Ugandan Trip Journal, May 14, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
W-- and I, (as well as the other families) faced exhaustion from Monday. After breakfast, when W-- threw a tantrum over not wanting to share a toy with the other girls, I angrily carried his screaming body into our room. We sat down on the bed together and cried. And I cried out to God, letting Him know that I didn't think I could face another day like Monday, with those unforgiving benches, the heat, the squirming child on my lap.
It has become so clear to me while I've been in Africa that Americans are raised in comfort, expect comfort, and become angry without comfort. Africans are raised most often in discomfort, they are accustomed to discomfort, and do not even find discomfort worth mentioning. I do not know how to get past my cultural upbringing to find myself at a place where I can easily overlook it.
So I cried out to God about the dread of another day of discomfort. And He is so kind. He granted me peace. He granted me an attitude of willingness. So I wiped away my tears, and prepared to face a day where I did not know what it would hold.
We met up with Ivan at the passport office, and he led us to the "tea tent," instead of the tent of mass benches and mass people. "Really, Ivan??" we all questioned. "Oh, yes, we can get some drinks and stay here for a while. Didn't Rashid let you do that yesterday?" "No!" we all moaned.
So we sat down in relative comfort, and I just kept thanking God that it was so much better than our first day. We then figured out how to maximize the tea tent, so that we would not be asked to leave. A couple of us would order drinks, an hour or so later, another of us would buy a muffin, and little later, someone would buy a banana. And so we got to sit under a tent with far fewer people, in much greater comfort. The chairs are 30-year-old office chair cast offs and plastic ones. The dirt under the tent is hard back with bottle caps and litter. The ground is uneven and W-- loves it that when he taps his "emotoka" (car) on the table, gravity pulls it down the other side of the unleveled surface. One of the benches has an old child's desk for a table. This tea tent has character.
We watched, as about 12:30, the lunch crew women poured in with their steaming pans of matoke, pumpkins, rice, sweet potatoes, fish, and beef. The three women brought out their blue checked table clothes and covered the tables (and desk!). New lunch customers trickled in and stayed to chat with friends or strangers as they ate.
After lunch, we decided we should not overstay our welcome, so we headed over to the partly grassy area adjacent to the tea tent, where we spent the next several hours on the cement steps, watching our children play. The grassy area is the main pathway to the bathrooms, so we did a great deal of people watching at the same time.
The bathrooms deceived us all, with their open doors and shiny white tile visible from the grass. We headed up to them one by one, with our desperate children, with high hopes for a decent public restroom (something very hard to come by in Africa). And one by one, our hopes were dashed. Two stalls without doors house two "squatty potties" surrounded by puddles of water and mud. And the smell makes outhouses seem pleasant. Each of us moms decided to take our children only when they were most desperate, and each of us decided to never use it for ourselves.
Lisa's daughter and W-- played for at least an hour with just three little animal figures I brought (a goat, cow, and cat). They made houses for them with stones. They wrapped them in bits of baby wipes. They gave them "showers" with "soap." Man, these kids have amazing imaginations.
That afternoon, we left, again, without our passports, and with the directives to return for them the following morning.
W-- and I, (as well as the other families) faced exhaustion from Monday. After breakfast, when W-- threw a tantrum over not wanting to share a toy with the other girls, I angrily carried his screaming body into our room. We sat down on the bed together and cried. And I cried out to God, letting Him know that I didn't think I could face another day like Monday, with those unforgiving benches, the heat, the squirming child on my lap.
It has become so clear to me while I've been in Africa that Americans are raised in comfort, expect comfort, and become angry without comfort. Africans are raised most often in discomfort, they are accustomed to discomfort, and do not even find discomfort worth mentioning. I do not know how to get past my cultural upbringing to find myself at a place where I can easily overlook it.
So I cried out to God about the dread of another day of discomfort. And He is so kind. He granted me peace. He granted me an attitude of willingness. So I wiped away my tears, and prepared to face a day where I did not know what it would hold.
We met up with Ivan at the passport office, and he led us to the "tea tent," instead of the tent of mass benches and mass people. "Really, Ivan??" we all questioned. "Oh, yes, we can get some drinks and stay here for a while. Didn't Rashid let you do that yesterday?" "No!" we all moaned.
So we sat down in relative comfort, and I just kept thanking God that it was so much better than our first day. We then figured out how to maximize the tea tent, so that we would not be asked to leave. A couple of us would order drinks, an hour or so later, another of us would buy a muffin, and little later, someone would buy a banana. And so we got to sit under a tent with far fewer people, in much greater comfort. The chairs are 30-year-old office chair cast offs and plastic ones. The dirt under the tent is hard back with bottle caps and litter. The ground is uneven and W-- loves it that when he taps his "emotoka" (car) on the table, gravity pulls it down the other side of the unleveled surface. One of the benches has an old child's desk for a table. This tea tent has character.
We watched, as about 12:30, the lunch crew women poured in with their steaming pans of matoke, pumpkins, rice, sweet potatoes, fish, and beef. The three women brought out their blue checked table clothes and covered the tables (and desk!). New lunch customers trickled in and stayed to chat with friends or strangers as they ate.
After lunch, we decided we should not overstay our welcome, so we headed over to the partly grassy area adjacent to the tea tent, where we spent the next several hours on the cement steps, watching our children play. The grassy area is the main pathway to the bathrooms, so we did a great deal of people watching at the same time.
The bathrooms deceived us all, with their open doors and shiny white tile visible from the grass. We headed up to them one by one, with our desperate children, with high hopes for a decent public restroom (something very hard to come by in Africa). And one by one, our hopes were dashed. Two stalls without doors house two "squatty potties" surrounded by puddles of water and mud. And the smell makes outhouses seem pleasant. Each of us moms decided to take our children only when they were most desperate, and each of us decided to never use it for ourselves.
Lisa's daughter and W-- played for at least an hour with just three little animal figures I brought (a goat, cow, and cat). They made houses for them with stones. They wrapped them in bits of baby wipes. They gave them "showers" with "soap." Man, these kids have amazing imaginations.
That afternoon, we left, again, without our passports, and with the directives to return for them the following morning.
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