Tunaalabagana

I touched down in Uganda in February 2007 with too much luggage, airplane hair and many anxieties about the weeks and months ahead.

 

350 days, 20 books, 4 countries, 3 bottles of sunblock, 2 riots and 1 ebola outbreak later, this once foreign land "in the heart of darkness" now triggers memories of countless acts of kindness and cultural faux pas, of good weather and good friends, of red earth and green tea fields, of matooke and posho, of wonder and frustration and laughter.  It has moved out of the shadows of my imagination into my habits, into my humor, into my prayers, into my verbal and facial expressions, into my ipod and photo albums, into my stomach, into my heart.  I think I finally understand, in some small measure, what people mean when they speak of falling in love with Africa, of falling under its spell. 

 

When I board a plane in a few days, I will be both going and leaving home.  Saying goodbye to people I've grown to love in order to return to others who I've deeply missed is a bittersweet affair, but it's part of a larger experience that I would neither trade nor forgo.

I don't usually do this

I have a litany of excuses.  I'm in Uganda.  I didn't understand the rules about overseas absentee ballots.  I expected the California primary to take place in March.  The bottom line is this: for the first time since I became eligible to vote, I really, really want to vote; but I can't.

So, if you're able and willing, please do me this one small favor on 5th February: vote for Barack Obama.

Is this thing on?

Last night, I sang karaoke in public for the first time. It was also the first time for a couple of my friends who were with me and the predominantly Ugandan audience was very kind to us mzungu performers. Even though I've belted out "Hotel California" in the car and in the shower more times than I can count, singing it into a mic in front of a group of strangers was an unexpectedly challenging and hilarious experience. The karaoke tape did not edit out any of the guitar solos, so I spent a good 5 minutes on stage, drumming my fingers and, finally, playing air guitar to amuse my patient audience.

Would I have expected my first karaoke experience to take place in Uganda? Nedda (no). But this place, this year, has been full of such surprises.

If you want peace, work for justice

Earlier this week, my colleagues and I went to court for a hearing. The courtroom was overflowing with spectators because, according to a friendly news reporter, a high-publicity case was set to be heard. When that case was called, the defendants' lawyer announced that he was not ready to proceed because he had been "disorganized" by the holidays. The case was rescheduled. As the defendants were making their way out of the courtroom, they were attacked by some people in the gallery (many who are plaintiffs or sympathizers). There were no bailiffs, no security personnel. People clamored and climbed to take a swing or get a better look. Eventually, the defendants managed to exit the courtroom and the commotion continued outside.

As it turned out, the scuffle was the most excitement to take place in court that day. More cases were called, including ours; all were adjourned to a later date because somebody wasn't ready. There were neither consequences nor resistance to delay. Too many people involved in the process - the magistrate, the clerks, the lawyers, the parties - seemed resigned that justice will be delayed and, often as a result, denied.

When the post-election events first unraveled in Kenya, I wanted desperately for peace to be restored. Now, I want justice. I still want restoration of peace; I don't agree with violence against innocent people as a means to vent discontent with the government. Yet I'm glad that people are not passive, are not resigned to be ruled by a questionable leader produced by a questionable election. Some occasions call for indignation, without which inaction and despair - and the injustices they perpetuate - would go unchecked.