vintage

there are two tuesdays each month that are special.  they are the market days in mukono.  basically everyone is selling everything and maybe anything.  people seem to have come out of the crevasses of the town and have set up shop on the side street that parallels the main road.  i actually stumbled upon it today when i went to buy vegetables and fruit, and found so much more.

looking up the street

looking back

this is the right place if you want  vintage.  like real vintage.  like old american vintage.  because mostly the market consisted of used shoes, old american tee-shirts and jeans,  and then lots of plastic and tin household items. in between the piles of these things, were people selling dry rice and beans and olives, recently butchered chicken and small fish, and fabric.  bota-botas (the motorcycle taxis) wove in and out between people and their wares.  children were tied onto the backs of mothers and merchants took turns resting underneath tables that held their goods. 

i admit i stuck out like a sore thumb.  people wanted to practice their english  'how are you- i am fine!'  or wanted me to 'please come and have a look!' it was impossible to be anonymous.

i was a little disappointed.  i was hoping for a little more african and a little less old american.  but in a way, what did i expect.  in a way, africa is full of old american.  it's second hand jobs, and left overs from other worlds- other wealthier worlds.  old japanese trucks and cars, old american clothes and shoes.  i once heard a story of a woman who traveled to west africa and saw a woman wearing her old sweater- one that she'd given away years before to salvation army- she asked if she could check the label and it actually had her name in it. 

i'm a big fan of the vintage.  some of my favorite clothes have come from second hand stores in the mission or haight street in san francisco.  some of my favorite furniture and table clothes and art.  i like them because they are different, they stand out, they are unique, they have histories behind them that go back farther than i do.  but what if all i had was second hand- what if that was all there was- or all i could ever afford?  i think it would be less cool.  i think i would dream of new, crisp, folded, pressed, unwashed, unworn items with the tags still on.  i think i would dream of not having to have other peoples histories wrapped up in mine.  i would dream of being the original owner, i would want to be the first history maker.

so i bought the vegetables and some fruit and headed back up through the maze and i wondered if i'm the only one at the market thinking these things.  this is this town's normal.  this is probably mukono's 'target'.  it's all relative and i'm bringing my histories to it. 

i think in two weeks i'll come back and dig in.  no really, i'll dig under the piles of tee shirts and find some good african fabric.  but as the months wear on, and the kids grow and our clothes wear out from harsh soap and hand washing- i'll be back to buy some vintage- and i'll probably be so home sick i'll be glad it's old american.

bone i fide

yes.  today.  i did it.  i drove home from kampala. 

now lets just say why this is a big deal.

it's not because the car next to me was filled with chickens and the motorcycle on the other side of me was carrying three passengers, without helmets.  it's not because i kept reaching for the seatbelt over my left shoulder when it's now on the right, or turning on the windshield wipers when i meant to use my turn signal, or even because i now have to look right, then left, then right before i move out into traffic.  it's because of this........

it's every man for himself.
it's every woman, and child, and truck and motorcycle and bike and pedestrian and roaming cow- for himself.  it's chaos.  it's crazy.
you need more than two eyeballs. 
but, i did it.  and i even had a detour that sent me down a muddy path with lots of moving children and chickens and i didn't hit anything :).
now, i'm a bone-i-fide ugandan driver- watch out!

figuring it out

you know you're not in atlanta anymore when a really good night is being able to hand wash the dinner dishes with the kitchen light on and not by candle light.  and a really good morning is getting to sit outside and have wireless internet- that actually works.... for now.

it's funny how much it feels like we've gone back in time.  having to do things at a random time because the thing you need happens to be available at that moment- like taking a shower in the middle of the day because there happens to be hot water and there might not be in the morning- or having toast because the electricity is on and the toaster will work. it's a weird combination of living in the moment and planning ahead.  you forget how long life takes- just the living of it.  the washing and the brushing and the cooking of it.  i re-use the kids plates because we don't have a dishwasher, i stain wash the kids clothes instead of re-washing them because we don't have a washing machine. 

this saturday mike went in to town to get some bookcases and some food and he was gone all afternoon from lunch until dinner.  i was home all day with the kids milling around and it felt like 'little house on the praire' i was ma wondering when pa would get back from town with the bare necessities.

i'm trying to sit out here and write and it's hard- there are a million distractions- the kids running in and out- random ugandans stopping by to ask for work.  i am ready to get into a routine- to get the kids into school- to start zoe's school- to begin work- to begin to teach.  things that will remind me more acutely of why we are here washing dishes in the dark.

