Arrested development

My friend Karen visited me in Uganda last week. After a fun-filled week of safari, sightseeing, and lots of food and conversations, the visit nearly ended in an arrest.

I went with Karen to the airport on Friday night. I made sure she checked in and hugged her good-bye. When I tried to exit the building, I learned that only ticketed passengers were allowed in that part of the building. Two security officers told me that people are arrested for this type of trespass, and referred me to their supervisor.

As I walked toward the supervisor, my American brain was churning. “Was there a sign that indicated this prohibition? I didn’t see any. Was it prominently displayed? How can they arrest me when they failed to provide fair notice?!”

Fortunately, my fledgling Ugandan instinct took over. I walked up behind the supervisor and, to get his attention, said, “Ssebo (sir)?” He turned around, and as soon as he saw my Chinese face, a broad smile of surprise (or amusement) spread across his face. (I usually get this reaction when I attempt to speak Luganda; occasionally, I get a busload of laughter.)

“Yes, nyabo (madam)?”

I explained my predicament (in Ugandan-accented English). I smiled and laughed and gestured and apologized dramatically. After a brief exchange, the supervising security officer walked with me and showed me where the prohibition had been posted. There was indeed a sign; it was in English but located in a high, unlit corner. But the security officer was smiling, which I took to be the more important sign.

“I will not arrest you this time,” he said.

“I can go? Eh! Webale nyo (thank you very much), ssebo!”

At that, he laughed out loud. “Kale (it’s alright), nyabo,” he said as he waved good-bye.

It has been challenging, moving from a culture where it matters most to be right, to one where it matters most to be… relational. It is certainly working some muscles that have atrophied during my stint as an occasionally argumentative, slightly sarcastic and sometimes misanthropic L.A. lawyer. But being relational has its advantages. I’ve been surprised by the troubles that have been averted and doors that have been opened by virtue of finding and establishing some connection with another person, by being polite, by asking nicely, by striking up a conversation before making a request (never a demand), and by being deferential and literally speaking the other person’s language. Nobody gets proven right, but nobody gets arrested either.

Darth Vader lives here

Every working day, everyone at the office gathers in the morning for a time of prayer. The facilitator shares a word from Scripture, people share personal or work-related praises and requests, then we pray. This time reminds me of who is boss, why I’m here, and gives me some insight into the personalities and lives of my co-workers.

The office is small and the only space big enough for everyone is the front reception area, which is right next to my cubicle. Right inside my cubicle is my desk; right on my desk is my laptop computer. The machine is bit of an antique (circa 2002) and among its quirks is a very audible fan that turns on every 3-4 minutes for about 30 seconds. I’m sure the fan serves some critical function of cooling the computer and preventing its spontaneous combustion and this heavy breathing had never been a problem in the privacy of my own home or office. But in a shared space during a quiet moment? It might as well be a jet engine.

So until I remember to put my computer to sleep before each prayer time, I will go through motions familiar to anyone who has ever forgotten to turn off a mobile phone at church or at court: looking around for the source of the noise with puzzlement and slight irritation, recognizing self as the responsible party, smiling sheepishly (and hopefully not cursing aloud) while scrambling to silence the noise generator, whispering apologies and, finally, resolving to remember until the next time I forget.