Wear Sunscreen

As a new group of Americans are anxiously packing their bags and figuring out what is more important to bring, coffee or a Steri Pen (correct answer: coffee), I thought I would write about what it is like to live in The Pearl.

Inspired by Baz Luhrmann’s Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen). 

To the Future Peace Corps Volunteers of Uganda… Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.  The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved beneficial, whereas my advice has no basis more reliable than my own experience.  I will dispense this information now.

Enjoy the anonymity that America provides, oh never mind, you will not understand the anonymity of America until it has faded.  Trust me, you will reminisce and recall of the days that you could blend in.  You’ll search for one here.  It doesn’t exist.

Don’t come here thinking you are going to change the world, or come here thinking that, but know that people are not going to always be open to the ideas of the muzungu.  Be open to the reality that you are going to change more than those already living here. 

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Try matooke.

Don’t be careless with other people and don’t put up with people who are careless with you.

Don’t waste your time on being jealous of those with access to Starbucks lattes, Wi-Fi, pillow top mattresses, and your family and friends.  The two-year journey is long but in the end it is only with yourself.  Plus it’ll all be waiting for you back on U.S. soil.

Remember the compliments you receive and the lives you impact.  Forget the insults.  If you succeed in this, you have mastered cultural integration.

Take in sunsets.  Breathe deeply the sweet mixed smells of fire and fruit and car exhaust and burning trash.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do now, or even after this experience.  In two years you will return a different person, a better person, a changed person.  You will figure it out.

Bring plenty of protein.  I’m talking beef jerky.

You will be lonely and homesick.  Especially when you get physically sick.  Which will happen.

Maybe you’ll paint a world map.  Maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll have electricity.  Maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll stay forever.  Maybe you won’t.

Whatever you do accomplish, do not praise yourself too much or criticize yourself either.  Your choices are half chance and they rest is out of your control.

Enjoy your 800 days in country.  Don’t be afraid of it.  Don’t let others tell you what to think of it.  The greatest instrument you will use in this experience is yourself. 

Dance.  Even if you have nowhere to do it but in the plantain fields. 

Get to know your community.  You never know when they’ll be gone for good.  Be nice to your host family.  They will be the best link to your past in Uganda and the people most likely to be with you in the future while here.

Recognize that fellow Volunteers will come and go, but you will have a handful to always catch you when you fall.   Continue to bridge the gaps between people because you never know when you’ll need someone.  Chances are it’ll be soon.

Work hard to integrate into your community, but know that you will not be considered a local.

Be vulnerable.

Accept certain indisputable truths.  You will be overcharged for everything from a taxi ride to tomatoes; Museveni will still most likely be in power; aiming in a pit latrine will never get easier; you will use that bucket on your floor for middle of the night surprises, you will arrive early to prepare for your meeting while everyone else will show up hours late, and chickens will serve as your alarm clock.

Bargain.

Eventually you will not get charged a muzungu price and this will be one of your happiest moments.

Don’t expect anything.  Maybe you’ll have an outstanding organization to work for, maybe you’ll have endless connections; but you never know when either one might run dry.

You will share a 5-person vehicle with twelve people, with a baby breastfeeding to your left, chickens nipping at your feet, and children curiously touching your hair and skin.  These inevitable conditions will remain but when you greet in the local language and explain what you are doing, the locals will be impressed and will thank you for your work.

You will most likely go to church.  It will go on all day and you will be asked to give a speech.

Be prepared.

Be open to new advice, food, languages, and traditions, but be patient with those who supply it.

Advice is a form of nostalgia, bestowing it is a way of freeing the past and recycling it for more than its worth.

But trust me on one thing. 

The sunscreen...