yesterday afternoon a boy we'd seen at the playground a few days before, stopped by.  well, he didn't really stop by- he appeared in the yard and was just hanging around.  there were several kids playing on the porch and he stood off to the side watching.  i wasn't sure what was up.  i said "hi" and then i walked to the store for milk.  when i got back he was inside the house playing with zoe while her two friends played outside.  it was only weird because he's thirteen and she likes to play dolls and as usual she was telling him all about amercian girl dolls, which i'm not sure he was interested in except perhaps the novelty of it.    i jumped in to bail him out by asking if he spoke luganda and would teach me some words- and he did.  i also asked him a bunch of questions like where he lived and who he lived with and all that- and his answers changed a bit- so i'm not sure exactly what his story is- but he was nice and very happy to be at our house and i learned several new words. 

but, i was a little bit uncomfortable.  i felt a little bit like i had in the market that day i was buying baskets.  i wasn't sure what was culturally appropriate- or if i should even be thinking about cultural appropriateness.  maybe it was just as simple as it looked.  a boy, a bit older than my kids, coming over to play.  done.  but maybe i was setting up some sort of precedent.  the muzungu who welcomes random children in to play and have snacks and hang out.  or maybe just for him- this would become his new hang out- maybe everyday after school he'll show up and want to come in and hang out.  what is the culturally correct thing to do?  what assumptions are being made?  i also realized that i don't know anything about him or his family.  maybe he's a street kid- maybe he steals things- maybe he scopes places out and someone else comes back to steal things.  i hated that i had all these competing thoughts.

the kids all decided to go to someone else's house to play whiffle ball and he went too and i thought that was the end of it.  phew.  i'd figure it all out later- i guess it was all fine after all and i set out to make a new julia child gluten-free brownie recipe with coco instead of chocolate. 

but after an hour or so, my kids came home for dinner - and so did the boy.  then things got a bit confusing.  the lore was that he was having dinner with us- but who had invited him and how it had been decided was unclear.  he thought i'd invited him- jude said, daddy said it was ok- but to double check with me.  it was getting dark- i didn't actually plan on him eating and didn't make enough food- but said i guess it's fine- but inside i had that feeling.  i had the feeling like something wasn't right- like i'd messed up somewhere- i'd given the wrong impression- i'd crossed some cultural line and i wasn't sure quite how to fix it.  i didn't want to say 'no'.  i didn't want to be rude.  and then there is the whole 'we have more than he does so we should' thing.  how would it 'look' to send him home, but if anyone had come for dinner it wouldn't have been a good night.

it was getting late, our boys were in the bath and mike said the visiting boy needed to go home- we didn't know him- we'd just met him and maybe another time after we get to know him better he could join us for dinner.  then he pulled me aside and gave me the talk about communication and cultural appropriateness and saying "no" first.

but i was feeling befuddled.

i know there's not a right or a wrong answer- it's just feeling your way along in a new place where we are foreigners and learning what we are comfortable with.  it's funny how all these feel new again.  finding the balance between thinking but not over-thinking things.  listening to your gut, but making sure your gut didn't just eat something funky.  learning to trust new instincts- it's ok to pay more- it's ok to say 'no'. 

today when i came home from my first drive EVER on the left side of the road, there was my young friend- on our porch playing with zoe. 

'oli otya!' he said to me.  (how are you?)
'gende' i said.  (i am fine.)
he smiled his beautiful smile.
no harm done i guess.

it came with out packages, boxes or bags

last night it rained like crazy, thundering and lighting like a good old southern storm.  the funny part was the electricity had been out all during dinner and clean up and the kids bedtime and then all the lights came on in the midst of this storm while we were watching 'say anything' on the battery operated laptop. but the power went out again and it stormed all night and all was still off when we woke up.  so we made some instant coffee with boiled water in a pan and fed the kids cereal.

after a week here- i've begun thinking again- still observing- but also thinking.  and i've been thinking about "stuff".  yesterday, we went into mukono, the town we live in, to buy some locally made baskets for toy storage and laundry.  on the way to town, mike and i realized we'd forgotten to ask the people who've been here for a while, what the going rate is for these locally hand woven baskets.  basically we didn't want to be 'taken'.  we didn't want to be 'duped'.  we didn't want to be the over paying muzungus.  but really, how ridiculous is that.  i mean how much could you possibly over pay? but there is this weird thing that happens to me- when the culture is one where you bargain.  and even though i'm a total bleeding heart for those in poverty and those with much less, i find myself caught up in this game.

