buy so much, you must really like it." As he was talking I was staring at his face, trying to remember where I knew him from. Quite often people use my name even when we have never met before and then introduce themselves once our conversation ends.

Another time I spent two days organizing, decorating and working as an usher seating 1,000 guests for a party for John Marie’s Priesthoods Ordination Ceremony. At lunchtime I was exhausted and sat down. Someone took my picture and it ended up on facebook where people I did not know were discussing my facial expression and trying to figure out my emotions. Facebook is like a tabloid magazine! I commented, shocked that this boring picture of me would be posted and cause so much conversation. I suppose that happens when you are Britney Spears a Muzungu.

The Good Wife

My best friend Caroline is trying to help me become a good woman. This includes praying, making my bed in the morning and peeling vegetables. When making food you should place a banana leaf over your clothes to prevent them from getting dirty, wear a long skirt and place your legs to one side or kneel and take extra care to never squat in the food. "Womens work" may sound like drudgery but it is actually a lot of fun. With the men away, women gather to gossip and talk without interuption.

Eventually when I get married I will be expected to rise early and make breakfast while I tidy the house. Then when my husband eats I should make the bed and finish cleaning. I should send him off to work with clean clothes and a full stomach and afterward finish the housecleaning and then go to my own job. Men and women are equals she tells me but that if I love him, I will help him get food and his clothes clean, even though He can do it himself. (Don’t get any ideas David this is never going to happen).I know how to peel vegetables and matooke so I help out in the kitchen with Aunty but whenever I do Ugandan men will come up to me and say what a good wife I would make. My feminist instinct makes me want to tell them where to go but then I realize it is a compliment here and I should accept it graciously.

One male staff member told me He was going to pray for me. He hoped that I would marry a good man and have two children. I did not have the heart to tell him I do not plan on having children and even marriage is not on my priority list. I am only 21 and plan on treating life as an adventure and travelling as much as I can,  maybe even becoming a diplomat and living and studying abroad for a few years. I firmly believe in understanding yourself and becoming independant and strong before devoting yourself to one person for the rest of your life. While I am doing that I hope my future husband will learn to make his own breakfast. Maybe I should send a prayer of my own to his God just in case it works a little too well?

Overcoming Prejudice

A few days ago while working in the field clearing land a student came up to me. “What are doing Kirsten?” She asked. “I am clearing land so you can have a student run sustainable garden for the 200 students at Hope Academy. You will never have to eat Porsha again.” She looked doubtful. “You can’t clear this,” she said, “Muzungus are too soft, your body is not hard like mine.” I looked at the cleared field around me, obviously the work was being done, as a large area had been cleared but she did not seem to notice. “Muzungus and Bugandans are equal,” I said, “Anything I can do you can do and anything you can do I can do. I know how to do this work because I have cleared land during summer jobs and on my grandparent’s farm in Canada.” She remained unconvinced. It made me wonder whether someone convinced her that Muzungus were too good to work in the field or if they could not be taught how.

A few days later as I was carrying the Hope Academy Girls netball equipment to practice the same girl came up to me. "My friends told me that Muzungus could not dig," She said," So when I saw you I was so amazed."

Many things are done differently in Uganda than Canada, from the way vegetables are peeled and laundry washed to medicines that are used. It is important to learn how things are done in the area you are in so that you fit in. So I have learned to peel matooke, wash my clothes in three buckets of water and take aloe vera leaves when I am sick. It is a humbling experience to be taught at 21 years how to do get stains off your sweater but necessary because I do not want people to think I look dirty and therefore Canadians must be a dirty people.  Still some people remain unconvinced that I can do laundry, peel matooke or dig a garden and they start to laugh at the idea of a Muzungu being able to do something a Bugandan has grown up doing. When they start to laugh I just grab some soap or a knife to peel or a hoe to garden and do the skill and the laughing stops. Let it be said that Canadians are full of surprises.

[Commune] ity

I know I am part of the community because we take care of each other. When one person had a machete wound I dressed their wound and cared for them for 6 days until it healed and then they helped me with chores around the house and made my favourite food every morning for a week. Another person was hungry so I gave them food and now they share their peanut butter every morning. I helped someone carry jerry cans full of water for their shower and they remember every morning to give me cream for the many blisters on my hands (work gloves are very expensive so people tend to wrap banana leaves or small towels around work tools, one volunteer used to use her sock). Even the children that used to yell Muzungu now yell my name when I walk by their houses on the way to the trading post. I do not mind when people only speak Lugandan because I know that even if they say my name and then laugh they are not saying anything bad about me because they care for me.

Milk Tea

My favourite part of the morning is chai owa muttah (milk tea). 2 tsp brown sugar, green tea and freshly heated milk from the cow are mixed into a mug and thoroughly enjoyed. Some days we do not drink it because the cow is either feeling violent and is kicking, has run away or fed its calf already but I always make sure to tell Ben, the farmer at URF that I love him and I love milk every time we have it.

If Music Changes to Reflect a Changing Culture what Does it Say about Our Culture?

