Bucket Baths and other Fun Facts.

         If last entry’s theme was dirt, this theme would be water. Well… it was going to be water. I had this whole entry planned on my ponderings during bucket bathing. But due to a treasure of an experience from yesterday, today’s theme must sadly be reallocated to “liquid”.  SideBar: People, This post is going to be a little sporadic so just bear with me. Is that the right bear? Eff my English is already slipping. Oh well, it wasn't much to brag about to begin with.

Background: Running water is almost non-existent here in Uganda. If someone does have it, it is coming from a rain tank, has a tint darker than my fairly tan skin, or has a parasite in it that wants to kill you, KILL YOU.  So when the end of the day approaches and I realize I smell like how I imagine a hobo tastes, I grab my 10 gallon plastic bucket, head outside past the covered cooking area and fill-er-up from the rain tank.  For the most part the water is, correction, looks clean. But I find that if I let the water sit long enough in the bucket, and lovely little film will form at the top. (I don’t know why I do these fun little things to torture myself, like when I hold my drinking water bottle up to the light to see if there are enough particles to make a mini tornado by spinning the water around) Some people listen to the voices of experience surrounding them and follow as directed. Then there are those of us who prefer to learn through our own experiences, I believe the aforementioned group calls these folks “morons”.

SideBar: Dang, ooohhh the bittersweet irony of being a member of the latter group;  always needing to learn through my own experiences…::cough going to Africa for 2yrs cough:: As soon as I typed that last line, my entire GI tract lurched letting me know it is once again time to drop the kids off at the pool. (that means shit) Except dropping the kids off would imply I have something solid to deposit. I wish that was the case.

So I fill my bucket up and head inside to the bathing room, aka the tiled room of watery death.  Because there is nothing I have found to be more humbling than carefully bathing and scrubbing for 15 minutes only to slip on the first step towards reaching for your towel. Furthermore, splaying and falling into the giant puddle full of crud which used to be on you. Correction: is on you again…

WRITING BREAK:  I’m currently doing my future site visit. Where I get three days to go see the organization I will be working with for the next two years.  If you go check my facebook you’ll see photos of my future house.  “Ni Kirungi” It is good.  Anywho, just took a writing break to walk for a half hour to town and almost had my 3^rd fall in this country about two feet outside my door. I slipped in cow shit. Just another friendly reminder that I’m not in Kansas anymore. I’m  not worried though. I know which little bastard did it. The same little black and white calf circles my house every evening. I’ll get him back…

Back to my story; So if the power is off, I go look for a candle which has been melted to an upside coffee mug for a candle holder. This way I can prop it up on the toilet lid (Don’t start thinking I have it too easy because I used the word toilet. I use that term loosely, and remember? No running water. I’ve still squatted and crap bagged into a hole). But, if I was to be completely honest… sometimes when the power is on, I still use a candle.  It creates a nice glow in the bathroom, kinda romantic. ;) Probably the most romance I’ll see in the next two years… sad panda. I’ve learned though, and write this down folks if you are planning a romantic candle evening for someone special, the lower the candle is to the ground, the larger and less flattering your shadow becomes. One of the first evenings I used the candle I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and thought Shrek’s Shadow was creepin on me.  I collected my cool, raised the candle up a few notches, and continued scooping water up in a cup from the bucket to dump on myself.

BTdubs. (Old folks, that means By.The.Way. If you still don’t get it, go ask a hooligan who can’t remember a time without cell phones) After the water sits all day in the shining sun in a black rain tank, it still manages to achieve a perplexing temperature of “frigid bitch” There are some baths where I’m positive my nipples will be hard for the rest of my life. I could go through the trouble of boiling water to heat things up… but I always manage to burn myself, or the charcoal stoves are being utilized for more important things like cooking dinner for the family, and I don’t think I’ll gain any Africa respect if I ask the fam to stall dinner so the Mzungu can bathe comfortably.  I realize that last sentence might have confused a few people;  I’m staying with a homestay family right now, I’ve been here about a month, and have one more month to go, then I’ll move to my permanent site and home. My homestay mom is Jane Bakubagana, and while she technically has two biological children, through whatever events, there are now 9 teenagers up in this hizz-ouse.  We’ve goooooot Derrick, Dickens, Eddison, Flavia, Goretti, Annett, Rose, Shillah, Becky, and now Khayla! Not so surprising, I’ve yet to hear my name pronounced correctly in this country. Johnson is way easier, but people always laugh when I tell them my “other name” (They don’t have last names here, just other name.) Because in Uganda, only a boy would be named Johnson.  Soooo thanks dad. =)

Returning to the bucket bathing… Final word of advice. Even though the drain is usually in the corner of the room, you don’t have to be that close to it. Give yourself some room to breathe. And Bend. Because after falling, the 2^nd worst thing to happen after bucket bathing is; after one last bend/crouch to  dump the rest of the water out, and as you stand back up you feel a gentle scrape against your bare, freezing, ass cheek. Oh yes, you’ve butt grazed the filthy wall. AND you just dumped out the rest of your water.  I’ve done this more times than my pride will allow me to admit. And every time it’s like Africa is literally licking my ass, teasing that until I’m back in America. I will never be 100% clean.

