One of Dr. Burras’ key phrases in Hydrology class last summer was “you see what you know.” He repeated it often as we drove through Iowa’s subtle landscape looking out for knobs and kettles, terminal moraines and paha hills. I experienced that phrase after the plants class a few years ago when we learned pines, spruces, and firs. After class I walked around campus with new eyes, amazed that I had never been able to distinguish between different evergreens and now they were popping up all over.

I have a new set of eyes here. I have written before about the gradual ability to see beyond “that person is black” to distinguishing people’s different facial features. The different shades of black are now becoming visible. Ugandan’s describe each other as “the brown one” or “the black one,” like when Maama asked me if the store owner where I bought my scarf was short and brown.

This phenomenon goes both ways of course. When Krystal, Pooja and I first met Krystal’s coworkers, they were standing in a group with Ned and Martin (FSD staff). As we walked towards the group, Ned and Martin were trying to point out who was who – Krystal has brown hair, Stephanie’s is blonde, etc, but the Ugandans couldn’t tell us apart. We looked the same until they had spent some time with us and we became individuals.

Last weekend I encountered a more surprising iteration of this inability to see things one is not used to seeing. I showed my host brother my driver’s license. The “eye color” category caught his attention; mine says green. I thought he disagreed that my eyes were green so I asked him what color he thought they were. His first answer was “white.” It took me a second to realize what he meant – and he is absolutely right: eyes are primarily white! Next he answered “black,” as in the pupil. So I said “ok what about between the white and the black?” Only then did he notice the color of the iris. He said he had never heard of eye color being used as a description. When our friend Sharifa came in a few minutes later, I asked her what color my eyes are and she also said “white.” In Uganda, eye color is a meaningless description because Ugandans’ eye colors are shades of brown; I have noticed blue in my supervisor’s eyes but that is because I am used to looked closely at people’s eyes.

A few Ugandans have commented to me about how direct Americans are, such as Joel, the FSD coordinator of Jinja, having to remind himself not to take comments form the FSD interns personally. So maybe Americans are direct about our opinions and how we’re feeling, but Ugandans are direct about appearance. I have been entrenched in political correctness for so long, this directness has been a hard thing to get used to. The word that directly affects me is, of course, “muzungu,” meaning white/Western person. I have to remind myself that Ugandans use Muzungu as a sort of title, not meaning to be derogatory or discriminatory but simply calling you what you are. So when children see me they just shout “Muzungu bye!” over and over because somewhere one parent taught one child this phrase and now it is considered to be an acceptable greeting for a muzungu. It drives me nuts, and the worst part is they don’t stop shouting until I react with a wave. Usually it’s fine to wave or say “muli mutya,” how are you, but, for example, last week I was walking through the Ssaza market with Maama, Taata and Ssenga (aunt). If I didn’t stick out enough, if anyone had not yet seen me and was not yet staring, the children’s shouting gave me no chance just to walk through quietly. But it’s not just the children; when some adults greet me they say “Muzungu how are you?”

So I struggle to remind myself that they are not just singling out bazungu (plural of muzungu). Ugandans use descriptions as names for many people. One example I used above is Ssenga, Luganda for aunt. Ssenga Teo came to stay with us at Namaseenene for the weekend and she was called simply “Ssenga” the whole time by everyone in the family. Another description used as a title is old person, a word borrowed from Swahili that I can’t spell but sounds like “moo-zay.” Some jobs and offices also essentially become someone’s name, as with doctor (Musaawo), teacher (Musomesa), and Chairman (they use English). Otherwise if someone is describing someone else they will say “the fat one” or “the very black one,” all descriptions we shy away from in the US as being improper to point out.

This past weekend I tagged along on the FSD midterm retreat with the interns who arrived in June. We went to Lake Bunyonyi, and it was absolutely fantastic. The drive there took longer than expected, of course. We left Friday afternoon; we made good progress until we started driving up and down the hills past Kabale after it had rained most of the day. At one point we had to get out and push the van, or rather some pushed and others walked just to decrease the weight. It was wonderful to get out of the van and enjoy the fresh cool air. When we reached the lake we boarded a long motor boat and were taken to Itambara Island to stay at the Byoona Amagara Resort. It was solar-powered and so quiet! Then for supper, we were overwhelmed by the menu – sandwiches, pizza, pasta, seafood. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as good as we hoped, but that tends to be the case with Western food here.

Saturday morning I woke up in time to watch the sunrise and enjoy the beautiful hills surrounding us. We canoed around the island in dug-out canoes and went swimming. It was a wonderfully relaxing weekend. The first photo is a view from the boat dock. The water was calm the whole weekend and perfectly still at times.

We left Sunday around noon. That second photo is from the boat ride back. These steep hills are terraced and intensively farmed. The lake was formed by some kind of volcanic lava blocking the outlet of the valley system, creating a dammed lake.

On the drive back I had a scary thought: I was actually really looking forward to having rice, matooke and beans for supper at home. Can it be that my stomach is so used to such simple, repetitive meals that one weekend of variety made me ready for my new normal? I know that my re-entry into US life will be full of unexpected realizations like this.

And now to respond to a question: what is a typical meal schedule?

With my host family, Maama prepares my breakfast around 8 AM. I eat spaghetti, porridge made from maize flour, milk and water, a fried egg and a banana. Today Maama brought in the breakfast a little late, saying “sorry for the delay, I was waiting for the hen to lay,” as in, probably the freshest egg I have ever eaten in my life.

If I’m home on the weekend we have break tea anywhere from 11 AM to noon, consisting of roasted corn or bananas and tea. I might bring a banana or passion fruit to work for a snack, and then we eat lunch at 1, which is the earliest acceptable lunch time here in Uganda. Lunch is matooke, rice, sweet potato, and beans, or I get the fish if it’s fresh (not dried). Fish head is considered a great sauce, though I refuse to try it; it’s enough work for me to peel back the skin and separate the meat from the bones, I don’t want to deal with a fish head.

Then when I get home from work I have evening tea after I bathe, around 6 or 7 pm, which is tea, bananas or passion fruit (or sometimes jack fruit or pineapple), and lately bread and margarine.

My family eats supper between 8:30 and 9:30; supper is matooke, rice, boiled potatoes, and either groundnut sauce or beans, and sometimes avocado. On Saturdays we have boiled beef as the sauce. If you say “food” here you are referring to the matooke, rice, potatoes, or this thick maize porridge called posho in Swahili, while “sauce” is the meat or beans, etc.

Basically I don’t remember what I usually eat in the States and somehow I’m going to have to relearn how to cook.

Sending love,

stephanie

no words

can describe