Conversation that make up my life (Part One)

1. Workmate: “Jose, why do you walk like this” and begins to march like a solider.

Me: “What do you mean?”

Workmate: “You walk like this” and begins to walk fast while lifting his feet high.

Me: “Oh, you mean because I pick my feet up when I walk?”

Workmate: “Yes.”

Me: **speechless** “Uh…I like to get where I’m going fast.”

Workmate: “Eh, you need to walk like us” and begins to slouch, while dragging his feet slowly in the dirt. “That is why you cannot walk far like us.”

Me: “Oh.”

2. Workmate 1: “Jose, I was at the club and I saw a group of munu and thought I would see you but you were not there.”

Workmate 2: “How could you tell if it was Jose in a group of munu? They all look the same.”

Me: **lol**

Workmate 1: “Eh, Jose is different, she is fat. All the others are tiny.”

Me: ……

3. Workmate: “Jose, can it fit you?” referring to a shirt.

Me: “Yes?”

Workmate: “Eh, you are big, hehehe.”

Me: ……

4. Random, drunk stranger: “I need to take you home with me. I need you to be my fifth wife, because I have none like you.

Me: “Uh, no. I can’t.”

Random, drunk stranger: “Why not?”

Me: “…I have to work.”

Random, drunk stranger: “You come after.”

Me: “..No…”

Random, drunk stranger: **Blank stare**

Me: “Sorry”

Random, drunk stranger: **clearly not comprehending the denial**

5. **Me entering the room after walking 45 min in the afternoon heat**

Workmate: “Eh, Jose. The sun really disturbs you.”

Me: “Yes, I am not white anymore, now I am red.”

**laughter from the boys**

Workmate 2: “Eh, no. You are violet. You are dark blue, like me.”

Workmate 3: “Jose, did you say you were red? AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAA”

Me: “Haha…”

6. Workmate: “Eh, Jose. I like your computer. It’s a mac? I have to get one.”

Me: “Well, if you can buy it I can bring it back for you when I go home.”

Workmate: “Eh, no. I’ll just buy yours from you and you will buy a new one.”

Me: “Uh-I’m not buying a new one.”

Workmate: “Why not?”

Me: “Because I have that one and I can’t afford a new one.”

Workmate: “Eh Jose, be serious. You can afford.”

Me: “No, I don’t. I live here and I work for free, I don’t have money.”

Workmate: “No, Jose. You are funny.”

Me: “Ok.”

7. **Discussing the good and bad of American and Uganda**

Player: “Well America has all the devil worshipers!!”

Me: “…What?”

Player: “Yes, tis true. You have the most devil worshipers in the world.”

Me: “I don’t think so, I have never met a devil worshiper? America is very Christian like Uganda. Where did you hear that?”

Player: “No its true! I researched it!!”

Me: “Where did you research it?”

Player: “Google.”

Me: “Oooh. Well ok then.”

8. Workmate: “Your friend, the black, is she African or is she negro?” **referring to another PCV**

Me: **Shocked and confused** “Um… what does negro mean?”

Workmate: “Negro means, a black from America.”

Me: “Oh, yes. She is from America. But we call her African American, negro is not a good word in America.”

Workmate: “Oh, sorry.”

Stuff dumb Munus do…

So one day as I was leaving work, there were two girls standing next to a wheel barrel waiting for me to approach. I am used to this, as it happens all the time when I step out of my house. Kids, and sometimes adults, will see me coming and stop so they can wait for me or cross the street to walk past me and say, “Munu, how are you?” in the nasally voice they do to mimic munus. So, I greeted them and thought that was the end of it. But the older girl, prob about 11, said something in Acoli. All I heard was “help with water”, and as I am told quite often, “You give me water,” I assumed that was what they said. So I said back, “I don’t have.” And they looked at me in confusion. I told them I didn’t understand and began speaking in English in hopes that I could be of better assistance. And man do I regret that decision. I should have just stayed ignorant and played dumb so that I could walk away and avoid the embarrassing task that lay ahead of me.

Turns out the girl did ask if I could help them with water, only she wasn’t asking me for the water. She was asking me to help carry the wheel barrel containing 5 jerry cans of the water. I immediately thought to myself, “HELL NO! I can’t do that!” But I looked at the girls who couldn’t have been more than 11 and 9, and I said, “Well, I have to go up to hill. Where are you going?” thinking that I could somehow escape the task that way. The response, “We live on the hill, too.” BOO freaking BAM. These girls knew I lived there because they see me walk it every day. And because they see me every day, there was no way I could say no and get away with it, let alone saying no and have the 11 and 9 year old girls push that weight up that steep hill. I said yes while thinking to myself, How the eff am I gunna make it up that hill?