I love metal music. It is something about the primal loudness and emotional release of the words that transforms me from prim and proper to relaxed and creative. Ask any child from the 1990’s what good music is and you will notice how most good music contains fragments of metal.  Somehow we associate this “depressing music” with happiness. Play it in Uganda and you will get a completely different reaction.

Walk into a nightclub like Ambiance in Masaka, Silk or Bodaboda in Kampala and you will be greeted by the upbeat music of Brandy, Alicia Keys (and I swear the Fresh Prince of Belaire).  If you try to play metal, rock or even Johnny Cash you will get mournful stares and requests to change to the local station.

After listening to the local music of Julianna and Good Life for the past 3 months I went to the office and plugged in my headphones and started to listen to AFI and a Perfect Circle on my computer. It felt overwhelming and oppressive. I tried again a few days later and it felt foreign to me. I remembered back in Canada when I used to tuck myself away in a room with an art project and blast their songs over and over, yet here I was, wondering how listening to aggressive music could have ever made me feel peaceful.



Only 16 days left until I return to Canada...as always love to moosmas, dad, my sisters, brothers and friends.

The Africa you saw in National Geographic is set to Disappear

Experiencing Uganda as an outsider allows me to watch the colonization and cultural genocide happen over and over here. It is no longer the British, but the people themselves with internalised racism continuing a harmful cycle. As a First Nations woman I can see the many comparisons between loss of indigenous culture in Canada and Uganda. How is this change occurring? Through the ritualised use of foreign religion that pervades their culture, the disappearance of traditional appearance and a pulling away from traditional values to Western ones.

Western religion is everywhere in Uganda; schools, homes and communities. Christian churches are numerous across the rural and urban areas of Uganda and boast high numbers on Sundays with people often spilling out into the street to listen. Anecdotally I would estimate 95% of people I see in Uganda wear a necklace with a pendant bearing the image of Jesus Christ. During a debate about the importance of foreigners in Uganda a teacher rose and said “We have foreigners to thank for religion because now we have a God we can see,” she looked to me for support and I merely bowed my head to the ground. This was not my shame to carry but I still felt awful that these people, like mine, had been forced to give up Gods that their ancestors had prayed to for thousands of years. Another man stood up and said “How can we see this God? We cannot. Now that we have given up our traditional Gods we no longer have anyone to pray to for rain.” When He said that, I understood clearly that just as each building must suit the lands conditions, so to must a religion fit the people.

            Foreign religion is not just in communities it is also in schools; “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” is often quoted from the bible when caning students in school. Talking to Martin, a URF staff member he commented “You know they used to cane us in school when we spoke English.” This sets off Goosebumps on my arm as I think about the many children of Residential schools in Canada that experienced the same thing. The only difference is foreign nuns and priests caned us for speaking our language, the people of Uganda are now doing that to themselves.

While sitting in a taxi heading to Masaka I saw an image of two women that defined the loss of culture to me. A mother and her daughter were walking into the sun, the mother wore silk of orange and red, peaked material at her proud shoulders and a traditional scarf upon her curly head gleamed in the sun while the younger woman next to her wore black jeans and a pink top from America with chemically relaxed hair. Women traditionally wore the Gomez every day but for the urban and rural younger generation it is only worn on some special occasions. They are instead choosing to wear the latest western clothing. This is a small thing but it signifies a disinterest in following cultural practices and a preference for western clothes. I believe there is also a growing stigma against wearing the Gomez because the women still wearing the Gomez are generally in their fifties or older and have an absent or limited formal western education.  As young people want to be seen as forward thinking they see the Gomez as the uniform of the uneducated. The country of Uganda is embracing western ideals of beauty in their hairstyles and clothes and rejecting traditional ideals as old fashioned. In a few years the Traditional Gomez may completely disappear from the Ugandan landscape.

I admire cultures that have rejected Western ideals and built their countries by valuing their own culture.  Both China and India have managed to retain their long history and cultural alive while still competing on a global market and managed to prosper. What I wish for the Ugandan people is the same as my wish for my own people; to value their own culture and believe they do not have to be western to be successful. In some ways I feel the Ugandan people are better off than my own: everyone knows their traditional language even if they do not choose to speak it and while my own culture has died out with some elders, never to be discovered again, their culture is still intact, if fragile.

         The Metis, First Nations and Inuit of Canada have something the Ugandan people do not; the beginnings of breaking out of internalised racism. We have cultural schools, teachers like Kathy Manuel in T’Kamloops Secwepemc Territory that go into our elementary schools and teach traditional languages, we celebrate in Pow Wows, Sweat Lodges, Big Houses, Naming ceremonies, Potlatches, Sun Dances because we value our culture revival and stability. Many of us have lost our culture and found a way back to it, and the very act of losing something shows us how important it is to have. We are fighters building back our culture and communities through the development of programs like Surrounded by Cedar Child and Family Services, Friendship Centres and this Aboriginal Youth Internship Program. We know what we have to lose so we are fighting for it; I just wish Uganda did not have to lose their culture first with the possibility of reclaiming its value later.


