At breakfast, I explained Groundhog's Day to Mom and Rebecca. They laughed at us, asked if we get together and celebrate this holiday. That is the moment I decided I will forever have a party on Groundhog's Day. We'll wear skins on our heads.
Tomorrow, laugh at yourselves. Some of our traditions are hilarious.
Sharon and I walked home together (half way) last night. We passed a man and a woman, the man wearing a trench coat, the woman wearing some sort of important uniform. Both were carrying rifles. The best part was Sharon, who was telling a story, and who kept on talking like it was nothing. Like people always carry rifles in the street. When the story was done, she said, "So, rifles. Did you notice that?" So funny. But so...crazy.
I learned how to tell time yesterday, African style. I asked Rebecca why when it was seven o'clock, they used the Luganda word for "one," and eight is "two", and so on. Here, they count their hours in two separate sections--12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. Day starts when the sun rises: 7. Day ends, night begins when the sun sets: 7. So hour one of daytime starts at 7. What we would call midnight, they call the sixth hour of night. It makes sense.
Jackie, one of my adult sisters who has already moved out, brought over her DVD player last night, along with nearly every season of Ally McBeal ever made. It was great to have a clear TV, no static. But Miss Ally McBeal wears ridiculously short skirts, for a person, and especially for a lawyer. I am already conditioned to now shudder and stare, in surprise and pity, when I see kneecaps here. And Ally's skirt was nearly at her underwear line. I was embarrassed for her, and for having to say, "No. Only dumb teenagers," when they asked me if it was okay if I walked around America like that.
They also laughed pretty hard when Ally's coworker John accidentally flushed his trained frog pet down the toilet. John mourned extensively and held a memorial service at the law firm. Jackie called him crazy, said, "That is too much," but then looked at me and asked if that was normal, if we give our pets memorial services when they die. I wanted to say no, but I laughed and told them about my guinea pig's death, and Elizabeth coming over to comfort me and stand with me in my backyard while my mom dug the hole. They laughed.
I told Jackie good night (Sula Bulungi) and that it was nice to see her again. She said, "Do you think I am leaving? At this hour?" It was eleven. She stayed the night, slept in the bunk above me.
Betsy told me a similar story this morning: her sister was getting her hair braided, so the beautician lady and her son came over to do it. It took too long (takes hours), and she still wasn't finished, so what did they do? The woman and her little boy stayed the night. These people are so hospitable, and it comes so naturally. I love it.
I am going to a play (I think) tonight. They called it "a show." It is in Kampala and is called "Heaven's Gate and Hell's Flames." Hah. I'm excited. And the wedding is tomorrow. Doubly excited.
Gloria still runs out to greet me every morning, to yell "Hello, my friend!" and "Safe journey!" This girl is my favorite.
Jenny, I keep seeing kids push around tires, with sticks or their hands, like they did at the Haitian refugee camp. Yesterday, I asked a little boy if I could try. It's as fun as it looks: a lot of fun. (Also Jenny, I am listening to Backstreet Boys right now--"Get Down." The song where AJ says "kind" really nasally. Love it; that's more than a suggestion).
I'll end with the lesson I learned last night. I was making bird? noises with my lips and teeth last night while we were putting the TV away. This is one of my favorite things to do with my mouth when restlessness kicks in. Rebecca laughed more than was due. She asked me where I learned that, if I had heard anyone do it in Uganda. Apparently Luganda runs deeper than words, than an alphabet that doesn't own an X. There are a series of sounds you make with your tongue, teeth, and lips, that have different meanings. One means you are really really annoyed and disgusted with a person that a verbal insult wouldn't suffice; I told her I will use this on my walks home, either when I am about to get hit on by the men or hit, literally, with the matoke trucks. Another meaning indicates boredom (I'll have to be careful not to do it around the house). And if you put more tongue into it, it can be a sympathy sound, used in tragedy. She said it can also mean "Well," or "Alright," like a shrug. That one I don't understand.
Rebecca asked me if it is possible to get addicted to the malaria medicine. But I think it's the tea I'm getting addicted to. This is the one thing I wasn't expecting. Tea time is beautiful.
Tomorrow, laugh at yourselves. Some of our traditions are hilarious.
