Us & Them

When I told people about moving to Uganda for the Peace Corps, many people, myself included, began thinking about the different life that I would soon be living. 

I thought I would share some of the more far-fetched differences that exist here…

Hospitals.  When we go to these health facilities in the States, we are used to being provided everything from water to wash our hands, gowns to wear in the event of being admitted for whatever procedure, and food in the cafeteria to subdue our hunger pains.  In Uganda you better pack up all these things before heading to see the MD.  I am talking basins to bathe in, bed sheets, food, clothes, and even mosquito nets to protect yourself from the malaria carrying mosquitoes that might be the reason you are at the health center to begin with.  I inquired with some of the locals as to whether or not this is how the health centers and hospitals have always been and they explained that some few years back mosquito nets, bed sheets, and basins were there.  Over time the government became more corrupt and began removing these items, thus leaving the health facilities inept to serve their patients.  I now understand the reason behind the locals not trusting the health centers

Births.  After what I imagine to be a very long and exhausting experience, the last thing I want to worry about after giving birth is how I am going to get home. 

Americans are used to loading up our 4-star safety vehicle, equipped with front and side airbags, seatbelts, and a central cool and heating system to keep the little nugget’s core temperature inline.  We are so cautious about the ride from the hospital to home sweet home that often times you find the car carrying the bundle of joy going significantly slower than the speed limit, with honking horns blaring from behind, like a Fourth of July parade.  In Uganda you ask?  You find the father leaving the hospital some hours before, leaving the wife to clean and pack up, see the previous paragraph, then head out to the main road to find a boda boda, motorcycle taxi, to take them home.  No helmet for the baby, just the protection of the mother’s arms and some blankets to shield itself from the dust and flying debris.  Every time I see the post-birth boda ride I cross all extremities and pray for the safest ride of that child’s life. 

No BabyBjorns.  Starting at around two months of age, Ugandan mothers will strap a baby to its back with a piece of katenge fabric or beach towel, then a blanket to top it off.  Picture this.  A mother bent at the hip gently flings the baby to its back where the newborn knows exactly what to do, it takes its heads and rests it sideways and slips its small hands under the mom’s armpits.  The mother then takes the fabric or towel and places it over the baby, with the ends coming in front of her breasts.  She will tie two of the ends just above her breasts then the other two just below.  The baby is now in this cocoon.  The mother will then typically put a blanket, tied in this same fashion, over the towel to keep the little babe warm, which boggles my mind since we live on The Equator.  Whether the mom is digging to plant maize, slaughtering a chicken, or preparing the fire, the babies can be found like this.  And don’t you dare move them… They love this. 

Balancing Act

Picking your nose.  I think it is safe to say that Americans frown down upon the picking of your nose in public… Unless you are 3-years old and know no better and even then we learn very that if you have the urge to get that booger out, you excuse yourself to the restroom to get some tissue.  Here in Uganda, no matter ones age, they dig and dig and dig until they find that treasure.  They will then proceed to greet you with a handshake.  No thank you. 

Breastfeeding.  Exclusive breastfeeding for 6-months is completely acceptable and quite frankly the best thing for the newborn.  Up to 12-months is even better.  I am a huge supporter of this and if I ever have children I will offer up this healthy, nutritious supply of milk as long as I have it but eventually the breast milk will come from a bottle.  Especially if my child has teeth… Once I see that white enamel popping through the dense gums the bottle comes out.  Here in Uganda I see walking and talking toddlers go up to their mother or aunty or some other lactating woman, put their hand down their shirt and grab on the woman’s breast requesting for an afternoon drink.  No way no how would this pass in America and I am confident in saying that most women would agree.

Garden tools.  For the active gardeners in the States you would probably find a shed dedicated to everything necessary to keep your flowerbeds and vegetable gardens in tact.  These may range from square shovels and round shovels to garden forks, pruners, and rakes.  These tools accommodate our various needs as green thumbs to keep our flowers blooming and tomatoes growing.  Here in Uganda, where cash-based agricultural activity constitutes about 26 percent of the Gross Domestic Product and 95 percent of export revenues, you would expect them to have an extensive tool selection.  Wrong.  They have the hoe.  The use this tool ranges from clearing spaces, removing weeds, digging, and killing the occasional rat.  I bet if you wanted to cut the grass, they could do it with a hoe, although they do have a tool for that.  The slasher… Imagine a 24-inch piece of flexible metal attached to a wooden handle where at the end a small piece at a 45-degree angle does all the work as you swing your arm back and fourth.  That’s it people.  Two tools that do all the work, which require more human labor than starting the lawn mower.

Given these differences Uganda and America do share some similarities, most of which can be found in the big city, Kampala.  From items lining the supermarket shelves to movies in air-conditioned theaters, you are reminded of a place far away.  Out in the villages this is a little bit harder to find but the familiar game of football, what we know as soccer, can always be found by players of all ages.  The hospitability of the local community members gives you déjà vu of the familiar faces of your small American town.  The small shops selling you crafts becomes the new Target and soon you learn to accept the differences that makes us, us and them, them.