I would like to dedicate this article to my mother who has spent her life and passion dedicated to uncovering our roots and helping our communities. She is a true inspiration and the best mother I could hope for. Happy Mothers Day.

An Introduction Ceremony

All weddings start with a love story and this Introduction was no different. Tovas, a 45 year old blond haired man from Sweden and Sheba, the 30 year old bride from Uganda met online. Sheba is an extraordinarily beautiful and prayerful woman that grew up with her father and step mother after her mother passed away in her childhood. Her parents did not give her much attention and were absent from her secondary school graduation ceremony. Ever hopeful that she would meet the right man she waited until she met Tapas. After coming to Uganda for a 3 week visit and meeting her for the first time, Tapas proposed. The only catch was he wanted her to accompany him to Sweden and live there. After driving to the airport with only 15 minutes until her plane left she cried “I do not know what to do! I want to stay but I also want to go...it was so easy in the beginning.” Luckily for Tovas she did get on the plane. Now, two years after their Swedish wedding they returned to Uganda with their new baby son in tow, to have a traditional wedding. Upon commenting on their marriage, friends say that the two are very in love and happy. Sheba has many friends in Sweden, visits Uganda occasionally and finally has all the attention and love from her husband she never had from her parents.


We caught a bus from Kampala to Homi, Uganda. It was scheduled to leave by 6:30 am but we left at 8am to adjust to late arrivals. Ugandan time and Indian time is not much different  I thought. Before we entered the ceremony we had to change and the women were led to a hotel changeroom. Inside we madly changed into our robes and gomez dresses. Many times I heard someone cry out from between a sash and makeup kit by saying Oh! What bad African girls we are, we forgot how to tie the Gomez....this would elicit peels of laughter from the other women.

Walking into an Introduction ceremony is a ritual in itself. Men and women partner up and are greeted by the uncle of the bride. A man, Ian, claimed me as his partner for the night but cuddling up close and grabbing my arm which made our bridal party burst into laughter. If the uncle refuses you entry to the ceremony you must not enter. Men wear a traditional white cloth called a kanzu and a suit jacket over top. The buttons on the jacket must be closed to signify a peaceful meeting. If the buttons are open it signifies that the men are here to fight. The women wore traditional dresses form all over Africa; robes tied on the shoulder are in Rwandan style and Ugandan women wore Gomez’s.

The ceremony started with the separation of seating arrangements. Tovas’s wedding aprty sat on one side while the bride’s family sat on the other. As the event started the local villagers came, plates in hand, to crowd around the edges of the tent and watch the proceedings. Tovas’s father walked over the the brides father with a case of pepsi for drinking. “It is important to wet the fathers throat so he is not thirsty for wedding negotiations of the bride price,” Ian whispered to me. In the weeks before the ceremony the two families had met repeatedly to discuss the amount of gifts that would be given in exchange for the bride. The fathers spoke for both sides of the family with much bantering back and forth, gifts of solar panels, chairs, couches, a fridge, 3 goats, 2 chickens, pop and umbrellas were brought forward by the grooms party.


I did not know the bride or groom before the wedding and was invited by the brides close friend Claire. Claire and I work together at the Uganda Rural Fund and I spent the weekend at her house in Kampala in preparation for the wedding. The wedding took place in Homi, Uganda which is a 200km (4 hour) trip outside the Bugandan Kingdom.  We were set to leave for Homi at 6:30am. Not knowing the bridal party did not stop me from being invited to make a speech by Tovas’s father. I stood with a microphone in fron of the hundreds large crowd and introduced myself, my traditional name and territory, my companions Greg, Leandrea and Claire, how I knew the bride and wished them my best. I was then the only Muzungu to be invited to sit at the high table (6 chairs) to eat with the bride and groom. We had a special dinner prepared and served to us that contained traditional foods only to be eaten by married couples. The other guests at the event ate a buffet style dinner with potatoes, matoke, chicken and goat. I felt awkward at first surrounded by the bride, groom, the grooms sister, friend and Ian but soon started making jokes and we had a really nice meal.

Pick Up Lines

I thought I would give out the best ones that I have heard ... I hope they work better for you than it did for these men:

"I am a fortune teller. I read eyes, and I can tell that soon you'll be calling me husband."

"I've decided this year I'm going to marry a beautiful woman, so how about it?"

"Do you remember my name? No? Well I have a feeling you will be saying it every morning for the rest of your life."

These lines may seem funny but once you hear them everyday or in business it can wear on you. It is a well known fact that marrying a Muzungu or getting an invitation to another country is often the only reason behind a flirtation. I remember going into a salon and having a man named Kitto do my nails. He was using every line in the book on me, which was especially funny because he was also queer. ( I use the word queer from the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Transexual , Two spirited  and Queer (LGBTTQ) gender positive language.)

The idea that a queer man, would attempt to achieve a relationship with me for the purposes of leaving the country really suprised me at the desperation some people feel about living in Uganda.