So this post is looking a little long, I’m gonna save the mysterious liquid story for the next blog. I hope your anticipation of said story wasn’t the only reason you were hanging on this far. My bad.

Mzungu out!

Shit or Mud? You decide.

          If today's post had a theme... which there is no reason it couldn't, so I guess it will. The theme is dirt. Mud. Clay. Crap. Dust. Filth. You name it, I've had it on me, or in my mouth, or in proximity to me at some point in the past month. =)

          Before I continue, I’ve been putting a lot of thought into what type of blogger I want to be. I’ve never done anything like this before, keeping a journal. I tried multiple times as a girl growing up.  I’d buy a super cool hello kitty journal, write in it for about a week then call it quits. I don’t want that to happen with this. So please harass me if you feel me beginning to neglect this blog. Which form of harassment is up to you.

Furthermore, I’ve been torn on what type of tone to take in my writing. I’ve read other  Peace Corps blogs and good God some of them are so boring. Sometimes I have inappropriate (and in my opinion High-Larious) perspectives on things and I want to be able to be myself and write it all down without PG censorship.  It wouldn’t be right to have a blog for my friends and a tamer blog for family members. So I’m going to just put it all out there and hope you all still love me anyways when I get back (this means you Grandmas, both mommy skip and abuela chuchu) Besides, if I reeeeeally upset anyone, it’s not like any of you can even reach me. Suckas! Also don’t want to worry anyone back home if I have a bad day and vent about it on here.  I will have my cynical days, days where I exaggerate things. Please don’t immediately go to kayak.com and begin looking for the fastest way to get me home. Everything will be okay. I wasn’t sure of this at first if I was going to be honest. The first few days my emotions felt like a Mexican jumping bean. (I’m not racist, that is a real thing, I swear) But today is my one month anniversary with the Peace Corps, and I’m here to say I’m doing great!

Okay, back to the dirt. Today I had a “I hope Africa doesn’t turn me native” moment. I looked down and saw a reddish brown smudge on my calf and thought… “is that shit or mud?” and while my immediate next thought a month ago would have been “where the eff is some soap and water, asap!” all I managed to think today was “eh, whatever it is, I’ll get at it later if I find some water” And people I wish I could call that my filth low… Also, come to think of it… that wasn’t the first time I had to ask myself that exact same question. PREFACE: about 80 percent of the roads in this godforsaken place are just slick clay mud. And something tells me 80 is too generous of a number. Another Preface: It rains all the fucking time here. I walk to training every morning in industrial second hand rain boots I bought for 14,000 shillings, (about $5) my North Face rain jacket, and a poncho in my backpack just in case. To have anything less than this would be asking for trouble. Where was I?... oh yes, shit or mud. So my first week at the training site I didn’t have my boots yet and I bit it big time. (grandma, that means I fell. Hard. On my ass.) and the mud here is like melted peanut butter, just thick and slick. My skirt, legs, and everything else was covered. And God bless those little children, they didn’t laugh at me, but just kept on shouting “see you Mzungu!” (if you don’t understand, please go read my first post. Why the eff wouldn’t you read these bad-boys in order? Also note I have learned the correct spelling of Mzungu) Anyways, I got home and tossed my skirt and shirt in a basin to start soaking. It wasn’t until later that I took off my underwear before bucket bathing (I’ll save that little gem for the next entry) and saw a giant brown stain covering 60% of the backside of my drawers. At first I panicked and thought I must have gotten some super form of diarrhea where you lose any, and all, control of your anal sphincter and you ghost crap your own pants. (Because apparently this is the type of life I live now, where this is a functional thought) Upon leaning in and sniffing (you would have done it too bitches) I recalled my earlier splash in the mud. This mud made it through my jean skirt, thick bike shorts and my underwear. Touché Mud. Touché.  

Wow, at first glance, this long post looks like I really accomplished telling you all about how my life is going here. And instead I managed to tell you about the two times I thought I had brown butt fudge on me. I’ll try harder next time… maybe.

Love you all and miss you! Mzungu Out!

P.S. Hope you appreciated the font color. 

Meh, I guess I'll finally do this thing.

