The Ongoing quest for Cholocate Cake

I've learned to live without many things since coming to Uganda, such as running water, electricity, more than two outfits, food with flavor, and personal space. But one thing that I've been having serious trouble is the lack of chocolate. I wasn't even that big of a chocolate person before but now all I can think about it chocolate. Every night I have to invent new things to eat for dessert. I've eaten gummy vitamins, powdered lemonade, and last night I hit an all time low with stomach relief medicine that sort of tasted like tums.
So far every weekend my only agenda has been going somewhere that has decent chocolate cake. Last weekend, I took big steps in the right direction. I convinced five people to come with me and we took an hour long taxi ride into Jinja. Then we hopped on boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis) for another twenty minute ride to a nice resort. We waited patiently for 8,000 shilling pieces of cake (about $4 which is an absurd amount here). They finally came and they looked perfect. Everything I ever dreamed about and more. I grabbed my fork and pierced the cake, I slowly raised the cake to my mouth. After just two seconds, I looked up horrified. I glaced at my country director and saw my expression reflected in her features. It was spiked with rum. Not just a little bit of run that gets cooked out, no someone had definitely poured an entire bottle of rum on each slice. We sat there in silence and pondered the big moral issue. Finally I shrugged and said, "Well it did cost 8,000 shillings" and continued to eat it. So saturated was this cake that if you pressed the cake to the roof of your mouth with your tongue, liquid would come out.
After a while everything got funnier and all five of us were chummy as we made up songs about the waitress. My morality was bought for 8,000 shillings.
So yes, I have yet to devour a purly chocolate cake, but I have been buzzed...

African Writing Contest

A couple of days ago I saw a cat eating a dead rat. I don't know why but I can't get that image out of my head.
With the program I am with, we are urged to create our own projects based on the needs we see in the community. After spending just one or two days here I decided that the only thing that I could really help with is writing. So I decided to sponsor a writing contest. Unlike anything else I've ever done in my life before, this idea is actually becoming a reality, and in a big way. I've gone to school after school, announcing it and seeing kids' faces lit up when I mention the big surprise prize for the best piece of writing.
All this talk of writing makes me realize how much I need writing. I never know how I feel about any topic until I've sat down with my journal. I don't really know who I am without writing. It both empowers me and humbles me.
I must apologize, for someone who loves writing, this blog entry is not very well written. Thanks to everyone who reads my writing, I know that without it I would be lost.

My African Lover

My dear brother gave my email address to one of the people who got baptized while he was here in Uganda. He took drastic measures to meet me and has fallen head over heels. Here is one of his love notes.

Am sorry about this fact, susuen i started developing up strong emortion feeling of love towards you since i met you for the first time. i know this can be sounding so crazy to you, but i mean it dear, so pliz rescue me out of the bondange of pain am dweling in my dear. you are the precious woman who as risen hope of glory in my life there for i will never cease to smile whenever i look at beauty, i wish i could jump over the sky and bring down the shining stars of glory to you becoz of your beauty smile that comfort me on this plannet earth, but unfortunately i do not have wings to fly over the sky, i know that am look so cheap infront of you, but i know that i look so expensive infront of our heavenly because i have life, so please give me a blessing of coming into your heart, you mind and you thoughts, i will be i mis you susuen
love
wilberforce

yes, his name is Wilberforce

Fanta and tee shirts

I stood there underneath a tree, racking my mind, while 60 people sipping fantas blankly stared at me. The men sat on benches, while the women sat on mats on the ground. The women wore an odd mix of traditional dresses with American tee shirts over them. Those women represent what Africa has become, a continent unsatisfied with their own culture, desperately trying to become like America. In there attempts it has become a mixed culture. If only they realized how beautiful their culture is. I cleared my throat and became teaching them about washing their hands. They all smiled and nodded after my translator had finished. One man stood up and asked me how many times Americans wash their hands every day.
I have African fever. I love it here and never want to leave. It's a little overwhelming, seeing poverty up close- just on the other side of our fence. But I've found peace and happiness among the poorest of the poor. I've seen creativity as people work hard to make their lives more meaningful. I've seen joy as children dance to the beating of the drums.

American worship

I sat on a moldy brown couch, scrambling to start the conversation. I frantically looked at the only other white person in the room. After a few minutes of eye communication, I started taking to the room at large about a writing contest. My proposal was met with blank stares, as the two teachers and principal contemplated what I had just suggested. After a few moments, they warmed up to the idea and got excited. They looked to me for all the answers. Me. A 20 year old student who doesn't really know what she wants out of life. They had spent years, working in schools, and they thought I was an expert. The meeting continued in this manner. I would ask questions. They would respond, but ultimately looked to me as the authority. Pastor Francis said " I know you are concerned with doing things in accordance with our culture, but we want to learn from your culture. What makes American students smarter than us? What can we do to be smarter than you?"
I was floored. Just because we have white skin and money, an intelligent man thinks that we are smarter than them.
I felt smaller by the minute and left my first meeting feeling overwhelmed.
I know I am no god or expert, but I do know that I can offer all my knowledge about writing and creativity in the classroom. But only time will tell.

bended knees

I sat across from a beautiful African girl. She asked me, why do muzungus have hair? And I really couldn't answer her, Africans are so much smarter than us. She told me about school and what she was learning. She spoke with such good english, I knew that she was clever, much clever than me who after 6 years cannot speak more than a few sentences in German. She told me about the food she makes and I couldn't even desribe the food I make... mac and cheese, are you kidding me? She asked me how many children were women supposed to produce. She told of her desire to go to America and go to university, but she had no money. She touched my pale skin and I touched hers and that's when I knew that she was my African equivilent. I told her that people in America did everything they could to get dark skin like hers. She was floored, she said, Americans want to be black?? If I went to America they would want to be me? I didn't want to correct her because I wanted it to be true. I still don't know if I did the right thing, but hopefully I did not murder her dreams.
Last week I was humbled when my best friend asked me, on bended knee, to spend forever with him. Just one week later a small Ugandan girl, with that same action, begged me just to touch my hand. So much has happened in this one week, but already I feel like I did nothing to enjoy the luxury that I enjoy.

Oh sweet irony

Dear readers,

I know we seldom update this blog, but I would like to refer you to the post before this. The dear author, Miss Stack, has caught the disease and will soon be Mrs. Gillis.

Sincerely yours,

Miss Garfield