The Five Senses

I usually don't post overly-dramatic or existential posts (or I try not to at least...), BUT I thought that it might be fun to capture some of the everyday sights, smells, sounds, tastes and feelings of Uganda; the five senses if you will. It's hard to summarize a place using words or pictures. And Uganda, or at least my Uganda, is a complicated place. My observations and opinions about Uganda have certainly changed over the last 16 months, and will most likely continue to evolve over the next 11. I find it really challenging to answer people when they ask me, "what's it like?" or "how's life?" "It's different," or "It's good," just doesn't seem to suffice.

I'm sure I could add something to this very disorganized list everyday if I wanted, because everyday is still an adventure, a learning experience and a roller coaster.

I see…

Bare feet, straight white teeth and eyes that can see in the dark, strong necks, flexible vertebrae, protruding bellies, runny noses, strong arms, curious stares, shy smiles. Dust through the boda’s headlight, road ruts like frozen waves, long horns, stray goats, stray children, mosquito nets, yellow cooking oil jerrycans, black and orange lizards doing push-ups, lorries full of people, cattle and cargo, posho and beans, elephant grass covered in red dust, kneeling children, school uniforms, hoes and winnowing baskets, blood and burns. Sunsets and moonrises. So many stars. Sweat. Natural resources. Exploitation, corruption, injustice. Gardens growing. Pregnant bellies swelling. Rainy nights. Bicycles, babies on backs, bundles on heads. Charcoal, firewood, maize, mangoes, umbrella trees. Hard work. Lantern light, flies, spiders, moths, crickets, praying mantis, too many bugs to count. Potential. Brightly colored kitenge skirts, shiny gomezes, braided hair, rosaries. Orphans, children. A young country by history and population. Three-rock cookstoves, woven mats, goat poop. Bodies like worn-out tools. Mud, wide open spaces, kids playing in the streams while their mothers wash clothes and long-horned cows drink. Perseverance. Tradition, pride. Pages and pages of books read. Sugarcane. Barbed wire, cement walls, broken bottles and lace curtains. Flip flops made of tires. Laughter in his crow’s feet, cotton candy skies, little girls with a lot of responsibility. Boys racing homemade toy cars made of bent wire and bottle caps. Sickness, scarcity, reliance. Hope.

I hear…

Leb Acholi, repetitive bass-heavy beats from 'the Paradise Club', my fan. Mosquitoes buzzing, children playing, babies crying, goats bleating.  Someone always hammering. Polite greetings. The Acholi cry, cellphones ringing, Celine Dion singing the same song over and over, metal doors locking, sizzling onions, my neighbor snoring. The bus’ horn announcing its arrival and abrupt departure. ‘Abersi.’ ‘Munu.’ ‘Biiiyeeeeeeeeeeeeee.’ ‘I am fine.’ Crickets, rain on the tin roof, school bells, church hymnals, laughter, wind through the passion fruit vine. My ipod. Hopeful requests. Drums. Radio static. So many questions. Pounding something- maize, millet, sorghum, gnuts- into flour. Ankle bells. Ladies singing while they dig. Stories of war. Motorcycle engines, squeaky bike tires, someone laughing. Plans for the future. 

I smell…

Burning trash, burning fields, roasted pork, humans. Freshly slashed grass, mosquito coils, bleach, truck exhaust, hair and body lotion. Roasted maize, sawdust from freshly cut furniture and coffins, smoked fish, pigs. Rain on hot earth. Dust. The distinct smell of latrine. Burning beans, extinguished candles, paraffin, laundry soap, coffee. Charcoal stoves, burning pine, something sweet and unidentified. 

I taste…

Beans, posho, cassava, sweet potatoes, mangos, banana, collards and kale from my garden, tomato, onion, green pepper, cabbage, eggs, millet bread, porridge, boo, doodoo, malakwan, odee, Club, Tusker, Penasol, Waragi, grasshoppers, stir-fry, spaghetti, eggplant, Ugandan tea with lemongrass, Nescafe coffee, white ants. Lots of rice. Dust and small stones. Lots of popcorn. Malaria tablets.Warm Fanta. Florescent "ketchup" and plasticy "margarine" (both of which I shunned when I arrived, and now can't get enough of...). Samosas, chapati. Bland carbs.

I feel…

Happy. Hot, sweaty, itchy, dirty. Famous. Isolated. Content. Grateful, patient, complacent, frustrated, satisfied, confused, jaded, heartbroken, reluctant, misunderstood. Loved. Bored, lazy. Lucky. Anxious, ready. Hopeful. A sense of community. Mystified. Overwhelmed, trusted. Friendship. Sunshine every day. Mosquito bites to last me a life time. Thoughtful, appreciative, grateful.