Window into my world.
Two weeks of Ugandan life and one of field work. In vignettes...
What Child Is This?
A young woman, who cannot be more than 16 or 17 is holding a small baby so small he cannot be more than two weeks old. When I ask this woman, who lives in in a rural village half way up the emerald foothills that frame Mbale town to the East, what her baby boy's name is, she simply says, "He has none." By this time, I am also holding the tiny child whose face is so tender and premature he resembles a mammal not of this species. "How about Nelson," I blurt. "For Nelson Mandela. He is a great man and I'm sure he will be too." She just smiles, and something genuine is beyond it. I hand her the baby, a little proud that I may have just named a child I barely know, and I little guilty if the kid really does have to go through all his years with the the name Nelson. (Sorry, kiddo.)
Cry, Freedom
Donning a ripped, American flag-printed button down shirt covered with brown dust and human worry - a young boy runs down a lonley dirt road chasing our TASO vehicle. He may be one of the orphans we were checking up on that day, but it's likely he isn't. He is just one face, one boy, dressed in irony, that I can't help.
The Funny Side of Globalization
In a village like many other villages near a mountain like many other mountains, a radio blares as the only window to a distant outside world. Several women and children are crowed on straw mats beneath their thatch roofed huts. A Mariah Carey song plays. (There's a heroooo....) I sing along with the kids. (if you look inside your heeeaaart...) A Celine Dion song plays. (looove comes to those who belieeeve in it..) I sing along with the kids.(And that's the way it iiiis..) ...So many laughs inside my head...
I Never Went to Sunday School (Sorry, God)
It's Sunday night and my host family is having the after dinner prayer. They are deeply religious and of course this makes me feel a little funny because I'm not terribly churchy, even if I am spiritual. Janet (host mom) begins the first hymn. It is something about how we are waiting for Jesus. I hum under my breath, unsure of the words and catching on to the tune. You know the kind.... "Uh.. hmmm ummm, yes, God ohh Lord you are.. mii...mighty, you aaan..answer.." The process repeats for three long hymns, each time I don't get any better at acting like I know any of the words. Sigh. "Sarah, what is your favorite hymn from home," Apollo (host Dad) asks, noticing that I don't know these and wondering just how different Christianity is in the US. "Uh, well... I don't have a favorite, it's so hard to chose!," I stall. "It's got to be Hallelujah (although only the gospel version is coming to mind)." "Yes, you gaatta love Hallelujah!" Enter awkward silence. Enter Janet's soft voice singing a Hallelujah hymn I've still... never heard before.
What Child Is This?
A young woman, who cannot be more than 16 or 17 is holding a small baby so small he cannot be more than two weeks old. When I ask this woman, who lives in in a rural village half way up the emerald foothills that frame Mbale town to the East, what her baby boy's name is, she simply says, "He has none." By this time, I am also holding the tiny child whose face is so tender and premature he resembles a mammal not of this species. "How about Nelson," I blurt. "For Nelson Mandela. He is a great man and I'm sure he will be too." She just smiles, and something genuine is beyond it. I hand her the baby, a little proud that I may have just named a child I barely know, and I little guilty if the kid really does have to go through all his years with the the name Nelson. (Sorry, kiddo.)
Cry, Freedom
Donning a ripped, American flag-printed button down shirt covered with brown dust and human worry - a young boy runs down a lonley dirt road chasing our TASO vehicle. He may be one of the orphans we were checking up on that day, but it's likely he isn't. He is just one face, one boy, dressed in irony, that I can't help.
The Funny Side of Globalization
In a village like many other villages near a mountain like many other mountains, a radio blares as the only window to a distant outside world. Several women and children are crowed on straw mats beneath their thatch roofed huts. A Mariah Carey song plays. (There's a heroooo....) I sing along with the kids. (if you look inside your heeeaaart...) A Celine Dion song plays. (looove comes to those who belieeeve in it..) I sing along with the kids.(And that's the way it iiiis..) ...So many laughs inside my head...
I Never Went to Sunday School (Sorry, God)
It's Sunday night and my host family is having the after dinner prayer. They are deeply religious and of course this makes me feel a little funny because I'm not terribly churchy, even if I am spiritual. Janet (host mom) begins the first hymn. It is something about how we are waiting for Jesus. I hum under my breath, unsure of the words and catching on to the tune. You know the kind.... "Uh.. hmmm ummm, yes, God ohh Lord you are.. mii...mighty, you aaan..answer.." The process repeats for three long hymns, each time I don't get any better at acting like I know any of the words. Sigh. "Sarah, what is your favorite hymn from home," Apollo (host Dad) asks, noticing that I don't know these and wondering just how different Christianity is in the US. "Uh, well... I don't have a favorite, it's so hard to chose!," I stall. "It's got to be Hallelujah (although only the gospel version is coming to mind)." "Yes, you gaatta love Hallelujah!" Enter awkward silence. Enter Janet's soft voice singing a Hallelujah hymn I've still... never heard before.
posted by Sarah at 3:57 PM
3 Comments:
Hey Sarah---
here's a hymn from my head---
"Wake now my senses and hear the earth call, feel the deep power of being in all, keep with the web of creation your vow, giving, receiving as love shows us how" So many good joyous (UU versions) of hymns run through my head---it carries me from day to day.
Marie and I bought the baby (the only baby) the cutest Halloween outfit. Maybe someone will take a picture and email it to you.
Otherwise things are swell. Love to you,
Aunt Paula
I take full responsibility for your heathen ways.
But you are in Africa helping others and I know God is Proud.
i always knew u were a heathen lol
well u r my heathen and i love u!!!
remember no getting married with out ur maid of honor!!!!
lol i am funny
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