So That is What Evil Tastes Like

Caroline was sick and not taking her medication. It wasn’t that she refused to take it; she was just conveniently absent every time someone mentioned it was medicine time. I swear the sound of her feet disappearing over the nearest hill could be heard every 4-6 hours.

Just as she was about to pull one of her disappearing acts I caught her by the elbow and said, “Wait up, let’s take your medicine together. I am not sick but I will suffer through the doses with you.” Just as Caroline agreed the sound of Charles manic chuckling at the doorway caught our attention. He was holding the traditional remedy and smashing the water and aloe vera leaves together.

The green leaves were mashed and strained into a deep green coloured drink and placed before us on the kitchen table. “Don’t smell it,” Charles warned. Caroline and I prepared ourselves and positioned a glass of passion fruit juice nearby for a chaser.

“One, two, three...” I counted down and swallowed. The mixture hit my tongue like a spoiled drink and after a few gulps I reached for the passion fruit juice. Caroline was still chugging her drink back with a facial expression one has before vomiting. Once the aftertaste kicked in I though this is what evil must taste like. Caroline put her drink down and looking disoriented, she forgot to have the passion fruit juice. “Drink it!” I urged as she grabbed for the glass I was holding up to her. After a lot of tongue sticking out and gagging I looked over at her and with a wink, asked “See you in four hours?”

Reintegration

I have adjusted to life in Uganda; the smells, sounds, people, food and culture have become familiar. I have a place to live, an identity and status amongst my friends and community and have found peace. I know that I will return to live here for at least a year after my degree is finished in Canada. It has been a character building experience coming here and will also be a process to return to Canada.

Part of me does not want to go back just yet but I know that it is a 5 month internship, not a 2 year one. The reintegration into Canadian culture is going to be a mental, physical, spiritual and emotional adjustment. In Uganda I analyse, journal, write and critically reflect on everything I see to help understand the culture and my reaction to it. By reflecting on these experiences I have learned more about myself and what I want out of life. In Canada the need to continue reflection is less relevant and this process may become indefinitely suspended.

Physically I exercise every morning at 6am here and have a 30minute walk to the nearest village. In Canada I will undoubtedly be turning in my running shoes for a convenient bus pass or automotive transportation. I also find myself running out of time or motivation during the day to go to the gym or for a run after university classes, work and socialising.

Spiritually I am surrounded by positive ideals, religion and the common held belief in gods existence in Uganda. My favourite phrase is "God knows the truth," people say that here when they are troubled by anothers actions or do not feel the need to defend themselves. By simply saying, "God knows," they relieve themselves of stress or getting caught up in dramatic social situations. For many young people they choose to date but not have sex before marriage and this relieves some stress from romantic relationships as well.

The emotional adjustment is the most daunting to me. I have made close friendships with many people here, and after spending the last 3 months living as family, visiting each others homes, confiding in each other and working together I will have to leave them for an undetermined time. Many I am sure I will never see again. Another adjustment will be the one of self identity. Our adolescent years and 20's are a time for self discovery and definition; in Uganda I am a Muzungu who volunteers for the betterment of women, children and people living with HIV/AIDS. I know where I live, my community, my friends, I know the office and work culture and feel connected. In Canada, who will I be? It will not be so easy to determine when I move every four months and switch university programs. Recently someone asked me what my hobbies were and all I could respond was "I have been studying 5 hours a day, in university classes and grocery shopping and doing laundry the rest of the time...I do not have time for hobbies and cannot even remember what they were."

Water

I know that when I return to Canada I will hear other people taking 30 minute showers and I can already tell it is going to erk me. The idea of 2 billion people not having access to clean drinking water while 33 million in Canada can waste water and not think twice about it is going to be a HUGE adjustment. 

If I want water here I get it from a water tank or the rain. I have bucket showers with no more than a 4 glasses of water in it and conserve every drop for washing floors, doing dishes and laundry. Some people walk or bike up to 20 km with a jerry can to collect safe water while others drink directly from brown swamps.

The Chicken that Loves People

There is a certain chicken at Uganda Rural Fund that makes me laugh. He likes to be pet and He thinks He belongs in a house; indeed, even in our beds!

On Looking Forward to 2012

Before leaving Canada I had a healing session with a T’Souke Elder. She told me, among other things, that during my trip to Uganda, I would meet a traditional male spiritual leader, dressed in brown robes and he would be my spiritual guide and mentor. Not one to disagree with an elder I thanked her and waited to meet him. The opportunity came in April at a surprise mini summit on the topic of First Peoples.

“As oppressed people, the first thing colonizers get out of you is your commonsense, so what are you left with? Common nonsense. Any country that cannot stand on the shoulders of its history is a slave. What you must anchor your education with is your own history and culture. Other languages should just be forms of communication. Our ancestors built a knowledge and developed a language and now it is time to “stand on their shoulders” and incorporate new knowledge into the ancestors knowledge. When the first peoples of every country do this to their culture, it improves the world. Work hard to recover what you have lost. Form a bridge from each of us to broaden and deepen our respective places (He speaks of all the first peoples of the world forming connections). A new age is upon us is moving towards indigenous knowledge. Together we can build a new world.”
–         A compilation of Quotes from The Afrikan Black Nation and The First Nations People of Canada Mulembe Mutinzi Mini Summit at the Source of the Nile Saturday 7 April, 2012.

