Today Emily, Angelica, Maggie, Rachel and I decided to have a lunch “strategy meeting” at Ciao Bella. Ciao Bella is the first place I ate at in Uganda so it has a special place in my heart. The meeting was good and I think we’ve got a lot of great ideas in the pipeline to grow Educate!
The rest of the day I worked.
At 7:00 that night I had to go to Mercy’s daughter’s graduation. Maggie and Rachel were supposed to go with me.
I showered, changed and walked into the main house to get the girls.
“You ready to go?” I asked? I could see by the look on their faces that I’d be going to Mercy’s by myself.
“I don’t know.” Rachel said. “If we all go the event will become centered around the mzungu’s and take away from the girl graduating.”
Maggie chimed in. “Yeah, and technically you are the only one that Mercy invited. So I don’t know I’ll feel comfortable just showing up.”
“But she told me to invite you!” I pleaded.
To no avail.
I went to the boda boda station.
“Sebbo do you know where Mercy’s house is?”
He looked at me confused.
I pointed at her shop.
“Do you know where her house is?”
He nodded.
“How much?”
“1,000 USH (50 cents).”
“Okay we go.”
I threw on my helmet and away we went. We drove off Buziga road, which is large and paved and onto a dirt path that led further down the Buziga hill. We drove for a few hundred yards over bumpy, curvy roads. We made a left down a smaller, narrower road. We zoomed past people walking silently in the darkness of the night. They would step out of the path of boda just before we careened past.
When we got to Mercy’s I realized I had no way to get back.
“Sebbo, will you be around later?”
“Yes.”
“Can you pick me up?”
“Yes.”
I took his number and he disappeared into the darkness again.
I was takan aback by how formal the graduation was. They actually rented a white tent! It was nice.
There were probably 80 or 90 people there and I didn’t know any of them. I didn’t see Mercy anywhere so I just walked to the end of one of the aisles and sat down.
A man dressed in Muslim grab was standing in front of everyone giving a sermon in Lugandan. I didn’t understand a lick. It was my first indication that it was going to be a LONG night.
Finally I saw Mercy walk out of the house. She was wearing the long, traditional Ugandan dress with shiny fabric and elevated shoulder pads. It’s an interesting look that I’ve never seen anywhere but Uganda. It was purple with a large yellow sash in the middle. She looked elegant and beautiful – the opposite of how I usually see here wearing a yellow MTN (cell phone company in Uganda) T-shirt sitting behind her counter.
After the sermon they turned on traditional Ugandan music but everyone stayed seated. Nobody talked. Mercy sat on a couch which was elevated and facing the crowd. She sat there in her ornate dress, just gazing out into the crowd. I was kind of hoping she’d see me as I don’t think anyone else knew what the hell I was doing there. I mean – I stuck out like a sore thumb.
Finally Mercy’s daughter, clad in traditional Ugandan graduation garb (similar to the US garb) walked out and sat next to Mercy. Everyone clapped.
Someone walked over to me.
“Your presence is requested in the front.”
Oh dear God. Please don’t make me address the crowd. I thought to myself.
The man directed me to a seat in the front row.
“This is for you” he said. He pointed at a lady seated next to me. “She will help translate for you.”
I turned around and waved at Mercy. She smiled and waved back.
SO – basically for the next THREE HOURS speaker after speaker got up and spoke in Lugandan. It was positively torture.
I’m sorry, but waterboarding has nothing on a three-hour graduation spoken ONLY in Lugandan. I don’t think I’ve ever daydreamed so much in my life.
The lady next to me didn’t translate. But she did say she wants me to meet her fifteen-year-old son who’s looking to go into business. I gave her my number and said I’d be glad to speak with him. She said he’d take me to some island on Lake Victoria that’s a big deal to locals but mzungu’s don’t really go there. I’m not sure of the details but I said I’d go!
FINALLY at 10:30 – THREE AND A HALF HOURS AFTER I GOT THERE – one of the speakers said, “Alas, enough talking. One should not discuss on empty stomachs.”
Oh thank heavens. I went to this party thinking I’d eat for a half hour, make small talk for an hour and then come home. I was nearly delirious at 10:30.
Girls with plates heaped with traditional Ugandan foods – matoke, beans, g nut sauce, beef, goat, cabbage and greens were served to everyone.
The translator lady could see the confused look on my face.
“Oh you don’t use your hands?” She said.
“While, I’ve done it before.” I said. “I can do it again, but I’m not good at it.”
(For the record its super hard to eat small food (rice) with your hands. Looks a lot easier than it is.)
“I’ll get you a fork.”
So yeah – I was the only mzungu and the only person eating with a fork. Sweet. But at that point I didn’t care I was so tired.
We finished dinner and I barely put a dent in my plate. No joke my stomach has shrunk and I literally can eat half of what I used to. Its crazy.
Then the graduation girl walked around and thanked everyone for coming and bringing gifts. The way to thank people at formal ceremonies is to kneel on the ground. I felt bad for this girl. She was wearing a nice dress, a graduation gown AND high heels and she trapsed around the muddy backyard kneeling on the ground each time she had to thank someone.
Finally I turned to my translator lady. “When does this event go until.”
“Oh maybe 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning.”
“WHAT?!?!”
“Okay, I am going to call my boda boda driver to come pick me up.”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “What do you mean YOUR boda driver? DO you know him?”
“I just met him. He dropped me off.”
She nodded her head. “No no no – you have to know him. These are the backroads and its dangerous.”
She called Mercy over.
Mercy apologized she hadn’t been able to talk to me the whole night.
“Mercy, he doesn’t know his boda boda driver.”
“You need to know him. What’s his name?” Mercy asked me. Remember she owns the whole little block her shop is on AND the boda stage where all the boda drivers work.
I looked at my phone. I’d saved the boda driver as “Ristoff.”
“Do you know Ristoff?” I asked Mercy.
She shook her head. “Do you mean Christoff?”
I nodded. “Probably.”
“Okay. He can come.” Mercy said sternly. “But me and (she pointed to another man standing a few feet away) and him must see this man’s face and he must know we have seen it. Then he will not do anything. If he thinks no one knows who he is he might try and do something. Boda boda driver’s can’t be trusted.”
My translator turned to me. “Can you identify this man?”
I realized I couldn’t. I shook my head.
“Yes, that’s why it’s important that we see him. If anything happens to you the town will ensure he pays the price. He will not do anything if Mercy see’s him in the light.”
I was kind of sitting there dumfounded and shocked at the conversation they were having. They were taking it very seriously. I guess it made me wonder about the boda boda drivers at our stage. I’m friendly with a few of them and know many of them by name…but according to Mercy many of them are snakes and it’s worth them to rob a mzungu once and then move to a different stage. Crazy.
Ristoff showed up.
“Come up here!” The translator yelled at him. Mercy and the other man walked over. “What is your name?” Mercy said to the man.
“Christoff.”
“We see you Christoff.” Mercy scowled.
The other man stared at Ristoff. I think Ristoff was confused / scared. He walked back to his bike.
“You are okay Joe.” Mercy said. “See you tomorrow.”
I got on the bike and we shot through the side roads of Buziga back home.
The whole incident made me think I’ve grown to comfortable in my sorroundings. Mercy, the translator and the other man took my getting home pretty seriously. Hmm.
It was nice to see how concerned they were. Mercy is a good friend with a big heart.
FYI – according to the whole “mob vengeance” / vigilante thing someone who robs or steals from someone else gets – no surprises here – beaten to death. That’s a pretty good deterrent for good ol’ Christoff, eh?
No comments:
Post a Comment