Got milk?

I live in a milk-drinking culture. Ugandans take so much milk in their coffee that I call their beige beverage "coffee-flavored milk." They, in turn, are often appalled by the tar-like substance many Americans consume.

Powered milk is the most common, affordable and, given power outages and lack of reliable refrigeration, durable form of milk. Powered milk, however, only comes in "full cream", which means that after a couple of months of that stuff, I'd surely be wedged in my own doorway. Some markets stock "long-life" milk, which comes in liquid form, requires no refrigeration, has a yellowish hue and a miraculous (unholy?) 1-year shelf life. Long-life milk comes in whole and lowfat varieties. Fresh milk is sold in sealed plastic pouches. Fresh milk is usually full cream, although a few stores with mzungu clientele occasionally stock lowfat or semi-skim fresh milk. Fresh milk costs more and spoils quickly. There is also uber-fresh milk, straight from the source, which I dare not partake.

Since my arrival, I've been making do with powdered and indestructible long-life milk. Then this week, I finally took the plunge and bought some fresh lowfat milk. Tasting fresh milk for the first time in over 8 months... it felt like a reunion with a long-lost friend.

Sip. "Ooooh... This is good."

Gulp. "I remember this. It's just like 1%."

Big gulp. "Wow. This is amazing."

Chug-chug-chug-chug. "I LOVE YOU!" Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug.

(Cue 50s love song as I skip in slow-motion through a sunny field of daisies, holding hands with a giant sack of lowfat milk.)

Irresistible revolution

I'm about to start a book that comes with high praise and warning. "It'll jack you up," I've been told. This opening quote of Ammon Hennacy (Catholic activist, 1893-1970) seems in line with that caution:

Love without courage and wisdom is sentimentality, as with the ordinary church member. Courage without love and wisdom is foolhardiness, as with the ordinary soldier. Wisdom without love and courage is cowardice, as with the ordinary intellectual. But the one who has love, courage and wisdom moves the world.

Fruits of desperation

Last night, I had dinner with a new friend from LA. He leaves town in 2 days, but introduced me to another who will be around for another 2 months and left me a bag of bite-size Snickers that will be around for another 2 hours.

It so happens that we had attended the same church in LA for some time, but our paths never crossed until now, in Kampala of all places. Somehow, there wasn't sufficient overlap in going to the same church in the same city in the same state in America. There were always too many people, too many options in who to meet and greet.

But here, far from home, beggars can't be choosers. The ex-pat community is surprisingly fluid and welcoming. Granted, there are those who will exclude wherever they go, but for the most part, people treasure others who can understand and commiserate. Relationships between like-minded people deepen quickly; other relationships hover on the surface but are nonetheless maintained. Firebrand issues such as religion and politics are discussed with civility and tolerance. The foolishness of burning bridges over differences of opinion or personality is generally recognized and avoided.

And beggars find gems that choosers overlook. I've come to enjoy after 7 interactions people who I would've dismissed after 3 at home. The initial "click" (or clique) has become less important, if at all. The things that matter - I want to help, I care about Africa, I'm homesick, I stick out like a sore thumb, I don't know how to respond to beggars, I miss [insert comfort food], I feel totally overwhelmed - are real and readily confessed.

Desperation may not be the best foundation for healthy relationships, but some of the qualities that desperation begets - patience, tolerance, compassion, empathy, transparency, bite-size Snickers - surely are.

Hyperbole

I just read an editorial that likens certain immigration policies to ethnic cleansing. I agree with the import of the piece. But having just spent some mind-blowing days in Rwanda, learning about and seeing the remnants of the genocide that took place there, I find the analogy unforgivable; I find it obscene.

I enjoy playing with words and being sarcastic. I understate serious matters and exaggerate unimportant ones. I whine “I’m staaaaaarving” because I’ve missed (or merely delayed) a meal. I complain “That’s unjust” because some referee makes a bad call. But I’m learning that my senses of humor and irony and scale are based on a life of privilege. I joke too often about subjects that are no joking matter.

8 down, 4 to go

Before I arrived, one year seemed and sounded like quite a long time. Now... I can hardly believe eight months have passed and I'm sure I'll feel the same disbelief about the next four.

I adjusted relatively quickly to living here and, thanks to the plethora of care packages from home, I've not been in want of any essentials. ("Essentials" being broadly defined to include things like Noxzema and Korean ramen.)

But having initiated the countdown, lists are forming. The other day, while waiting in court, I scribbled the following:

Office Supplies
· Weekly/monthly planner (only daily diaries are sold here)
· Scotch tape
· Stapler/staples (gimme a Swingline!)
· Small post-its
· 3-ring binders
· Legal pads
· Copier with a feeder

I don't actually miss office supplies; I miss not having to think about office supplies. The Ugandan next to me in the court gallery watched intently as I made my list and questioned my sanity with the expression on his face. This scrutiny inspired another list:

Happy to leave behind
· Being watched like a freak
· Being treated like an ATM
· Mzungu price
· Body odor
· Insects & insect repellent
· Pox-marked roads
· Paying extra for chicken
· CHOGM construction
· Dirty mucus

Due to the strange loyalty that I've developed for this place, I felt guilty about the list above and made the list below:

Will miss
· Friends and colleagues
· Prossy (Ugandan lady whose lunch spot I frequent Monday-Friday)
· Road-side meatsicles
· Ugandan coffee
· Villages and the countryside
· Red earth
· Cash-only lifestyle
· Time to read
· Ugandan English ("You are lost!" = "Long time no see!")
· Shopping and bargaining with local vendors
· Celebrating the little things (internet access! electricity! hot water! any water!)

I plan to stay in touch with my friends and colleagues here. I plan to send them office supplies. I hope the next four months will not be the last four months.