My Ideal Wedding

You don't even wanna know how this photo happened.... but somewhere, in Uganda, a bride and groom have a farmer-tanned muzungu in a bikini in their photos

Send flea collars!!

My neighbor, Mackenzie, and I were hiking and found a litter of abandoned pups, and after much deliberation, ok, one puppy licking my toes, we've adopted them. We're still trying to figure out what to feed them- they seem to like spanish rice and guacamole best...

A Year of Hope

One year down, one to go- less than 365 days of Africa. Looking back, I realized this past year has been the most challenging, humbling, adventurous, debilitating, most ginormous rollercoaster of my life. They tell you in Peace Corps you experience the highest highs and the lowest lows- what they don't tell you is that it occurs in the same day.

Reminiscing on these triumphs and trials, I realized - in a very cliché Footprints kind of way, that I was carried through those times by your words. So I pulled out my shoebox where I keep you all, and reviewed some of the words of encouragement, wit, hope, sarcasm, knowledge, lessons, and love. I hope to share with you a glimpse into this past year, because, as my friend Krissy wrote "While you’re there, write. Share. Because you, Diana, are an insightful, loving, witty woman." So here goes.

"Have you started working yet or are you still doing "cultural exchange" full time? writes Katie Clark of San Diego, CA. I actually do find my weeks filling up. Between making home visits to Compassion-sponsored children, preparing for Saturdays when the 265 children come to the center for 8 hours of unorganized day camp, to teaching at the nursing college and working in the HIV clinic. Not to mention meetings that start 2 hours late and run 4 hours longer.

The biggest challenge with work is realizing you can't fix everything. Some things you have to let go, and that's hard. It makes many PCV's, including myself, rather cynical about projects we tackle and surprised at success. I just try and take work in stride and heed my Aunt Maryann's advice "Perhaps you will not get rid of HIV, poverty, hunger, but for a few moments, you can help a child forget those and spend time having fun". Some days are more filled with work than others, but although work is important, Katie- cultural exchange is by no means a back burner.

My aunt Maureen wrote that "it sounds like you are doing well and adjusting to the culture." Culture is so many things, Maureen. To adjust to a culture is, at times, to leave what you knew about the way the world works, and jump in to this new world, hoping you land on your feet, but likely sprawled out, skirt up, making a fool of yourself. My greatest attribute in cultural adaptation is my ability to laugh at myself (thanks to the incessant teasing from the Kingston household- heart you guys!)

"When was the last time you had a hotdog?" asks Katie Clark. Well, I actually had a bite of a chili dog in the Nairobi airport but can assure you is not something I’ll ever find here, although I've been tempted to put ketchup onto a matooke (banana) finger (what they call 1 banana) and wrap it in a bun. The food took some getting used to, but now I actually crave the millet bread, g-nut sauce, greens, cabbage, and matooke. And its true- I have exhausted every banana recipe known to man.

"In your world, do they have holidays like Labor Day, Halloween, or Thanksgiving or like Russia has a holiday to have sex so babies can be born on June 12?"- Grandma Barb. Actually Grandma, there's no holidays like that, and trying to explain Halloween is sort of horrific, but trying to explain Easter is even harder- why do we have bunnies and eggs?? Customs and rituals and holidays are still exciting, I've just learned to take a Newsweek along to read through the long speeches that are worse than my dad with the megaphone on Memorial Day.

“So I called my dad who determined the enclosed tank top is acceptable by PC Uganda standards”- Jaime Burke. Jaime, I do wish your dad could see me now- No running short or showing of your upper thigh here, however there are boobs galore! I’ve seen more topless woman than at Girls Gone Wild Mardi Gras (yes, I was actually there, and no, there is no known footage of that…) In some villages and towns, short skirts are illegal and a woman is considering harassing the man if she is in a short skirt- ie, one inch above the knee. Other than repressing the desire to recite Eve Ensler’s “My Short Skirt” monologue, I’ve changed my wardrobe accordingly and have gotten used to the long skirts and pants to run in. Now if only I could start wearing a shirt….

My social life here is one to envy, or at least my neighbor, 5 year old Ruth, does-mostly because I can pick up her best friend Jotham and swing him around. But really, my friend Rebecca states “I hope you meet many wonderful people, volunteers and natives alike in your time there” And Rebecca, I truly have met some incredible people here- they are who keep me committed, working, growing and make my heart feel at home. My coworkers and neighbors have become dear friends, fellow volunteers-family.

