No classes. Free time. Look at me go.

How all good stories start:

So, a guy named Fred stopped me on the road last week, while Sharon and I were walking home. He stopped me to ask if he could have a copy of my sermon. As he was writing down his email address in my notebook, he gave me the third degree. “Are you a pastor? How long have you been a Christian? Have you grown up in a Christian household?” As we walked away, I told Sharon that I felt like I was being interviewed for marriage. Especially when he asked my name, I told him, and he said, “Oh, but that is my favorite name.” Of course it is.

I saw Fred again two days ago. He chased me down while I was walking on campus, for I haven’t emailed the sermon yet. This time, he wanted my email address, “So I can recognize the address when it is sent.” Okay, Fred. While I was writing it down, he asked, “Do you have children?” No. “Are you married?” He pointed to one of my rings. What I have learned in Uganda: You want to say yes to this question, but you don’t want to lie. And so you’d rather the time space between the question and the answer would extend forever, because you know the moment you say No, nothing good will follow. But surprisingly, Fred stopped at No.

Walking to school this morning, it got more creative. I passed a man sitting in his car. Noninteresting enough, he said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” I replied.
He held a tin he was eating from, out the window and said, “Can you have some chicken?”
Hah.

Marianne’s kasiki is this Saturday. It is a sort of bridal shower, I think—but what happens is speeches and prayers, lessons for Marianne and Anthony on how to live together and build a loving home (though they already have three kids and a home to be sure…). Marianne is my mom’s daughter. Did I mention that this wedding takes place the day after I leave Mukono? Suck. Nanteeza is a bridesmaid, and I’m missing it.

Bwindi destroyed us. Eight of us 12—make that 9: Brooke is now sick too—came down with something. Some sort of dysentery for some, salmonella for me. Whatever it was we got, it had us all up on Tuesday nights at our respective homes, gripping banana trees for dear life while we wretched. Hah. It really did suck, though. Especially when Hannington and Mom heard me over the soap opera and came outside with some water to gargle and some ash to spread on the puke-covered ground. That’s when I told Mom the semester wouldn’t have been complete unless I ended it the way I began it.

My body has been crazy-weak, so I just want to sleep. Like last night. I borrowed Ratatouille from Dr. Button so the family could watch it. I took a “nap” at 8, asking Mom to wake me up at 9 if I was still sleeping. Next thing I know, Nanteeza is kneeling outside my mosquito net saying, “Danielle…supper,” at 10:48. Yikes.
Sleep is good, but the meds are working. And meds are good.

Because I was sick and went to school late yesterday, Nanteeza and I had yet another wonderful breakfast-table conversation. We talked for hours. It was basically a DTR, hah. I told her I really thought she was the reason I was supposed to be in Uganda—that I’ve learned so much from her and have loved our friendship extensively. She told me,
“Also me. I like you so much—to the extent that I get jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
“Of you going home. I always think, ‘If I could lock this one up, I would. Shut the gate and don’t let her leave.’”
And I leave in 7 days.

As exciting as the prospect of going home really is, the prospect of driving out of Mukono, heading toward Rwanda, scares me. This morning Mom and I talked about differences in culture at breakfast (Uganda: be modest, cover your lower half—America: be modest, cover your upper half; Uganda: don’t say yes, just raise your eyebrows and grunt—America: say yes, or nod your head, or say “Mmmhmmm,” not just “Mmmm.”; Uganda: bend to pick something up…don’t squat, for squatting is shameful—America: squat when you pick something up…don’t bend, you’ll hurt your back…etc. etc.). Amidst this conversation Mom asked if I was looking forward to the Farewell Banquet planned for next Thursday. Looking forward to it?
Yeah, I cried at the breakfast table. Again.
Basically, I love this family, and there’s nothing I can do about it. No way I could stop it. They’re beautiful.