12 Things I'm Learning in Gulu

For those who have followed my blogs in the past you know that periodically I insist on lists. Today, I'd like to share the "12 Things I'm Learning in Gulu" list. Of course, this list isn't exhaustive...there will be more to come, I'm sure. 

12 Things I'm Learning in Gulu:

1. African Soap Operas are so bad that they're awesome. It's a little like watching a high school drama corps, only with really awkwardly placed music. Sometimes they live in huts. Sometimes they live in nice houses. Either way, the woman is always bent over the bucket washing laundry and the chubby guy always gets the hot girl. 

2. Mosquitoes don't care if you have Deet. Or a mosquito net. Or a metal suit. There will always be that one that will get you six times before you even knew what hit you. My left leg looks like a buffet took place there. DON'T FORGET YOUR DOXY.

3. Bored little boys are the same no matter where you go. I've been watching the same kid terrorize the same chicken (chasing it with sticks, a tape measurer, and various other devices) in the neighborhood under the hotel nearly every day since I got here. The chicken has seven chicks that follow her everywhere and after she gets chased around the huts a weird game of avian Marco Polo takes place until she finds them all. 

4. Say yes to the coffee. Say no to the lime/orange fruit. Say yes to the meat on a stick. Say no to uncooked tomatoes. Say yes, yes, yes, to the fresh mangoes during mango season. Say absolutely to cipote with bananas. Say yes to Novida (soda) but NO to Alvero (soda).  

5. It takes three days to dry your laundry. Don't wait to wash.

6. The Indian supermarket is really well stocked. You'll pay dearly for what you buy, but by the time you find it you'll be so desperate it won't matter. You craving peanuts? Indian store. What about Turkish Nutella? Indian store. And the one Indian market has a nice guy behind the counter who is always playing Bollywood classics. How can you not dance?

7. There is no "fiber" in Gulu. No FiberOne cereal. No Metamucil. No Benafiber. The best they can offer is "digestive fiber enhanced" Marie Biscuits. Come prepared. 

8. Watch your step. Especially during rainy season. The ground all looks the same but sometimes you take a step and end up shin deep in mud. Other times you take a step and slip down the street. Once in a while you'll get really unlucky and slip into the sewage ditch on the side of the road. The whole time the people around you will say "I'm sorry! So sorry!" like they'd pushed you. The trick is to land on your feet, throw your hands in the air and do your best impression of a gymnast sticking the landing. 

9. Apwoyo Matek ("Thank you very much") can take you very far. If you don't know any other phrase, start here. It's polite and it makes the little old ladies laugh as they pass you on the road. Other useful phrases include (but are not limited to) "Ico Maber Larema!" ("Good morning, my friend!") and "Amiro Ciro Dek?" ("How do I get to food?")

10. It's okay to be creative. When the little kids come up to you and say, "HEY MZUNGU!" it is sometimes funny to turn around and go "Where?" and then laugh with them. Smiles, high-fives, head nods, and the hand-shake to bro-hug are universal concepts and will get you equal reception anywhere. Be prepared to be social -- it isn't really acceptable to silently pass everyone. 

11. Lady Gaga is a virus. Her lyrics are addictive and get stuck in your head. Then you walk around singing it. Then the next person you run into is infected and now they're singing. I'm convinced that much like a virgin soil epidemic, there once was no Lady Gaga music in Gulu. Now, however, you can't go anywhere without someone singing "Telephone" or "Paparazzi". She's one of America's weirdest exports. 

12. Uganda Time = kind of like Hawaiian Time. Did they tell you the meeting started at two? Plan for everyone to show up at three...then plan to spend an hour discussing why no one ever comes to the meetings. Then do in fifteen minutes what you'd planned to do three hours before. Planning lunch? Better tell the person breakfast. Have an important email out? Expect a month before you get a response. Once you get used to it though...its not such a bad system. It builds in time throughout the day for naps and internet surfing. 

On Bulldozers and My Doktorvater

Bulldozer, grading the street.

