“How are you Peckerwoods?” came a shout in the dark. David and Kade, two Americans who are here for the summer came into the light dressed in greasy T-shirts, thick glasses, dirty baseball caps and suspenders.

Wayne, the gentleman in charge of African Childrens Mission had gone into Kampala and they had decided to raid his closet. Later when we met up with some American visitors (Bellevue Christian School) David had to explain to them that this was not how he usually dressed.

Wayne, by the way, is fond of calling people Peckerwoods. I am commonly asked by Ugandans what it means and I’m not really sure how to respond…

--PHD

Pop Quiz

You’ve heard us talk about “The Internet Tree” – that small area at the Secondary School up the street where mysterious factors coincide to bring us MTN cell service for our modem. We’ve discovered that the signal now reaches past the giant tree and to the side porch of the school chapel, which works out really well during rain storms! However, any time we want the internet, we first have to think about what time it is, in order to avoid school breaks. If we hit it at tea (10:30-11am), lunch (1-2:30pm), or dinner (6pm), we’re likely to be mobbed by a crowd of teenagers, all with tons of questions. Even at other times there’s likely to be a few students wandering around. So for a while, we’d got into the habit of going together – one of us to do the actual internet work, and the other to entertain any visitors.

A week or two ago, I (Heather) was not paying attention to time, nor to the fact that I was alone; I only wanted some new recipes from the internet! I hopped on the bike, pedaled to the spot, and set up the computer – the connection was great! I’d just signed in to facebook, and had typed in my google recipe search, when they started coming. Shoot, it was tea time! Soon I was surrounded by 5 or 6 boys, all introducing themselves and trying to read over my shoulder. I quickly repositioned the computer and clicked out of facebook (EVERYONE wants to be your friend if the know you’re on), hoping I could at least get the recipes. Laughingly, I soon gave up. The questions were coming thick and fast.

What did I think about Obama?

How about Osama bin Laden?

Should women be pastors of churches?

What were my thoughts on Libya?No, really, I must have an opinion!

How was it that I’d been married almost three years and didn’t have at least a couple children?!

Was interracial marriage ok where I came from?

Did I know any American girls they could marry?

All Americans were beautiful, unlike their schoolmates [their words, not mine!].

Do Americans keep cattle?

Which is more developed, Uganda or America? [I laughed at this, until I realized the speaker was serious, and I told him America, definitely]

After about an hour, I finally gave up on the recipes, the computer died, and I escaped back to AHI.

--HD

Diplomacy

Osama Bin Laden had just been killed and I was sitting in a taxi with Ben. A few of the Ugandans in the seat behind us were clearly Muslim by their dress, which inspired Ben to loudly ask me the question “Do you think it was a good thing to kill Bin Laden?” After some awkward silence (and quick thinking) I said simply “I support Obama, and if killing Osama helps Obama then I am all for it. Ben and several Ugandans nearby smiled with appreciation, for no one is more popular in Uganda then Obama.

--PHD

Taxis III

Yet another time I was in a parked taxi when an old lady rode up on the back of a boda (a motorcycle taxi). She paid the boda driver and hopped into the crowded taxi. The boda driver handed her change through the window of the taxi and we were about to be off. Then suddenly the boda driver started shouting at the old lady, something about the money he had received. She was denying his accusations and it started to become a heated argument. A crowd of people on the street began gathering around the taxi shouting about how this old lady had cheated the boda driver while everyone in the taxi was shouting back at them that she had not and to let the taxi go. The driver began making the “tsk” sound and the next thing we knew he drove off with the door wide open and the crowd of people shouting out behind us.

--PHD

Cute Dinner

I have started to get used to the idea that the cute farm animal I see around the kitchen in the morning will often be my dinner in the evening. It is easier in Uganda to keep your meat fresh by keeping it alive than using a freezer.

--PHD

Date Night

Heather and I spent a few days in Kampala buying supplies and took an afternoon off to see a movie in the only theater in Uganda. I was excited to find “Thor” was playing and during the movie we almost forgot we were even in Uganda. Almost… because apparently it started raining outside and water began pouring into the theater from leaks on the roof making a few members of the audience have to change seats to avoid getting drenched. The sound of dripping water continued throughout most of the movie – just to remind us of where we were.

--PHD

Taxis II

Another time I was in a taxi, we were driving through Luwero again when the person sitting shotgun started cracking up laughing. He yelled over to the driver who then halted the taxi, put it in reverse for 20 yards or so, and then stopped. The man in shotgun pointed into a nearby shop and soon the whole taxi was rolling with laughter about something I couldn’t discern in the shop. Then we drove off.

--PHD

Bicycle Race

I had taken some visitors into Ntuuti on bikes to tour them around the villages, when a kid on a bike came up from behind me shouting, “Ofwono, Ofwono,” which is my Ugandan name (Ofwono was the tallest man to live in Uganda). He was trying to pass me and I kept biking a bit faster, laughing at him as we went. Soon he surged forward passing me and the American visitors who were in front of us, also on bikes. Well I couldn’t let that stand so while he split to the left of the visitors I split to the right and began pumping my pedals ferociously, not to be beaten by a 10 year old in a bike race.

We flew past the visitors and were dodging potholes, children, and bodas (I had a distinct disadvantage being on the wrong side of the road) speeding through the village, both of us laughing the whole way.

And of course you are wondering… I defended the Mzungus that day winning the race pretty handedly.

--PHD

Taxis - MicroStory

Not all of the stories from here in Uganda fit into larger narratives. In fact, most are fun little things that just happen to collide into life as you live it out here. So I thought I would share some these “MicroStories” on a random basis.  There will be more of these from both of Heather and  I in the future.  Below is the first installment.

--PHD


When I say taxi you may envision a little yellow car with a lighted sign of the roof. However that is not at all a Ugandan taxi. Instead envision one of those big ugly church vans, usually they are painted white with a blue checkerboard detailing pattern around the sides. Ugandans are piled in as deep as you can get them and goods are piled high on the roof-rack. They drive a “route” but you can hail one anywhere along that route and also tell them to stop anywhere along that route. You can even tell them to stop, do some quick purchases and hop right back in, that is, if you don’t mind a van full of other Ugandans rumbling while they wait for you.

So I (Patrick) was sitting in a taxi at the taxi park in Luwero, one stop on our way ultimately to Wobolenzi. Our driver was outside shouting at people, trying to round them up like a man working a carnival game. The taxi was mostly packed but there was certainly still room by Ugandan standards. The day was hot and random Ugandans would approach the taxi with goods like bananas, mystery meat on a stick (likely roadkill), or bottled water.

I noticed among the passengers the mild seat shifting and under the breath grumbling that indicates impatience. When Ugandans get frustrated they start making this sound with their tongue and teeth, sort of like when you suck the tongue from the roof of your mouth to make a clicking sound, it sort of sounds like a “tsk”. At first that sound could be heard first just here and there, but soon momentum grew it into a wave of tsking, grumbling and seat shifting rising up all around me. The next thing I knew, mutiny was on this taxi drivers hands as Ugandans began piling out and leaving the taxi for another one. The driver bounced around to all the deserters trying to convince them he would go right then but they just shook their heads. The driver surrendered, hopped in his taxi that was now barely half full and began to drive off.

Just outside of the taxi park several people were waiting for a taxi and he was quickly full before we even left Luwero.

On my return trip that same day I was about to hop into a taxi at the Wobolenzi taxi park when that same driver came running up to me and grabbed me by the arm. "I drove him down here today, this Mzungu is MINE!” he stated defiantly to all the Taxi drivers in the area. Shrugging because I really had no reason not to go with him I followed him back to his taxi.

--PHD