'how much is this basket?'
'it is 10,000 schillings.'
'oh.... i was thinking 7,000'
'ok, 8,500 schillings for the basket.'

i'm bargaining over 50 cents.  seriously.  and 50 cents is a lot more to this woman than it is to me.  and this basket is costing me about 4 dollars.  i should probably be paying her 10$ for her time and her artistry. but there is a balance.  between identity, fairness, and charity.  what is the basket worth?  what does it cost ugandans to buy it?  who am i?  and what is the interplay between these?  and how should that interplay affect what i pay for it?
i don't have the answers but i bought some great baskets.  hopefully i'll continue to support local industry and figure it out over the next few years.

then, today, our container arrived.

a container is one of those giant metal boxes you see on train box cars when you wait for 10 minutes to cross the tracks.  it's the cargo  container on a mack truck when you're driving on the highway.  it's one of those appearingly tiny colored boxes on the cargo ships that make there way under the golden gate bridge and into the san francisco/ oakland harbor- that when you see up close you are amazed at how large it is.  back in march we shipped about 12 boxes and four mattresses (about 1/20th of a container) from the US to Uganda.  today, it arrived in our little town.

we were excited.  mainly because after 5 months, we'd forgotten what we'd packed.  the kids were hoping for toys that they had lost track of, i was hoping for a cutting board and just to see what i'd thought was important 5 months ago. 

our car with the boxes from the container

what surprised me as we unpacked the boxes was how much 'stuff' we have.  how many things we have that once you live with out, you realize, you don't really need.  three different sized cake pans.  two metal spatulas, three rubber spatulas, two whisks, three cookie sheets.  it's not a huge deal- but i felt a little extravagant unloading box after box of 'more'.  people here are used to so little.  lucky if they have a pan- not four.  and after living with other people and hand-me-downs for the past few months as we've been in transit- i realized how little we really need and how much we are used to as americans.

last week, the morning of our move, i went to Target to pick up another carry on suitcase in case our bags were over the weight limit, and i had a serious "moment".  it was kind of an out-of-body experience where i became acutely aware of how much stuff is at our fingertips.  how many things are just one credit card purchase away.  how most of us,  really don't have to do with out anything, ever.  for me who was about to get on a plane and move to africa- i felt incredibly sad and torn and conflicted and a little bit sick and very afraid.  i kept biting my lip and trying not to cry as i roamed through each aisle heading toward 'luggage'.  every turn, realizing that i was leaving this world of convenience, dragging my kids away from Batman pajamas and hello kitty umbrellas and kung fu panda dollar bin treats, for red dirt and very expensive peanut butter.  that i was choosing to abandon this plethora of stuff, this life of 'normal', this situation of ease- and dragging three helpless children with me.

when i finally got to the luggage section i was so overwhelmed that i couldn't decide what was a reasonable price for a carry on bag.  i was so hoping that no innocent Target employee would come to my aid and be the recipient of my insanity, because i felt like i was ready to blow- that if someone actually spoke to me- all my crazy would come out.  so i picked a medium priced one, checked out and ran to the car and cried.  because, it was too much, and it was too late.  we were going, it was a done deal, and our flight was in 4 hours.

so now i'm sitting here with a pile of unpacked book boxes and four unpacked mattresses (that i'd obsessed over getting here) and i'm amazed at how little any of it matters and how far away Target feels and how OK i am with that.....at least for now:).  and i'm feeling very thankful that i've had this chance to see how big the world is and how small it is also- and how we are both sizes too.  and i'm hoping that all this will stick- that it will settle- and that my kids won't miss superhero pj's too much.  and maybe i'll figure out a way to give the difference from the crap i'm not buying from the Target dollar bin, to the lady making baskets by the side of a red dirt road.  maybe i'll be that kind of a muzungu.

one funny thing

ok.  i realize this appears to be the third post of the day, but the first one was technically from yesterday and i'm desperate because who knows when the power will go out again!