As a proud Saulteaux First Nations woman I believe that there is a mutual experience of oppression among many First Peoples. (I say “Peoples” because we are not one homogenous group of people, the Canadian aboriginal population compromises the Inuit, Metis and First Nations and even among those groups there is great difference in cultures and traditions.) Much of our known history is based not in our culture, but what was done to us by colonizers. It was a tragedy that cannot be undone and there is healing that must happen for our people. But survivors are still here because we are a tough and articulate people.

After sharing my families experience of oppression with the others the spiritual leader remarked upon what I had shared and said “You are so proficient in what you said, your people are so articulate in English, imagine if you spoke in your own language.” This made me think that although our languages are dying, less than 2,000 people may speak a traditional First Peoples language but that if other youth become interested, we can revive these languages.

Why would I take French in school or do a French language exchange if I could go to my own people, to stay in the communities of my aunties and uncles in Saskatchewan and do a “cultural exchange?” Where I could learn my own language, my own traditional crafts, hear my own history in University? Why not take shawl dancing instead of ballet class? Learn to make bannock instead of cupcakes?  Learn to drum, and beat out the creator’s heartbeat instead of the saxophone? Learn traditional spirituality instead of going to a Catholic Church that shares ideas from another people and another country? Those religions are worthy and I respect them, religion is a wonderful gift, but it is not my gift, it is theirs. That religion comes from a history and culture of another people that are not my people. While religion is good to embrace I believe it is important to have a firm understanding of your own spirituality and culture, otherwise what will anchor you to your own culture?

In Uganda there are two types of weddings, they are called a ‘Traditional Wedding,’ and a ‘White Wedding.’ A traditional wedding is the same as it has been since pre-colonization by the British.  A white wedding consists of a white dress and marriage ceremony in a church. We, as First Peoples of Canada can also do this, we can celebrate marriages and love in traditional ceremonies; it is our right. Let us think differently about our culture, let it not be a way to separate ourselves from others, but let us use it to gain equity so that we do not think of ourselves as ‘oppressed peoples,’ but as peoples of a strong culture and education that can extend love and understanding as equals to any other person.

On Becoming a Better Person

I have been walking around with two quotes in my head:

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do. Every time you are scared and do that thing anyway, you will gain strength, courage and self confidence.”

                                                                                                -Unknown

“Trust yourself. Create the kind of self that you will be happy to live with all your life. Make the most of yourself by fanning the tiny, inner sparks of possibility into flames of achievement.”

                                                                                -Golda Meir

Being in Uganda is, besides being born into a wonderful family, the greatest gift I have ever received.  It has given me time, space and experiences to help me evaluate what is important in life. I once asked my Stepmother Kim what she would do if she won the lottery and she told me something I never forgot, “I would work in an orphanage and then decide what was really important in life before I spent anything.” In Uganda I have had the wonderful opportunity to volunteer in an orphanage, to live in a rural village where many people survive on less than $2 a day, walk up to 20km to gather contaminated water and where formal education is at a premium. Never again will I think the same as I did before this trip.

I have been here for about 2.5 months now and can feel growth in my self-worth, goals, and personality and a lowering in my stress levels daily. How odd it is, to be surrounded by low economic standards and human suffering but to be so much more at peace than I ever was in Canada with healthcare and instant internet at my fingertips.  I share more, I go out of my way to greet people and genuinely care how they are, I value different types of education and experiences, sustainable living, have changed my university major and applied for another program in sustainable development, I place higher importance on keeping in touch with family and welcoming new people into my community, I even value different things in male partners and am excited, instead of stagnant, in my thoughts about the future.

For the first time I have role models; the local staff here all have very diverse academic backgrounds in social work, computer science, business and philosophy and serve as a constant positive influence on my desire to finish my university education, even if it is not my Midwifery in Health Sciences Degree. My grandmother always told me that everything happens for a reason and I see signs everyday that I am meant to be here. At the 2.5 month check in, I feel open to change and cannot wait to discover what lessons are next.

