snapshots

through my eyes, partial and culturally framed,
I see a wonder land, I see a broken land, I see a glimpse of a specific piece of Africa, I see Mukono town

bicycles with long poles of sugar cane hanging off the back
balancing at least a half a dozen full geri-cans
tall with a tall man waving an evening greeting

large trucks full of long horned cattle or squealing swine (men riding on top)
full of women and children singing as they roll down the road
with hundreds of bundles of bright green matooke

men carrying bed sheets on top of their head
opening the morning butcher shop, displaying fresh intestines,
chopping Lake Victoria's latest tilapia
carrying heavy loads of concrete from the truck to the shop, dragging long cables
working
shouting and making kissing faces
sitting astride their boda boda, waiting on the street corner for a passenger

women sweeping the dirt
nursing their babies or carrying them on their back
selling fruit outside the house from dawn until dark
always greeting me and betsy with the few luganda words we have come to
know so well: “kulikyo”—welcome back…”nvudeyo”…thank you, I’m back!
peeling matooke, chasing the chickens, chopping wood, stirring the katogo

children in their florescent school uniforms
those in purple climb the hill to school with me
wheeling their wire cars down the road
running to greet me with a bonja (hitting of the fists)
waving mzungo and shouting "good-bye"
working dutifully to avoid a beating
gnawing on sugar cane
playing in an abandoned taxi
barefoot and beautiful

chickens that never cease to strut their business
that may become the street vendor's chicken on a stick
crouching upon one another in their wired cage
goats tied here and there
a cow that stands upon a garbage heap (that still smokes from when it was last burned)

sitting outside with mama discussing politics (whether obama or clinton will win their latest campaign effort) while we gaze at the full moon (which did you know, bears not the "man on the moon" but rather “the lady with firewood on her head and a baby on her back”)

sitting for some three hours (the second day) while my hair is braided by the neighbor…as she braids, her daughter and two other friends “assist”. I watch through a curtain of braids as little Brenda continues her mother’s braid down to the very tip. She smiles proudly. The mama of Brenda (known as mama Brenda) continues even past nightfall, the power is out and yet the moon shines brightly. She finishes, after pausing only to nurse her baby, her shadow is cast before me as she wraps the mass of braids into a bun. While I awaited my transformation into a true African lady, I observed the tenant community as they observed me. the children work tirelessly, washing clothes and dishes, mopping the concrete porch…one girl bathes with her mother’s help, the food for the evening steaming beside her. Boys crash their toy cars along the obstacle course they have set up. Children climb the tree beside me. They stare. They smile.

Slipping in the mud, dirty shoes are appalling.

Walking to school I greet those I pass…an elderly woman beams, her beauty radiating in the wrinkles that crease her worn cheeks. How warmly some receive the stranger that I am…and yet others are embarrassed to associate with me, those that do may face harassment from their peers.

I turn up the road toward home and a dozen children come running…shouting some version of “herin, Helen, or perhaps an uncommon erin” We can’t very well communicate beyond “how was your day” to which the response is always “fine”, but how we have fun playing follow the leader, running relays or just holding hands and mimicking each other…


Students preparing for the culture gala…singing and dancing out a story in their native tongue...moving in sweet rhthym to the beat of the drum while the students at the primary school where they practice look on….many of whom are deaf students…one girl in particular is entranced…seeing a beauty I can not, hearing a rhthym in the movements while I am consumed by the drum, caught in the movements myself as I sway next to Lilian, my friend, my translator



**I will be gone for a week and half…gone for my rural home-stay in Kapchorwa will also be visiting Seroti and Sipi Falls; I will touch base soon with much anticipated adventures to share!**