a matatu is a ugandan taxi.  but it's more of a bus because even though it's the size of a minivan or an american handicapped taxi, it carries about 18 people and stops all the time.  last summer i rode in one and realized while smooshed between two people who didn't have access to deodorant, that the door panel was held on by coffee stirrers- yes those thin little white and red not-quite-straw things.  nice.  safe.  anyway, matatus are all over the city and the roads to and from the city and they all have cursivey signs painted or stickered on to the back window with things like 'Moses and sons' or more typically 'Gods Grace' or something implying a higher power and hope- which somehow seems comforting as you board this thing hoping to both reach your destination safely and not acquire TB or any other infectious disease with that many people in that size space.

well today we drove behind two matatus with not so comforting signage.  the first said, 'God's Choice'.  hmmm.  what will the choice be?  should one board and find out?

but the second matatu's back window actually read, 'Rash Time'.  what??  

full exposure

ok- just so you know it's still me, i'll share a few things opposite of bird songs and monkeys in trees :).

today i found out that my eyelids are puffy and itching like crazy because of my new mosquito net.  and today i was acutely reminded that, "oh right! i have a child with special needs."  today i was reminded that my life, where ever i am, is usually lived with my underwear sticking out.  i just can't get away from that, try as i may.

today zoe had her first 'melt down' since we've moved.  today poor zoe got overwhelmed, and our poor new friends had to deal with it, friends who were helping me out so we could buy a kerosene lantern and some fabric, friends who don't really know me yet and who don't know zoe. 

i was standing on the side of the road bargaining for a bamboo shelving unit for the bathroom when the phone rang and zoe was crying.  she'd been playing, she'd gotten a sticky thought, she'd gotten upset, she'd started crying and yelling and yes, even, throwing things.  gulp.  that is bad.  poor zoe.  poor poor friends experiencing this, trying to help this, trying to know what to do with this. trying to wrap their heads around this.

they were generous.  they were gentle.  they helped her get home to her safe place.  but then everyone is left with the pieces.

the pieces of our lives that we do know.  exposed.  that at some point the other shoe always falls.  that when things are good for a while, all that means is that things have been good for a while- nothing else. that moving to a new place, with new people means learning all over again how to package things- how to help other people package things.  and that is hard.  and that is even painful. 

in thinking it over, this is our first move since shoes began falling fo' reals'- or being thrown as the case may be.  four and a half years ago when we moved to atlanta, we moved with people, and to people, friends and family who had known zoe for years.  people who, even if they didn't get her, loved her.  and four and a half years ago, zoe was 7 and life was easier for her, and for us.  she was different but not out of control.  and differences at 7 are much less obvious than differences at 11, expectations at 7 are much less than expectations at 11.  so this move, i knew would be hard.

and we had 4 really good days.  days when i thanked God but then didn't allow myself to think about it because i didn't want to jinx it (all subconsciously of course).  and i fault myself for not being more careful with her.  not being protective, not being precautionary or preventative.  instead i held my breath and jumped.  i acted in a bit of denial, i took advantage of those good days, i trusted them, when i think i should have known better, known that she needed more support and so did our new friends. 


but that is what happens sometimes.  you think for a moment that maybe life can be normal- or kind of normal.  or, you forget what your normal is. 


so after the call from crying zoe, and florence the lovely woman who was caring for her, and after a preparatory text from a friend about the incident, mike and i took the bamboo shelves and came home.  and i began my rounds of checking on zoe and those holding her pieces. 

and that is when i realized that i had moved. 

that i had left my deep rooted supports on the other side of the world, across a giant ocean and several time zones.  that is when it hit me that i have landed, at 40, with my kind of messy life,  in a new place where i need to navigate new supports, and explain my very complicated child.


it's not hard to leave stuff.  it's not hard to leave clean water from your faucets, and reliable electricity.  it's hard to leave people who know you.  who have seen the ugly cry and still like you.  who have helped you collect the pieces after you've fallen to bits.


so i went back to my house, and cried.

which was good. 
and real. 
and mike who knows me, held on to me and we talked, and then we talked with zoe. 
and we talked about the hard stuff- for all of us.  we tried to help her understand other peoples perspectives and feelings.  we tried to help her understand her feelings and to begin to recognize when she's feeling overwhelmed and to know that is when it's time to go, to re-group, to call us, to get some help.  and we told her if she ever threw anything again she would be throttled- ok- not really, but that she would lose an american girl doll.  we also apologized that we'd not been around today to help her navigate her world.


