Kakira/Kampala: "I was trying to preserve your dignity." "It's a losing battle, but I appreciate the effort."

So, this Friday Becky and I were corralled by our family, mostly Uncle Peter, to go up to Kampala. We were late leaving on Friday, because our co-workers at St. Eliza’s threw a party for us and we weren’t just going to leave, since we didn’t even want to go to Kampala in the first place. The party was really sweet—they fixed us a big lunch and got all of the nursing students, staff, and volunteers together. Our supervisor Joseph, the agricultural expert, and the town health officer all made speeches and Vincent, one of the instructors for the community health workers, was the master of ceremonies. These are all people who we’ve worked with (except Vincent, who, while generally a good guy, pretty much just sits on St. Eliza’s porch and reads the paper/stares at the road) so it was really nice. I ended up making the speech on behalf of the interns, since they wanted us to talk.

“We have nothing for you but gratitude…you have let us into your lives and your hearts and we’re going to miss everybody. Thanks to Joseph, because nothing would have gotten done without him. Thanks to everyone who had a smile for us every day…thanks Halima, Hellen, thanks to Eddie for translating for us, to Sylvia and Esther for everything.” And all that schmaltzy stuff. But it was true, no matter how cheesy.

Afterwards, we went out and took some group pictures in front of St. Eliza’s , which we promised to email to Joseph. It was fun and sad, since I will miss everybody and, honestly, probably will never see any of them again.

Our work at St. Eliza’s is done, but we still have a few administrative things to submit to FSD and GESI. The project is going on well—the bore hole is fixed, the maize that is currently on the school’s land is being harvested to make ready for the planting of the maize for the children, and the seeds, hoes, and saucepans are bought (we got the improved seeds we wanted! Longe 6, yeah!). We’re a bit worried about the timing, since the rains came a few weeks early, which means that the planting is already late. But we know that it’s happening, and everybody seems committed to continuing with what we helped to start. Now all the four of us can do is have faith.

Becky and I packed some stuff and headed off to Kampala immediately after the farewell party. We got into a mutatu (taxi) and headed off to the capital with Ruth.

About halfway there, I was feeling pretty sick. Then I elbowed Becky awake, since she was sitting by the window (I was between her and Ruth) and said, “I need the window.”

“What?”

I pushed her aside, assuming that that would be better than the alternative, and promptly vomited out the window of the speeding taxi. By speeding, I mean that 100 kph is the norm. Becky was just like, “OH MY GOD.”

Unfortunately, I was wearing a dress, which got pushed down by me shoving my body out the window, so I also had one of my boobs out the window. I am assured that everyone on the side of that stretch of road had quite a story to bring home, especially the kids who were excitedly shouting “MZUNGU!” Becky, bless her soul, put an arm around me hide my chest, since I was more worried about throwing up. (I later thanked her for that, and she said she was trying to preserve some of my dignity. I responded that it was a losing battle, but that I appreciated the effort.) After a few minutes, the driver realized that I was vomiting out of his window and onto his car, so he pulled over. After I finished vomiting, I got out of the car, to the wonder of the people in the van and on the roadside. They made me buy a plastic bag at a stand and demonstrated how to use it (“I know how it works, thanks”) and Becky ran and bought me a big water.

“Sorry guys, my bad,” I said to the other taxi passengers as I got back in. It didn’t really do anything about the “What the hell, white girl?” looks on their faces.

Anyway, after that episode, we did eventually reach Kampala. Uncle Peter picked us up and took us to a bar he owns, where they pressured me to drink alcohol and I refused. We then went to a very Western restaurant, which was okay (I was still kind of sick) and Uncle Peter then made the three of us go to a club in the city.

He said, “We’re only going for an hour, so Lynne, don’t complain.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be complaining if you weren’t dragging me to a club when I was sick and didn’t want to go.” Peter and Ruth laughed uneasily; I’m sure poor Becky was mortified. The things I put her through…

Becky and I survived an hour of awkward dancing and got to go sleep in a guesthouse a little after midnight. The guest house was kind of a weird place—the sitting room looked like a dilapidated Victorian mansion, Buddhist temple, and tacky American living room all combined. The beds were fairly comfortable though—we had to lock the floor we were on from the inside to keep people from coming in (the staff actually made us do that) and locked our own door as well. I slept with my trusty knife under my pillow. It was a good time all around.

Long story short, we eventually made it back to Kakira. I’m now home for my second to last night in Mama Fina’s house. Speaking of Mama Fina, we bought her some Ugandan moonshine on the way home, Uganda Waragi, her favorite—hey, she’s like 70 and raised 10 kids, she can take shots if she wants to. She was happy with our offering. I can’t believe I have three days left in Uganda! Apologies for the long post; I just have a lot of feelings.