A hippo is naked.

Twice in one day. I realized throughout History class that I had forgotten so much. Such as:

During my newstime with Huntington and Rebecca, sometime before they asked me if there was a singular form of "news," a man came on the news with the name "Okello Okello." I instantly thought of one of Charlie's friends, Jacob Jacobs. We all laughed, especially Rebecca. She thought it was horrible: "At least call him Okello squared," she said.

I haven't had any sign of sickness yet, though I feel like it's waiting to pounce, like it has a quota to meet. It wouldn't be fair if I transferred conditions so quickly and so easily. I feel I should get sick, for the sake of some sort of equilibrium. Yet I feel fine.

I'm finding it is so hard to be myself. My family is a completely happy one, joking all the time. But still: it is difficult for me to be my ridiculous self. Jenny, here is where I miss you so much. :) Perhaps you're the only one I can fully be myself around, pretending we are Spanish horsemen as we drive to and from school. But if I pulled out fake reigns at the dinner table, I'm not sure they would laugh. No, they would laugh. But later they would discuss the crazy American who would hopefully never return.
Outside of the home, it is still hard. Being somewhere where I don't know many. My refuge is Sharon and a certain Becca, as immature as I am.

My history professor wanted to know today if our migits--he called them maggots--really existed, or if they were just for TV. He wanted to know if we had anything like Pygmies.

Rebecca doesn't know the day she was born, which I find sad. She has chosen one for the sake of documents, and she celebrates it on a different day--she adopted the birthday of an American girl they hosted in the past.

I find a lot, even in my own family, many children with different mothers. Men really do keep more than one wife. It is interesting to not only see it on the American side, but to hear Rebecca say, "I don't like how my culture thinks." I can't imagine a world where it's normal and accepted to share your husband, and yet I'm living in one right now.

I thought I would die from smoke inhalation the other day. The outdoor kitchen is an enclosed room, and this is where we build the fires. Dang, it was a scene from a firefighting movie. Rebecca bent down to avoid the smoke. I followed suit, but still couldn't breathe in any way. I don't think I like the fireroom very much.

I forgot to mention that yesterday John and my sisters were discussing 24 and Ally McBiel. Something other than Spanish soaps!

Rebecca reads transformers for a job. After church we went to the market, and I saw her always looking at the sky. She was looking at the wires. She told me that is how she knows her way around: the wires are her landmarks. She tried explaining different volts and things to me. So smart.

My mom was explaining the concept of clans to me Friday. Baganda, a certain region/people group where I am at, has its own clans. You can't marry from your clan, and your clans are very tight bonds. They are all named after animals, yet her clan is an African animal that looks like a lemur? and I don't know the name. She said I need a clan and a name; I will most likely be in the monkey clan, she said, because her daughters were, and I will essentially adopt their place in the family. Monkey may have been my last choice, but hey: I'm glad I get a clan.

I find myself day-dreaming of ho-hos.