tonight the sun set at 7 as it has, as it will.  tonight i miss the long southern summer nights and i miss old friends. but the electricity is on so thankfully i can write which always helps put the pieces back together.  and i know that my far away friends are still there, that tonight they will look at the same moon i see now.  and i know that these kind, gentle new friends will be ok with the pieces- the exposed bits- the messiness of our life- besides they're stuck with us for a while :).

so i will be still and know.

eyes wide open

i haven't been doing much thinking lately.  but i've been doing much observing and learning and calculating the difference between shillings and dollars.  i've been listening to different accents- the beautiful sounds of the foreign english tongue- and to different languages- variations of the bantu languages- lugandan, lougbara, lousoga.  all those soft sounds swimming around me and the endless bird songs.

today we took the boys into kampala.  it was their first trip in daylight outside of the campus where we live.  their first time to see a new world- to have their eyes wide open.

they did great.  buying furniture off the side of the road in the red dirt. 

i think their eyes were tired, and their minds- looking at the differences and finding the similarities.  taking it in.  processing.

in some ways being here is like going back in time. 

last night while writing this, the power went out, and stayed out.  so we cooked by candle light because we haven't bought a kerosene lantern yet, and ate by candle light and did dishes and baked cookies by candle light and everyone went to bed early.  and there was something about it that was calming and settling and unifying.  life has to slow down when technology is not around to keep things going when the dark comes.  it feels natural and rhythmed and it happens here every other night- the odd nights are the black out nights- and then there are some not scheduled ones. 

the sun sets here at the same time each night- around 7.  and it takes with it the warmth and the sounds of the day.  the darkness comes and brings so, so many stars and new sounds, night sounds. can you feel it?

waking under african skies

ahhhh.  we are here!!
and this is right.  this is right where we are supposed to be.

this morning i woke up to brynie standing beside my mosquito net saying "mommy! i heard the bird that sounds like a monkey!"  then we all went back to sleep until 1pm; after getting to bed at 4am; after arriving at the house at 1am to a group of greeters and a house stocked with coffee and rice and milk and pineapples and a homemade stew.  we were welcome!

today i was greeted by a bougainvillea tree outside our kitchen sink, and more giant colored flowers on trees and bushes around the front yard than i've seen, and enormous turquoise birds with bright yellow beaks that i've already forgotten the name of, and many other birds and lizards and butterflies and all the sounds that go along with them.
  
today i was greeted by a lovely ugandan man who introduced himself as our gardener, after his very ugandan greeting, "hello!  you are welcome!"- literally - you are WELCOME-  (not our american response to thank you).  i love that.

today i walked through paths between banana trees and bottle brush trees to meet with many new friends and have coffee and conversations and watch as my children laughed and played with their new friends.

today mike and i had our coffee and our time of celtic prayer on our new furniture-less porch (like it has been in atlanta for the past several weeks) looking out over the town of mukono, feeling both such peace and excitement.

today i woke up to that burning smell and knew exactly where i was.  i was home.

provision

i love that word.  it makes me feel safe.  covered.  cared for.  and it is a promise- an amorphous promise- one always with out specifics.  provided for, but you won't know the how, or the when, or the what. but that promise is something that i rest in. 

provision for me is God showing up- and i've found that He responds very well to a very simple, 'help!' which comes kind of naturally to me.

this past year i've seen and heard and felt that provision, over and over again.  it's not that things have gone perfectly, or even smoothly, but our needs have been met- often, abundantly.

the other night i was restless, anxious, conflicted, basically scared and in need.  of words.  words of encouragement.  words that would help me not feel so crazy.  when i woke up there were emails from friends old and new- unsolicited words of support. people who probably responded to the nudgings.  God showing up through other people.  provision.

my mom offering to take the kids up to the mountains last week, when we had so much to do, stuff the kids would be bored by, things they didn't need to deal with.  my mom's idea, her responding to the nudgings. provision.

charlie from craigslist contacting us about helping with our yard sale. making things feel manageable. offering help when i wasn't even looking, i didn't even ask- but there it was- provision.  grace in a stranger. 

these are just small examples.  little things.  things that could be ignored or meaningless or random.  but not to me. 

why does this giant tube worm, who lives way down, miles deep in the sea, never necessarily to be seen by human eyes, why is it so magnificent and colorful? why does it look like the cover of vogue?

for me it's not random- someone cares.


God is in the small things- the details- the moments.
it's provision.

the sunset each day.  the sunrise. 
it's grace.  it's provision. 
look for it.