So I've arrived in Africa safely... about 25 days ago. And while internet and phone access was a bitch at first, I seem to have a decent handle on them now.  The power is out so I'm gonna be super stingy and post an email I sent home. So if you are a family member... you've already read this. Stop reading and go do something else, but if you aren't... well then have at it.

Hello Everyone and Greetings from Africa!

                I’m writing this email by candlelight. I know that seems contradictory, typing…by candle light… but electricity is on an off here and more recently it has been the later.  Sorry I haven’t updated sooner! I try to charge my laptop when I can, and usually by the end of the day after a bucket bath, super (dinner isn’t really used here), language homework, and a quick “I’m safe” text home, I have just enough energy to pull the mosquito net up over my head and pop my earplugs in before I’m fast asleep in Uganda dream world. Tonight, the forces seem to have aligned because I not only find myself with a charged laptop, but also the energy to update my loved ones on my life. I have no idea how to begin summing up my adventure into coherent, well planned and thought out sentences… but here goes nothing.

                Currently I am in a town called Wakiso. Because this is where the Uganda Peace Corps training center, RACO resides. I should probably find out what RACO stands for… but..meh. Technically I am right on the outskirts of Wakiso town in a village called Kasangombe. Not to be confused with the neighboring village, Gombe. (someone got a littttle lazy with names around here) Don’t bother trying to Google maps my village, stick to searching Wakiso. That will get you more accurate results.  From Monday through Saturday (we only get Sunday off to do bucket laundry, get caught up on language homework, and enjoy what little privacy we can carve from the day) I wake up around 6am (your 11pm) and by 7:15 begin my 40 minute walk to RACO. I’ll try to attach photos in the next email, but in the whole walk, I’d say about 50 feet of it are on paved road, or tarmac as they call it here.  The rest is a really pleasant walk along dirt paths through gentle hills of farm land. And with a banana in one hand, and my University of Florida Nalgene bottle of water in the other, I quite enjoy my morning walks. The odd cow and goat appear here and there, but they don’t seem to mind the Muzungus.

Oh what’s that?? You don’t know what a Muzungu (Moo-zoon-goo). I hear it about fifty thousand times a day I just figured everyone else knew. Here, muzungu means “traveler” aka, the white folks, the pale faces, the foreigners. Little children here must have hawk eyes, because they can spot me a mile away and begin shouting “See you muzungu!” or “Bye Muzungu!” They all mean well when they shout it. A few will follow me a little while, wanting to touch my hand or my arm, but being here as a Community Health Volunteer, all I see are all the tropical diseases they may be carrying. (side note: the care packages with hand sanitizer cannot come fast enough) By the looks on the children’s faces, I’m probably the most exciting thing they will see that day. Well, second exciting. I’m not sure if it’s because they just woke up, but they are even more excited to see me on the walk home, you know, the second time around. It’s like I’m the best TV show on earth and their whole day waiting for me was just one giant commercial. I keep waiting for the novelty of me to wear off… I’m starting to fear this will never be the case. I should be honest and say it’s not always an excited smile. Once or twice, I’ve made a child cry when they see my skin color. Both times the child pointed, screamed and went to cry and hide behind their mothers’ skirts. The mothers give me a slightly sympathetic look, mixed with a hint of, …ehhhh you’ll get over it muzungu.

                I’m in two hour training classes from 8am till 5pm, they consist of Ugandan culture, history, and acclimation, to tropical diseases (I’m up to around 12 shots total for vaccinations. Still a few rabies rounds to go, got my typhoid shot last week) And most importantly my language class. I’m learning to speak Runyankore/Rukiga. They two are basically the same language with a few minor pronunciation differences. The most exciting part about learning which language class you were assigned to was figuring out the corresponding part of the country it meant you were being send to in mid-October. I’m elated to announce I’ll be moving to the Southwest part of Uganda. The most luscious, scenic, green, and cool (temperature wise) part of Uganda. Mountains, valleys, lakes, the southwest has it all. The other Peace Corps trainers have made it clear, we are the region to envy. Learning this has of course only come with the task of not setting my expectations too high. Otherwise I will most certainly be placed in the only dry sandy patch the SW has to offer.  Because I’m sure you are curious, below I will show a little bit of my mad language skills acquired thus far.

Greetings! My name is Khayla, I am from Florida, in America, but now I live in Wakiso. I am learning runyankore.

Agandi! Ninye Khayla, ninduga Florida, omuri America, kwonka hati nintuura wakiso, Ninshoma Runyankore.

TA-DA =)

I have so much more to share, but if I give it all away now, what will keep you coming back for more???  So thank you for reading this and especially caring about me enough to read it all the way to the end.  And since you love me enough to have read this far, I’d like to say I love you back! Talk to you soon!

Oraare gye! (good night)

Khayla in Uganda