Monday Morning Musings.

During my walk to town this morning (about 1.5 miles), my minor encounters and experiences were pretty telling about how life really is here. Which is good because I find it hard to actually express, without being too fragmented or frightening, my experiences and the actual feel of living in this place. So my walk this morning should be illuminating, at least I think so.

The view from here

I leave the house and the strength of the December morning sun shocks me. Ten steps down my red dirt road and beads of sweat trickle down my spine and tiny pools form under my cotton t-shirt. It's going to be a hot one today, the dry season is finally coming (albeit very late). The sky is cerulean and the green leaves of the trees lining the streets and tall banana trees is a stark, emerald separation from the blue ceiling. I'm walking fast, to get the most out of the exercise and to burn off the stress of feeling a little frustrated with my job and missing home. Maya, with her four full teeth and newly acquired skill of speed-crawling, flashes behind my eyes like a fleeting dream. And I sweat, always, more sweat. The view ahead is beautifully normal, three women ages 45 or so walk by dressed in traditional garb (called gomesi) with something like 50 pounds of cassava in a potato sack propped on the heads. They're moving fast for all that weight, I think. "Mulembe," I mutter through heavy breath. "Mulembe, uryena?" they chime in staggered chorus - like a round of row your boat -followed by typical giggling at the muzungu speaking their language. Smiles are cordially exhanged. Ugandans are famous for their greetings.

I take the long way through more dirt paths, partly to avoid the road and the motorcycles zooming by hissing at me to come for a ride (a common way to get around are motor taxis), and partly to make the walk last longer. I like this time. It's rare alone time for me and it brings me to a center that I crave these days. A middle aged women, looking modern and carrying a purse not a bag of the latest crop, stops me, we greet in the proper fashion, pausing and making eye contact. She tells me she's looking for a job. I probe her to be polite, even though I know exactly what she's asking.

"What kind of work are you looking for?"

"I can clean house, cook, do laundry, anything you need," she says with both hope and desperation.

"I'm sorry madam, I don't have work for you. I do my own washing," I say, motioning like I am hand washing slacks - not expecting her to understand that I can't afford a housekeeper despite the color of my skin and the myths that come with the hue. Such a deceiving epidermis I am.

We move on from eachother and I branch to the left, making sure to push my legs a little faster as I head up the steep hill. The garbage dump to my left is on fire, purging the weekend's refuse and preparing anew for the week. Reaching the main road, my eyes catch a girl with skin like coal, darkened by the dust and weather of life outside, is bellowing and performing a strange kabuki like dance. It doesn't take long to register that she's mentally insane, and only 13 or so. Her clothes are gray-black like her, and her feet are thick and swollen from years of not wearing shoes. The look in her eyes is pure terror. I wince, keep walking, one foot in front of the other, not shocked at all. I realize I'm used to people like that. This scares me. And the sweat, the sweat keeps pouring. Almost like God just wants to mess with me, another one of Mbale's insane street residents walks toward me and stops. He's hurling a wooden stick over his head. It grazes my arm as I walk by, never stopping, despite my attempts to duck. I think to myself that I'm glad it wasn't a machete.

There are many mentally and physically impaired/challenged/bereft people here. Most are in some way causalities and leftovers from the ongoing war in the north. Outcasts from their familes and society.

I duck into the tiny alley way toward my little haven in the town. The internet cafe and Gracious Cafe "For Good Foods" are down this little annex. Phew. I make it to the computer to get some work done, and Ben (who strangely resembles Ben Vereen) puts some time into my favorite computer. His jolly smile is comforting, and so is it when he tells me the connection is rather good today.

"Nice," I think. Then I sit and wonder how I will explain such a common morning.