I have been struggling to decide what to write my next blog
post about. I don’t want to give a daily recount of my life so you can all
think I’m so brave or strong for handwashing my clothes and pooping in a hole
or post pictures of children so you all think I’m doing so wonderful and
changing the lives of so many adorable African children. The reality, this
school term has been weird. It has been a mix of having no clue what is going
on and traveling to see friends so we can commiserate about having no clue
what is going on. The term is ending this week so I resolved myself to the fact
that this term is just about being present and observing. I took a great trip
to see my host family over Easter and was reminded that friends and family are
what make life worth living. So now I am getting a clue of whats going on and
have lots of ideas for projects at my site but I can’t start those until the
term starts again at the end of may. So now I want to share an honest part of
my life but couldn’t decide what part. Then I remembered one thing that never
fails me- food.
Lunch time- the weirdest, comforting, and my favorite time
of the day. From the beginning of the school year, lunch has always looked
about the same. The lunch “bell” rings at 1- or should I say a student hits the
tire rim that is hanging on the tree with a stick at 1. The children slowly
pour out of class as their lessons finish and run down to the soccer pitch to
wrestle, run, laugh and munch on sugar cane. The teachers meander into an empty
classroom that is the “staff room.” The cook brings in beans and most days
posho- water and flour cooked into a loaf like form. Some days there are
eggplants or sweet potatoes. On very special days matooke. But often, beans and
posho and honestly, it makes my belly happy. Everyone is served in their
specified bowls. Mine is small with a very pretty blue rim. About the third
week of school is when I realized every teacher has a specific bowl. I figured
it out after every teacher made sure to tell me. Then the teachers eat and talk
in Luganda- for an hour straight. The first few times I was taken aback.
Shouldn’t they be speaking English? Do they want me to participate? Are they
speaking luganda to purposefully leave me out? Should I but in? Ask for
translations? Should I just leave? Every once in a while a teacher would look
at me and ask if I understood. I would smile and say no. The teachers would laugh and continue.
Oddly enough, lunch was never excruciating. I never dreaded going. In fact, I
realized I started looking forward to it. I realized that every time during
lunch I am given this amazing opportunity to be fully and completely immersed
in Uganda. Sure, I am usually really uncomfortable and feel very out of place
and I don’t have my computer or iPhone to hide behind. But I also get this
completely raw and unique chance to watch as humans interact and what do I see?
That a lunch in a classroom in Uganda looks very similar to the kitchen where
the teachers ate at my school in Vermont. Everyone sits around, eating their
food, listening to someone tell a story. They all have the fatigue that comes
with amazing effort put into teaching all morning. They all looked relieved to
have a moment to relax. There is complaining, yelling, laughter, commiserating,
encouragement. Teachers share the avocado or tomatoes that they’ve brought and
shake hands as they leave the room to prepare for the afternoon. Sure, in one
room I understand the conversation much more than the other but it all seems
pretty similar to me.