Sharon and I walked home together (half way) last night. We passed a man and a woman, the man wearing a trench coat, the woman wearing some sort of important uniform. Both were carrying rifles. The best part was Sharon, who was telling a story, and who kept on talking like it was nothing. Like people always carry rifles in the street. When the story was done, she said, "So, rifles. Did you notice that?" So funny. But so...crazy.
I learned how to tell time yesterday, African style. I asked Rebecca why when it was seven o'clock, they used the Luganda word for "one," and eight is "two", and so on. Here, they count their hours in two separate sections--12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. Day starts when the sun rises: 7. Day ends, night begins when the sun sets: 7. So hour one of daytime starts at 7. What we would call midnight, they call the sixth hour of night. It makes sense.
Jackie, one of my adult sisters who has already moved out, brought over her DVD player last night, along with nearly every season of Ally McBeal ever made. It was great to have a clear TV, no static. But Miss Ally McBeal wears ridiculously short skirts, for a person, and especially for a lawyer. I am already conditioned to now shudder and stare, in surprise and pity, when I see kneecaps here. And Ally's skirt was nearly at her underwear line. I was embarrassed for her, and for having to say, "No. Only dumb teenagers," when they asked me if it was okay if I walked around America like that.
They also laughed pretty hard when Ally's coworker John accidentally flushed his trained frog pet down the toilet. John mourned extensively and held a memorial service at the law firm. Jackie called him crazy, said, "That is too much," but then looked at me and asked if that was normal, if we give our pets memorial services when they die. I wanted to say no, but I laughed and told them about my guinea pig's death, and Elizabeth coming over to comfort me and stand with me in my backyard while my mom dug the hole. They laughed.
I told Jackie good night (Sula Bulungi) and that it was nice to see her again. She said, "Do you think I am leaving? At this hour?" It was eleven. She stayed the night, slept in the bunk above me.
Betsy told me a similar story this morning: her sister was getting her hair braided, so the beautician lady and her son came over to do it. It took too long (takes hours), and she still wasn't finished, so what did they do? The woman and her little boy stayed the night. These people are so hospitable, and it comes so naturally. I love it.
I am going to a play (I think) tonight. They called it "a show." It is in Kampala and is called "Heaven's Gate and Hell's Flames." Hah. I'm excited. And the wedding is tomorrow. Doubly excited.
Gloria still runs out to greet me every morning, to yell "Hello, my friend!" and "Safe journey!" This girl is my favorite.
Jenny, I keep seeing kids push around tires, with sticks or their hands, like they did at the Haitian refugee camp. Yesterday, I asked a little boy if I could try. It's as fun as it looks: a lot of fun. (Also Jenny, I am listening to Backstreet Boys right now--"Get Down." The song where AJ says "kind" really nasally. Love it; that's more than a suggestion).
I'll end with the lesson I learned last night. I was making bird? noises with my lips and teeth last night while we were putting the TV away. This is one of my favorite things to do with my mouth when restlessness kicks in. Rebecca laughed more than was due. She asked me where I learned that, if I had heard anyone do it in Uganda. Apparently Luganda runs deeper than words, than an alphabet that doesn't own an X. There are a series of sounds you make with your tongue, teeth, and lips, that have different meanings. One means you are really really annoyed and disgusted with a person that a verbal insult wouldn't suffice; I told her I will use this on my walks home, either when I am about to get hit on by the men or hit, literally, with the matoke trucks. Another meaning indicates boredom (I'll have to be careful not to do it around the house). And if you put more tongue into it, it can be a sympathy sound, used in tragedy. She said it can also mean "Well," or "Alright," like a shrug. That one I don't understand.
Rebecca asked me if it is possible to get addicted to the malaria medicine. But I think it's the tea I'm getting addicted to. This is the one thing I wasn't expecting. Tea time is beautiful.
2 comments:
was the backstreet boys statement a hint for me to listen... cuz i just turned it on. and i am going to think of getting pulled over the whole time...
Just beware you don't curse instead of bless your enemies.
The old evangelicals were water etc. totallers, because of the addictive nature of coffee and tea. But I encourage you to maintain the habit till you return.
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