Home on the Range

Display any questionable behaviour as a youth in Uganda and you will be sent to the field for agricultural work as a punishment. You don’t have to be Ivan Pavlov’s dog to know that this behavioural conditioning is going to make the youth grow into adults that associate agricultural work in rural villages with an undesirable profession. As these young men reach the age range of 19-30 years they often inherit and sell their farms for 5 million shillings ($2,500) and use 3 million to buy a bodaboda and move to a major city like Kampala. Once there they spend their remaining funds on rent and food. As the young men who should be working on farms leave for the cities and the elders remain the primary food producers, the cost of food overinflates. Thus you earn a higher wage as a driver but spend up to 95% of your income on expensive food. To further complicate matters, when your bodaboda breaks down or you lose your office job you have no way of feeding your family because you sold your farm and must move into a slum. While farmers living in a rural village do not earn as high of wages, they also do not spend any money on food because they produce everything they eat. While the men in the slums now wish to return to their farms, they have been sold and they never learned how to effectively cultivate them to begin with.  The knowledge has largely been lost and while many researchers in Kampala have done extensive surveys to collect agricultural knowledge, the information is not dispersed or simplified into an easily digestible format for local farmers. The solution is to make farming fun and to present informed agricultural workshops in rural villages and to present farming opportunities to displaced men in the cities.

An Inconvenient Truth

 “The trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.”

                                                                                                -Erica Jong

Every few years I have the pleasure of meeting someone that I immediately connect with. Usually this person is a woman my age, but this time it was a man. A volunteer originally from New Zealand, David spent a week on a sustainable teaching farm in Uganda that is run by relatives of the Uganda Rural Fund. The farm is an agricultural training project deep in a village without taxis, bodaboda’s or running water, each trip to this area costs $20 in fuel and the use of a car. What struck me most about David was his passion for the world. He is currently in the middle of a 6 month world tour stretching from Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, to Uganda, England, India and beyond. I met him when he only had two days left in Uganda but he still managed to join us for a night of dancing at Ambiance Nightclub on a Sunday, a day of work Monday and give myself, Charles and Ben a tour of the farm, the new water sanitation project he helped install and 500 orange and mango trees.

 After trying to organize a visit Tuesday, which proved impossible due to delayed text messages, nightfall and transportation. He is scheduled to leave Wednesday night out of Entebbe, Uganda Airport. This inability to organize inexpensive transportation, easy communication and saying a permanent goodbye to international friends highlighted to me the many small inconveniences that people experience in Uganda. It also builds a maturity of knowing that each person has their own life adventure they must pursue, even if we will miss them. I am sure his trip will be full of many adventures and growing experiences and I wish him the best.

What is Coming Up

Just to keep you updated, in the next week I will be doing a few interesting things:

1. Teaching a two day midwifery course to the Village Health Workers. Many of them deliver babies with no training at all and speak only Lugandan.

2. Attending a friends' traditional African wedding in a Gomez.

3. Teaching an English class to members of the Women's Empowerment Group focusing on issues of womanhood, health and the environment.

4. Organzing a youth leadership camp for 150 students.

5. Coaching the girls netball team and running a weekly boot camp.

6. Presenting a workshop for young women on puberty, sexuality, self confidence and leadership.

7. Writing proposals to work collaboratively with nurses at the Uganda Rural Fund.

8. Organzing a interclass competition and grade awarding ceremony for students as they recieve their semester one grades. Nothing is more important than encouraging youth to excel in school.

Also, I love my mother, father, friends and boyfriend David, who I am very proud of and is setting off to Norway for a science conference (good luck!)

Sharing

In Canada you know it is true love when you will share one, maybe even two of your fries; while in Uganda it is a cultural norm to share everything. People share everything here, their families, their food, even a seat on the bus with a middle aged man, a feet licking goat or someones baby.

One day at the market I was buying cassava (sweet potato fried or boiled into long strips costing 1,000 shillings/ 50c) and two small children, no older than three, were watching me. I had some extra money on me so I figured I would buy them each their own small bag. When the first little girl got her bag she started to individually cut each fry into two pieces and give half to her friend.

If someone goes to the market and buys a fish ($5000 shillings/ $2.50) you can be guaranteed that everyone is going to get a share of that fish: your uncle, aunty, grandma, the girl down the street, even the guy who is sleeping, when he wakes up in 20 minutes can be assured his share of fish will be waiting.

Even I am not immune, when I purchase a chocolate bar I may eat one or two squares and share the rest with everyone on the taxi ride home or the children at the house. The odd thing is, I do not miss eating the rest of the chocolate, I am so much happier to share it rather than hoard it all to myself.

So when I see a child with malnutrition or a woman with an infected uterus at a medical camp it comforts me to know that when you help one person with a sustainable development project they will share the benefits with the entire community. Possibly that child or that woman will not see the results, but their grandchildren or maybe even their children, will reap the benefits of the projects we do today.

...and That's How a Monkey Punched Me in the Face

After a gruelling but highly enjoyable 8 hour hike up the mountains of the "Swiss Alps of Uganda," with fellow interns and new friends from the Bunyoni Eco Tourism Resort we had the opportunity to climb inside a deep cave and visit traditional blacksmiths. The resort caters to both international and local citizens and boasts a private island, a tree fort as accommodation with an outdoor shower and toilet surrounded by bamboo and canoes for transportation. As part of the many activities offered such as laser sailing (I am not quite sure what that entailed), a double volleyball/badminton court and even a tour of 'Punishment Island,' a small island 12ft by 12ft that young, unmarried pregnant women were sent to, even as short as 50 years ago. We had the opportunity to climb up an inactive volcano and crawl into a cave meant for people escaping civil war or other dangers. Slither on your belly inside and you will find old fire pits, cooking areas and a large cavern with a waterfall. After that we went to see five male blacksmiths that were creating spears for hunting and needles for crafts. Through a translator they told us that everyone in the village, even the women, are skilled blacksmiths and as I watched the young children continuously blow air into the coals I believed it.

