On Sunday Eliza and I made what I will probably consider one of our wiser decisions of the summer. Since the day looked to be sunny and beautiful we decided to walk down to one of the small fruit stands. Because both oranges and lemons are green in Uganda we couldn’t tell the difference between them at the stand, and the women did not speak good enough English to assist us. We settled for buying two of each lemon/orange looking fruits. We figured citrus is citrus and our hair would change either way. The purchase cost us 500 shillings (basically 25 cents). We lucked out and got two oranges and two lemons, which meant one of each fruit for each of us. Eliza put the orange in my hair, and then I did the lemon on my own. My hair was so drenched that when I brushed my hair out the waves that had been in from my braid disappeared into straight lines.
We then spent most of the rest of the day in the shade. Right after we finished Agnes called us inside for breakfast. We then went to church where we sat with the Sunday school kids singing songs in the shade. I managed to get a bit of sun on my hair, but I doubt it made a difference. That Sunday the mothers union hosted a special service so everyone in the church community was seated outside under tents. The service lasted all day.
It started with the mothers union walking to the front of the tented area in their blue and white dressed. The dresses had white tops and shawls with blue mothers union symbols printed on them. The dress bottoms were blue with white mothers union symbols embroidered around the bottom. As Agnes would say they looked smart. Eliza and I sat awkwardly in the front row as kids from the school near Salama Shield came to sit besides us. One of them was a girl named Sharon whom we had seen on our walks home the preceding week. By this point our hair had crusted so that it hung in dry clumps that made it look like we had just taken a shower.
My stomach started to hurt, and since I don’t know Lugandan I spent most of the service hunched over not paying attention. We had also introduced ourselves as the mzungu last week so I believed that I would not need to do it again. As I’m sure you can guess… I was wrong. I found the man seated on the next bench over nudging me, and telling me to stand up and wave. The pastor had just introduced us. I told Eliza to do the same. The man then told us to walk to the front and present ourselves to the mothers union. As I did I greeted them with an “Mosusmsotia Niabo” (good morning ladies) and kneeled before them as a traditional sign of respect. They all laughed. The pastor then made us stand up in front of everyone, and tell everyone our names, where we were from, and what we did at Salama Shield. Everyone laughed as the pastor translated, then clapped. It’s safe to say that since I’ve arrived people have made Eliza and I the butt of many inside jokes.
An hour or so later the children made us get up and walk away with them; telling us that the service ended. They lied. Eliza and I felt like morons as we “snuck” back into one of the back rows with Agnes. The problem though is that we can’t really sneak, or blend in. We stand out in everyway possible.
Then it came time for “the game.” “The game,” as the children called it, was in actuality a play. Sharon and Kevan (who is a girl) translated it for us as tens of children played with our hair, our hands, admired our crusty hair (there had even been girls during the service playing with mine) and wondered at why they could see our veins. Kevan and a girl Fiona both told me that I have good hands, whatever that means. Kevan and Sharon both asked Eliza and I why we were called white and they were called black. They said their teacher had told them to ask. We explained that it was because of the colour of our skin, how ours was lighter, and theirs darker. They thanked us. I would have though it evident, but I suppose not. They then told us they wanted our skin, and I told them I wanted theirs. They all had such beautiful dark skin. The next day when we saw Sharon on our way home she told us our skin looked to soft to work. I laughed and told her it’s tougher than it seems.
One girl asked how many languages I spoke. I told her three, English, Spanish, and Chinese. They could care less about Spanish, but joy of joys, a young boy had been carrying around the cardboard back to a flashlight casing, and what language was it printed in? None other than Chinese. The children thrust the backing into my face and demanded that I read it to them. I read some of the characters, and made up ones for those that I didn’t know. They seemed pleased. Three boys quizzed me on different kung fu movie masters, and asked if I could bring them karate outfits. I said I’d see, but I doubted it.
When the play ended (it had discussed home life and how to be a good family) Agnes took us to have lunch in the shade. Though no sun presented itself in the tent the heat from it and the bodies of all the small swarming children raised my temperature, and the shade helped to cool it. We then had to help serve lunch. Eliza and I put on our bright orange aprons, but, unlike Eliza, I did not have to put on the headscarf, they had run out. This gave me the opportunity to bask my hair in the hot sun as we served lunch to the mothers union, and they distributed it around. Agnes asked if I wanted to serve in the shade, but I said no. Heat or no heat I had lemon in my hair, and I needed to at least attempt to put it to some use.
Benen went to the same church as my family, and as I served he took some pictures with my camara, and explained that today served as a perfect example of the idea of mbuntu. Like a nerd talking about his favourite comic book hero Benen explained how though not everyone could afford to pay to eat, everyone had been served. Those who could afford to pay had paid for the lunch to be catered, but everyone ate regardless of ability to pay “do you see? This is mbuntu, this is community.” I did see, and it reminded me of being at a Friday night Oneg, except with lots more food.
At around five Eliza and I walked home from the church. We felt overwhelmed and exhausted. We planned to shower, but when we arrived home there was no water. Instead we barricaded ourselves in our rooms. Only Imachulet remained home, and she wanted to rest as well, so we didn’t feel too bad. Eliza ended up going for a walk, and I read.
Three days later I still have lemon in my hair.