So, we began my walk of shame. The 11 year old girl held a string that was somehow supposed to guide the wheel barrel but did nothing of the sort, and I was trying to balance the moving weight every step. The 9 year old girl could not stop laughing, not at me, I don’t think, but just at the fact that a munu was actually fetching water. And so too were the townspeople amazed at the bright red, sweaty munu struggling to push the wheel barrel on the dirt road. Mind you, in addition to the heavy load, it is the dry season here. And that means, its bloody hell hot. So you can imagine I was EXTRA red. I had to stop a few times as my hands were going numb and my palms were cramping. And all along the way, I had Acoli people, adults and kids, stop in their tracks to watch the munu do physical labor. Literally stop walking, stop talking, turn and follow me with their eyes. It was embarrassing. I just kept thinking to myself, They are gunna see me fail to get the water up that hill, and that is going to be my identifier. And that darn string wasn’t doing any help to me and I literally almost tipped the wheel barrel four times. And of course the jerry cans had no lids. So every time it slipped, splish splash joey was taking a bath. My skirt was covered in water by the time I got home. But I digress.

So, the time came when we approached the hill. Duh, duh, DUHHHH. And so we started up the steep hill that takes my breath away every time I walk it, and I walk it at least four times a day. And of course, I’m wearing my toms with absolutely no traction whatsoever for the dirt/gravel/slippery hill. The laughter and amusement from the girls stopped at this point, because now it was serious. Twice I thought I let the wheel barrel go and I envisioned the girls hard labor just pouring down the hill, never to be recovered again. I can’t even count then number of times I had to stop, cause it was A LOT. And up that hill, there were four GROWN MEN who passed us and did nothing. They just stared and kept walking along their merry way. Those girls were 11 and 9 years old…how could you just keep walking? I was infuriated, and I think that may have given me some push for the remaining 25% of the hill. And finally, we reached the top. And it felt glorious. I almost said, ok you can push to your house over there by yourself, but decided that wasn’t very nice. So I pushed it the 30 or so feet to their compound. And again, I almost tipped it. Seriously this time, though. The patch of dirt in front of their compound was extra soft and sandy and manipulated the wheel barrel ever so swiftly. But me and the girls were able to catch it, and I decided I had done enough damage to their water supply and stopped there.

Once we reached the hill and they pointed to their house, I realized it was the mother of my workmate, Winnie. So I knew work was going to hear and that made me both happy and embarrassed at the same time. For one, they would know I’m strong and that I can do work, because they do not believe munus are capable of anything physical. But on the other hand, they would know how much I struggled and how I almost lost the water multiple times. But I didn’t care anymore, my palms were spasming, my biceps were aching and I couldn’t make a fist with my hands. My skirt was drenched and my legs were muddy. And I was red. And sweaty. I greeted the family and took off down the hill and finally made it to my house, were I pounded back water and just collapsed in exhaustion. Going pee was too hard. I had to give myself about an hour before I even thought about dinner, and by that time the spasms had stopped and I was able to grip a knife. And my biceps were sore for the next three days.

All of this only confirms my belief that the women here are a different breed. Those girls were SO small, I have no idea how the would have or how they ever do manage to get that water up the hill. But they just somehow do. I see women walking all the time up it with jerry cans on their head, making it look so easy. And that is an every day thing for them. And the men just walk past…irritating. So, whats the moral of the story? Girls rule and boys drool. And also, I hope those girls never find me on my way home again, lol. I don’t know if I can manage.

PEACE.

And I thought I wasn’t gunna coach for two and a half years..

I remember when I was saying my goodbyes and discussing all the necessities I would bring, people kept asking me, “So are you gunna bring your mitt?” Psh, I would think to myself. And after laughing inside my head, I would tell them, “They have NO idea what baseball is. Trust me.” Err-WRONG. Apparently baseball in Uganda, while still small of course, has been brewing for a couple decades and is very up and coming. After hearing about its existence I fortunately was given further information by my fellow volunteer about the baseball/softball camp, and have been waiting anxiously since arriving at site. And one day in, I fell in love and found my secondary project (aka, my new job for the next two years in Uganda).

So there is an older munu who has been involved with Ugandan Little League Baseball since 2002 and he’s done quite a lot for the program. He has a spot up in the hills near Kampala and it is lush, beautiful green everywhere. They cut down the side of the hill and flattened it out to make baseball fields and made is so when you are playing you are somewhat on a cliff looking into the valley and rolling hills. It’s quite lovely. But anyway, he added on dormitories for the players and coaches, guesthouses and plans to build a school with a futbol (soccer) field and other arenas for different sports. It was a pretty neat set up. And the best part about the location was that every night and every morning, it was packed with fog. I got to go to sleep and wake up feeling like I was back in the bay. The downside to this meant that there were more mosquitoes. WAY more. And they found their way inside my net the first night, and Erin and I were literally battling them the ENTIRE night. Aside from swatting them away every five minutes, I literally woke up at 2am and stayed up until 330am waiting for them to land so I could kill them. I felt like a psychopath, but it was the only way I could somehow sleep. Erin’s was so bad she looked like she had bed bug bites all over her arms. But, anyway.

I, along with my fellow PCV, Erin, have been assigned to teaching female coaches and players how to pitch. Now, I know what you may be thinking: I’ma catcher—what the eff am I doing teaching people how to pitch. And trust me, I did inform the head hancho of this and made no indication that I could teach pitchers. But, as softball is very new here in Uganda, they have no female with any experience on windmill pitching. So all my years in the bullpen sitting through hours and hours and HOURS of pitching instructions (as well as my one year of pitching lessons when I was 11) would have to somehow come in handy. And after day one, I was feeling pretty good.