I often refer to the 'pornography of poverty,' because I find that many Canadians are more interested in hearing stories about bad living conditions and daily struggles, while I try to discourage this and focus on the wealth of knowledge and culture Uganda offers, still I was struck by the poverty in these rural mountains. Many of the children had potbellies caused by malnutrition, the school children were following us and demanding money and many of the adults held out their hands.

Along the trip I had a few painful blisters but as I watched Veronica, the girl to my left in the photo, walk in sandals with broken straps down rocky canyons, I decided this was a good lesson in character building for me. As Veronica and I were chatting we wandered a bit farther ahead of the group and came upon two local women and started to converse with them. One of the woman was an elder and carried a large sack of potatoes on her head. I asked if I could carry them for her and after telling me they were very heavy, and was I sure? The woman agreed. I placed the sack on my head, very excitedly, and started to walk alongside her to her house. As we passed by a large field that several women my age were working in I heard surprised laughter and received a lot of thumbs up. After dropping off the package I asked Veronica why the women had laughed so much. "Muzungus always try to carry things on their head but they never can," She said," ...and they asked where you were from, when I told them you were from Canada, they said oh, Canadians are so kind."

I will post the picture as soon as I can charge my camera but recently lightening hit our house and destroyed our television, fridge and fried our electrical cords. I am not missing any of the appliances because the electricity in Uganda is so undependable we do not have much use for it anyway. It only took once for me to put fresh milk in the fridge one night when the power was on, to drink sour milk in the morning when power was still on to realise the power had gone out in the middle of the night. It tasted like evil, if you were wondering, even worse than the fried grasshoppers you can buy in the local market.

!@$#

Learning Lugandan, the traditional language of Uganda, is more exciting if you use it to insult your friends.  “Ahlingah messah (You look like a rat).” “ Abana bo bambe nyo nyo nyo ( Your children are so, so ugly).”Charles, Caroline, Jaja and I often find ourselves in hysterics at the breakfast table and across the office as we invent new insults to pass around. As the insults get longer and more interesting it tests my Lugandan skills as I search my memory for the words duck, chicken, cow and turkey. Today after a battle of the Lugandan wits with Charles he leaned close and with a mischievous grin, whispered “You look like... a Taco.” I looked at Caroline with quizzical eyes looking for an interpretation. “It means bum,” she said, “and don’t you ever say it in public or to Jaja because it is a very vulgar word.” “You know,” I tell Charles, “...there is a restaurant in Canada called Tacobell and you can order tacos?” “I should like to go there,” He says before bursting into laughter.

Jackfruit

One day sitting by the house was a middle aged man. I did not know him so I decided to wait until someone introduced him to me. I grabbed some jackfruit from the kitchen and walked out. Still no one had arrived to introduce us so I sat down beside him and split the jackfruit into two, offering the other half to him. He started to talk rapidly in Lugandan, shuffling away from me on the bench and becaming increasingly anxious. Finally Charles arrived and greeted the man. “Charles what is he saying?˝ I asked.  Charles translated that the man was complaining about how dirty he was in front of the muzungu, how he had grass in his hair and could not believe he was sharing jackfruit with a muzungu and would not speak English. He wished he could take a picture. I slid over next to the man and told Charles to tell him that I had just come from coaching the girl’s netball practice and I was dirty as well. Then I grabbed my camera and to the man’s delight and surprise we had Charles take a picture of us.  I snuggled in close to him and made pretend kissy faces and he could not help but laugh and say he would be telling everyone about this.

Cancer

Often people ask me if I am religious. I admit I take some glee in telling them that I am not because their faces light up in shock, followed by disbelief, a need to make me a born again Christian and then wonderment. I often give them an out by saying “crazy muzungu,” and they nod silently while I advert my eyes to the ground, giving them a moment to compose themselves.  Yet each morning as I lace up my sneakers for my daily run I feel like a religious fanatic. As the mist rises and the sunlight stretches thinly over the landscape, the only thing that can be seen is my sneakers beating against the pavement as I make my way up and down hills to Emirizi village. It feels religious because it is my alone time every day to remember my grandmother. My adored grandmother Anne Johnson recently died from breast cancer and nearly every morning it feels like she is running beside me. My shadow; a part of me but always 10 steps ahead is my grandmother beckoning me over every steep hill and impossible climb. Once I get back to Canada I plan to run for my grandmother again in the Run for the Cure breast cancer fundraising campaign. If other runners in Kamloops that would like to participate in this July event I would welcome teammates.