I’m blessed to have found support in so many areas, most especially from my boyfriend, Wes- another PCV in the life saving biz. He won me over texting 80’s love ballads and hair band lyrics and has continued to be a source of side splitting humor, endless pop culture knowledge, travel companion extraordinaire, trained physical therapist, and a shoulder to snuggle on- and for him, I am ever grateful. He keeps my ego in line and calls me out, especially when I think I know it all (well, I still do, I just check myself momentarily). There are some amazing volunteers here who are some of the brightest, self sacrificing, clever and spirited people I’ve met, I feel luck to be kept in their company.

“Do you play cards in your free time or do your try to ride cows?” asks Joanna Charron. Well, Jo, when I’m not saving lives 24/7, I do play scrabble with my neighbor, read shelves of books, run, or chill with my penguin friends- the amazing, saintly, booze making Sisters of Good Council- the nuns that run the local hospital. Although riding cows would be a nice alternative if they didn’t come with 5 foot horns!

“I hope everyone in PC is taking good care of you.” Sister Bernadette. Well Sister, I’d like you to know I’m receiving extremely good care. I probably required a bit more care than the average PCV with my little spill in July and my one month stint in Kampala. But to have my friends, PCVs and Ugandans alike, rally around me and support me was truly humbling and a definite kick in my independent ass- sorry, Sister.

And although injury is a huge challenge, even more so are the daily issues to face. Water fetching and inconsistent electricity one can get used to- but facing extreme poverty, battling apathy, trying to improve education and health care, infectious diseases and widespread HIV- these are the real heart of the challenges. We may bitch about time management- but whose time are you wasting if, as a teacher, you’re not receiving a salary. Transport-but who as a citizen can you complain to about horrible roads if your government is corrupt. Exhausting in-your-face Christianity- but where else to find hope of a better life than the afterlife.

As volunteers, the small things bog us down, but its these higher corruption of values that are most disturbing. On November 4th, I gathered with 30 other volunteers to listen and cling to Obama’s words of hope. As we sat gathered around a 20 inch screen, tearful with joy and anticipation of new beginnings, the words that struck me were “…the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope” Its these ideals that my family, my education, my faith, my culture, instilled in me and what I, and every volunteer, struggles to bring here.We leave our contury, we adapt to the culture, we create a new social life, we work side by side in hopes that there can and will be a change for a better life here.

Through these struggles, changes and experiences, its still your words that ring true; “You are a total badass for being the whitest girl do-gooder in your jacked up Ugandan corner of the world and you know it” yes Katie, I know that. And Mom I know you’re “sending my guardian angel to you every night.” And Ann, your words stuck with me “These memories you’re making are going to stick with you and continue teaching you lessons the rest of your life”. Its these very lessons and the search for answers, a hope for change, that keep me here and looking forward to another year of service, as the whitest badass in my corner of Uganda, of course.

Democracy, ssebo

"Obama! You come sit on my boda and we go!" I look around over my shoulder. I'm the only one around- on the street corner and Obama's not a name I've come across here in Uganda. I look at the boda man and he grins, gives me a thumbs up "Obama?"

Living in Uganda and seeing which news is filtered in from the international community is a thrilling process- for instance under "InternationaleNews" in the daily paper once, there was an article about a Wisconsin woman who was attacked by dogs in the night that entered through her dog door. But the headlines and support for a black man for the upcoming elections is overwhelming- enough to be called Obama on a street corner.

In a culture where every visitor is family and everyone is related to one another, it's no surprise that Ugandans claim Obama as one of their own. Taxis are seen with slogans such as "Our Man Obama" without any formal endorsement from the democratic candidate. Or a man on the bus asking if I'm voting for "that brother of mine, Obama". As an American, it really drives home the feeling that this election, the events of today, are impacting so much more than our lives in America, but a global community right down to a Ugandan street corner. I vote today not for just me, my family, my nation, but also for the Ugandans that have become my family and friends.

And it the same breath, I feel honored to cast my vote from overseas, that my voice is heard. This rings true in the reaction my Ugandan friends present when I've told them I voted from here. It was an eye-opening process for many Ugandans, watching volunteers fill out absentee ballots.

My friend Julie tells the story of filling her ballot out with her village. She was excited to show them the "democratic process" and explaining the ballot. The day arrived when her ballot reached, she gathered the community and opened the envelope, shaking out the ballot. People were quiet and seemed confused, finally one man spoke up " Where is the money?" Julie laughed, but quickly realized they weren't joking. "What do you get for voting" asked another.

Democracy, ssebo. This is democracy and regardless of how the elections pan out, my voice was heard, but not jsut mine, the people I represent, and leaves me here in Uganda, in the words of Lee Greenwood, proud to be an American.