The girls were great right from the start, all very anxious to learn more about the game and more importantly how to windmill pitch. I don’t think I could have asked for a better group of coachable girls. Don’t get me wrong, their lack of knowledge on American punctuality, let alone American sport punctuality, was extremely frustrating. There were a few mornings the girls were 30 minutes late and when I asked what they were doing, I was told, “They are washing.” WASHING? Wth? I felt like saying, “Are you not here to learn how to play softball? Or are you here to learn to wash your floor?” It urked my nerve but I had to take a step back and realize where I was and that in addition to teaching the game, I have to somehow learn to instill concepts like punctuality and time management. Even more frustrating, is the misunderstanding of the word, “hustle”. Now, these girls are in no was lazy. Seeing them balance 20 liter jerrycans on there head while walking up a hill is evidence enough. But, I think there is a disconnect when I yell at them to hustle. Because when I did, they all continued to walk to the same spot and were not doing it intentionally or disrespectfully and believed they were follow my instruction. As camp went along, we discussed hustle and defined the meaning and it got somehow better. The older girls were at least trying to keep the others in line by yelling “HUSTLE!” even though they themselves were trotting along and irritating the sanity out of me. Time is money, people!! And trying to get the girls to be interactive, OMG. I thought American teenage girls were a pain but this was just not fair. They are so conditioned with rouge memorization and “shut up and do” as opposed to “think and ask questions”. So anytime I said anything, all I got was blank stares and crickets. I had to individually ask them what I had said, what they thought after trying it and then wish for some questions after the minimal interaction. But towards the end, it got much better and the girls were asking me questions on their own and showing their excitement.

We coached 11-16 players as well as 19-24 year old coaches on windmill pitching. And it was so interesting to see the difficulties in trying to train fully matured adults compared to young girls who pick up new things with ease and coordination. But the excitement and effort from the girls was just awesome to be around. Minus when we put them in a game situation, then things got a little … weird. We picked three of the best pitchers to pitch in a friendly game against each other to give them some experience on the mound with a real batter. Not my idea and I had a feeling it was going to be a disaster since the girls had been throwing underhand for 5 days. But anyway. The first batter was an immediate success: STRIKE OUT. Boo-ya, I was feeling good feeling great feeling great feeling good, how are you? Then, things started to quickly unravel as a couple of girls, envious girls, who thought they should be pitching instead started getting in the head of my assigned pitcher in a language that I could not understand. Slowly by slowly, my pitcher started walking people, throwing past balls where runners scored and her teammates bashed her instead of encouraging her. The other coaches and myself kept calling time outs to talk the pitcher thru it and shut the others girls up, but they  just kept on going. The older girls kept stepping up for the pitcher and told the girls to support her and stop “abusing” her (which made me extremely proud and even more fond of them). Finally, our pitcher pulled it together and struck two more batters out and ended the inning. In the change-over, a male coach came down to see how a few of his girls were doing. When he learned that his star pitcher (a know-it-all diva who had been there for one day and not participated in any drills) wasn’t pitching, he got upset with us. And instead of talking to us aside, he decided he should scold us and tell us what to do in front of the girls. Mind you, he had been participating in all the baseball activities and had never once been in OUR practice, and I emphasize OUR because it was specifically our camp and we are the only ones who know how to windmill pitch. Now, the feminist inside of me took defense and assumed this man thought he could come over and tell the dumb girls what to do. And that urked me greatly. Whether that was the case or not, the behavior was inappropriate and offensive, and we stood our ground. We ended up calling the game after the half inning because he wouldn’t stop fighting us. We later had a meeting with the head hancho who mediated and explained that our camp was our camp and we were in charge. I inserted a few words about making sure we keep the camp and equal opportunity environment as we were there to not only train girls but also help empower them and show that they could do, and that his behavior contradicted that completely. And the head handcho had my back. So, we all made peace and nothing came of that again. But it was extremely frustrating. I’m on my way to work with his girls next week, so well see how it goes.

Anyway, I met two girls who I absolutely fell in love with. Very smart, intelligent, kind, ATHELTIC and SO eager to learn. They both were there for pitching, but one is also a catcher (Boo-Ya) and one a lefty first-baseman. I worked with both of them on the side and had a blast. Jennet, the catcher, is just a beast behind the plate and picked things up with ease. And Judith had the time of her life when I was showing her how to slap and drag bunt. They pick things up so quickly and were so open. And, they don’t complain when a ball hits them. They really impressed me and I feel like if I could work with them on a consistent basis they could be great in no time. They just have so much potential, as did all the girls. I wish I could take them all home to America with me and start a team!! Lol.

So that is the start of my secondary project. I am headed to Entebbe next week to work with Willysha, another PCV, in training a couple teams. I am very excited and hope we are able to continue our work. Am sure I will be writing more about this very soon.

Hope you all are enjoying the new year and that you have a lovely Valentines day. Happy birthday to my baby, Coupe Douggie. I can’t believe you are already one… I miss and love you all so so much.