Sunday-The chickens on the bus go cluck cluck cluck....and the colored girls go Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh, Hallelujah!!

So the hike did not exactly pan out. Yigal had a great plan but had not confirmed it with the necessary adults to make it so...at the end, I could have gone hiking but it would have cost a huge quantity of money I simply did not have.

So, instead, I decided on a walk to town from the village. It had taken me about 20 minutes on boda boda (which I did not enjoy on the incredibly rutted roads) so I figured a good 1 hour walk would be great. Off I went up the road (and I really mean up!!) It was a lovely adventure. I saw people living their lives. Children all ran out and said, “Muzungu, Muzungu!! I am fine how are you?!!!'” And I would say hello, I am fins how are you?” And the next child would repeat and so would I. Where there were no children, I said, Olie otiye! Which generated many smiles and giggles. Some people replied the same. Some gave the answer jendji. (I am fine) Oli Otiye? (How are you?) to which I would reply jendji. Some would try more conversation and I would smile, shrug and say, I don't understand! Mirembe! (peace) Often more giggles.

I passed some young girls pumping from a well. Muzungu! Pump water!! Ok, I said, so I did. I came and pumped and played oli otiye/how are you with them for a while. Then a mom came over and chastised the girls for shirking. I took pictures and said goodbye, walking on.

I passed an old woman who stopped to chat with me. We did not get far, but we did exchange the perfunctory greetings, and then some unspoken exchanges of handshakes and warm grins. It is amazing how much a smile can say, how much can be communicated beyond words through bodies, faces, gesture and presence.

One gang of men were sitting on the side of the rode, staring as I walked. I mustered the courage and smiled a big oli otiye! And suddenly, the dark faces were bright toothy smiles. It was a delightful walk until I hit town and was accosted by boda drivers-sister, sister, where are you going? Sister! How are you!!

I ignored them, and walked to the bus.

I had learned in the village that there was a bus (not a 14 passenger van, but a real bus!) available from Mbale. Off I went. I found the bus park. Several women were sitting in the available shade of a small MTN (airtime minutes) shack. So I stepped in to the shade of a nearby building with one shop. I sat on the ground (like the women by the shack) and had a snack. A man came over and said, let me get you a chair. Why are you sitting in the dirt? I am fine I said (looking at the other women also sitting in the dirt). Then another man came and said the same thing. Let me bring you a chair. No, I again refused. I did not like the muzungu priviledge. Vendors tried selling me bedsheets, purses, water, etc. No, no, no, I said. Then a third man and I said, offer those women a chair. They are sitting in the dirt, they are older than I am and have more things. Suddenly, their English was not so good.

After that, everyone left me alone.

I hope the women sitting by the shack understood why I was pointing at them...It was not fair to me, that my sitting in dust generated excitement, their sitting on the floor went unnoticed.

And then the bus came...

Think Electric Mayhem from Muppets...
55 seater, 2 seats, an aisle then three. Yellowed, torn, plastic on the seats. The stairwell into the bus, very steep.

Buying tickets...a man opens a book and is mobbed by people waiving 10,000 sh notes in his face. He takes money and gives tickets arbitrarily. More people than tickets, more bodies than seats. I pushed to the front and found myself standing in the middle of the fray, pushing people back off of me as they tried to reach the seller.

He took my funds. But still, no ticket in hand. Finally, he had a ticket, he was about to hand it to a man about my age-no, he said, give it to the Muzungu.

I wish my brain worked faster. I wish, I were not so afraid of missing that bus and being stranded there. I wish I had said no, and forced the ticket in to that man's hands. In the crowd, I did not see his face, I do not know, if he made it out of the hording-mob on to the bus.

I took the first seat I found which was right at the top of the stairs. I was too tired after the long walk to navigate the staring faces, the different seats, or even to look to see if there were more available spots to sit in. I was on the aisle of the three-together side of the bus (right side). I was seated next to a slender man, mid 40's, reading a book on statistics (the first person I have seen reading in Kampala). Turns out he was studying for his CPA keeping current exam. I took out my lunch and ate the rice and beans I had purchased in town.

Apparently, this is odd behavior...the ticket collector sat chatting, waiting for me to finish. The other woman in our three-seater did not want to step out to purchase something because I was eating. I did not mean for them to wait, I simply did not understand how eating is seen here. Something to be done without doing anything else-unhurried, unrushed. This makes no sense to me since most, if not all, my New York meals happen while I am doing 9-10 other things...

So much for me to learn as I try to acquire SOME kind of cultural competency here.

At one point, I thought I heard clucking.

So, I looked around and sure enough...one of the men who was selling tickets, manning the door, and managing the bus (there is no office so all bus business happens on the bus) was reaching under the seat in front of the door and untying the feet of two chickens (or hens...) The two animals were lshed together and he switched their binding so that each was only bound to itself. Maybe he wanted to make them more comfortable...

I took out my camera and shot. He asked why, I showed him. He asked me to take another of just him and bring it to him (this is a frequent request I receive) and I said I could photograph him, but I was unsure how to share it with him....

Yes, chickens.

The driver was playing the same 4 song 8 track over and over again. I understood enough Lugandan to get that it was gospel/church music. Then a song...Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh, Hallelujah. Over and over...Yahweh Hallelujah? I was so curious....Yahweh? God? No one to ask really...and then, it was on again...and again...eventually, it just got old...


After four hours, we arrived back in Kampala. As I exited the bus, an older man in a suit asked me where I was from. He had studied at Missouri State U!! He is now retired, but used to teach mathematics. I asked him how to get to my next destination-Ntinda for a dance and music performance. He not only offered directions, he walked me through the ins and outs of markets, crowds and dense people to the taxi station. I never could have gotten there without him!! He was my hero.

When in the taxi park, he helped me to find the platform for the stage going to Ntinda. He said to the men gathered, this sister is visting. She needs to get to Ndere center. Let's take good care of her here in Kamapala? Let's make sure she gets there ok. The men all agreed and we got chatting. Don't forget to get on the coach! My new friend reminded me. I thanked him repeatedly. I was so grateful. I would have been lost without the Professor. I approached the door of the van. Is there room for one more? As I came up, 2 men stepped off and walked away. Were they leaving because of me? Out of offense? To make room for me? I hopped on. Should I have? Maybe I should have looked after the, seen where they went to...in that moment I again did not feel curious, just grateful and hyper focused. Get on the van!! Where is my curiosity? My generosity in those moments? Why is it so hard to care for others when I am in the midst of needing care??

I took a seat, third row by the way opposite the door. A woman behind me said, where are you trying to go? I explained. I think she had seen me talking outside the van with my Professor friend. She reiterated the directions and off we went. When at Ntinda, she said, oh, get off here. The van pulled over, 2 people hopped out. I made my way to the door and the van began pulling away. Everyone yelled, stop stop!! The whole van seemed committed to being helpful, committed to getting me to where I needed to go. I laughed and laughed, so touched by such warmth, such hospitality.

I got off and walked in to Ntinda for some supplies. I went back to the veggie market I had found my first day and said hello to Tekla, the clerk there. I told you I would return!! We greeted one another warmly and talked veggies. I bought my carrots, took her picture and said goodbye.

I went off the Ndere Center and into another world.