I would like to dedicate this post to my Grandfather, Mother and Uncles Kelly and Dwayne

Malaria

The human body is an amazing combination of an autonomic nervous system and a somatic nervous system that creates the fight or flight response to stress. In the English language we have several words that immediately cause this system to react: fire, rape, natural disaster. Although no words make our flight or fight re response respond faster than hearing the words “Last night I dreamt....” Your body sweats and pulse races as you prepare for an onslaught of the most boring 5 minutes of your life to ensue. For that reason I will not describe to you the obscene hysteria of my malaria induced dreams. For those of you that do not know, a morning dose of doxycycline is known to induce side effects such as strange dreams, heart burn and nausea among the usual allergic reactions. My only advice to future travellers is to take the tablets at the same time every morning after breakfast to avoid stomach upset and to religiously use your bed net and mosquito repellent to avoid awkward verbal exchanges about dreams...I mean malaria.

The Ugandan Elite

Just as Uganda has a hierarchy of beauty according to the lightness of your skin, there is a hierarchy of power. The Kampala male elite drive expensive cars, go to the best restaurants and night clubs, speak almost exclusively in English and date beautiful women. This exclusive group controls the Uganda Broadcast Companies, own successful businesses, perform as popular artists and operate the country’s banks. They choose the women they want to date and keep them by paying for their partner’s meals and phones; arrange their transportation and maintaining their cash flow. As one woman described the relationships, “As soon as the money is gone, so is the woman.” While these elitists work long hours to maintain their position of power, they choose not to date other professionals, but young female university students.

While other citizens are struggling to keep home, food and school fees paid for, the elite enjoy their selection of beautiful women and western style entertainment. Many engage in what is known as “transactional sex,’ an exchange of money, transportation and gifts for sex with a young woman. The man may or may not be married and it is common knowledge that if a boy grows up into a man of influence he too will be able to afford such a woman.  Many young women and girls agree to this exchange because of limited funds and enjoying the privileges, even, as one girl put it, at the exchange of her dignity. When asked why he did it, a man replied that he enjoyed the young women’s strong bodies and since he could afford it, he engaged in it. While some men buy affection, other men take on extra wives. Bigamy is illegal in Uganda but for men with healthy bank accounts, they think as long as they can afford the extra wives and children (sometime up to 40 offspring) that it is acceptable and normal. The first wife is often acquired because she becomes pregnant and both their families encourage them to marry. Often the man will only have an introduction ceremony with her, a Ugandan engagement party.  When he meets the second woman he will marry he often professes his “real” love to her and has an introduction ceremony and a wedding in church. Any subsequent wives will only have introduction ceremonies. If the man has enough money he will buy each wife her own home and car, but if not they will all live together. One wife remarked that she had no money when he introduced her to his family, but now she has a house and car and when she meets the love of her life she will leave this man a d take the processions with her.

I had the opportunity to travel around with several girlfriends of the elite, and while I am positive this happens in Canada as well, I have never witnessed it. Being white and presumed to have money gives me a certain privilege in Uganda and often an invitation to a world that is closed to many other citizens. It is important to me that I continue to situate myself and think critically to ensure I reject these “white privileges,” as the life of the Kampala elite seems within reach. I could easily stay in Kampala and enjoy the sense of power, the use of money and the feeling that I could date (or own) the people around me.

I do not know if you have ever had the sensation of walking into a room, any room, and knowing you could have anyone in there that you wanted, and that is what I mean by white privilege.  I know that white women and men are desired because it is believed they have money, and could expand their lifestyles onto a significant other. Due to the lightness of our skin we are seen as superior to many Ugandans and the knowledge that colonization is still so deeply engrained on the people here feels embarrassing and sad. While talking to Caroline’s brother Kitto, he said “Everyone wants to marry white because then it will be like you are lifted up, you must be very special if a Muzungu wants to marry you, because Muzungu’s have money.” All of this leads up to the fact that solely because of the colour of white skin, and not due to a special attribute or talent, white people enjoy privileges, and nowhere is it more obvious than Kampala. 

Malls and restaurants cater exclusively to the Kampala elite and the white foreigners that can afford the extravagant prices.  In a country where the average person makes a dollar a day, these restaurants charge 12,000 shillings ($6) for a milkshake and stores charge 80,000 shillings ($40) for a lipstick. It is easy to see how once these women, the ones functioning as girlfriends or as transactional partners, taste the rich life they would fear ever leaving it. This creates a strange dynamic as the ones with power often never get to enjoy it because on one hand, the men need money or else they will lose the women, so they work hard and fear the loss of power is nipping at their heels, while the women are not comfortable either as the knowledge that they could be dismissed for a newer or younger woman and be catapulted back into poverty is always at the forefront of their brains.

Mariahs Beauty Parlour

Caroline's sister Mariah owns a beauty parlour in Kampala and we spent the day there with her sisters and friends getting our hair done and preparing to go to the highly reccomended Botabota nightclub friday night. We congregated in Secoola's University room then left in a car. Nightclubs here do not have a time limit so you can party until morning, we did until 4am.