It is Wednesday morning. I am sitting at Cafe Larem (Blake has affectionately renamed it the Muno Cafe) watching the street being graded by a haphazard bulldozer, which is being watched by about half a dozen younger children -- mostly boys. As if I needed one more thing to add to my list of "It's the same in any language"...Little boys EVERYWHERE can appreciate a bulldozer. As I walked past them earlier and asked them what they were watching, one of them shyly pointed in the direction of the yellow hulking beast and laughed.

Thumbs up, little friend. Good choice. 

Today I am a mix of emotions. I have a lot of work to do, hence my need for an internet connection, but the easy nature of "Ugandan Time" has been disrupted by the rush to frantically achieve a number of things before Friday, which is the day that Dr. Ron Atkinson, my adviser, will begin his return trip to the United States to address the World Bank regarding Acholiland. 


I warn you that this post is a little on the fuzzy-warm side. I'm not usually one to publicize my feelings about other people, but I've just taken a huge step on my academic journey, and for those who have been concerned about my relational progress in grad school, it is important for me to let you all know. 

My MA advisor (Dr. Janet Ward) once hosted her PhD advisor (the indefatigable Dr. Walter Sokel) when he visited UNLV. She told me that working on a Masters creates a bond of professional collegiality, formed over two to three difficult years of work, but that a PhD creates a bond akin to family. This, she explained, is why she called Dr. Sokel her Doktorvater (German for "Doctor Father" or affectionate term for "PhD Adviser"). Now, I have always had the greatest respect for Dr. Ward and throughout my time at UNLV I had the most difficult time imagining her as anything but an amazingly intelligent, amazingly hardworking, amazingly proper, British professor. It wasn't until I saw her in the presence of Dr. Sokel that I saw her as a graduate student who held an amazing affection for her adviser. 

Now, of course, I've been happily reporting to Dr. Atkinson for nearly a year, calling him always by his proper title and holding him at a professional arm's length. However, being in his presence these last few weeks as he took his place in the Northern Ugandan community, I have to admit to being in awe. Somehow, he's become to me what Dr. Sokel was to Dr. Ward. He's my doktorvater. This isn't something that happens overnight, and I'm not sure it even happens with all advisee/adviser relationships. It just occurs. I think there was a moment on this journey when he went from being my "adviser" in the strict sense of the word (complete with the respect due to a teacher), to becoming for me a vital part of my academic life and the scholar I'd want most to be like (with me feeling more like I've gained a treasured -- and wise -- mentor). 

Ron is a man of striking humility. He is practically a celebrity presence in Gulu (we can never go anywhere without someone knowing him or knowing of him and asking after him). He's as much a member of the community as one can become, has written books on Acholi culture, has written articles on the Northern Ugandan war, and has addressed many important global organizations about the nature of this place and the people here. However, if you never knew this about him you'd think he was just an interesting older gentleman who manages to sit quietly and ask good questions of the people around him. He never wastes time with self-promotion, but he always ends up surrounded by people who realize quickly what a wealth of information he is. Ron is a constant student -- always asking questions and trying to more fully understand the depths of complex situations and the research (no matter how obscure) of others. 

I won't even go into what a rare and wonderful thing it is for grad students to spend time in the field with their advisers...the fact that I've been spoiled beyond repair there almost goes without saying. 


My happiest Gulu memories have been sitting across from Ron in various settings (on rain surrounded verandas, at meals, in casual get-togethers) and receiving advice on my research direction. My doktorvater is the very best kind of adviser. He lets me go in whatever direction I choose (even though he may know it will lead to a brick wall) letting me figure much of this journey out and allowing me to make it mine. I own this. He's made sure of it. I take responsibility for all of my failings, my misdirection, and my brick walls, but I'm also permitted to be just a little proud of my successes. When I decided to change dissertation direction, Ron sat with me and brainstormed for about half an hour all of the ways that I could make this work. He has never treated any of my ideas (no matter how far-fetched) with disregard, patiently listening as I chatter on about things I knew very little about when I first started. 


The more I learn, the more I realize how very truly little I know. 


And I have yet to be told this by Ron. 


He just smiles and lets me realize it myself. 

Maybe he figures that I'm pretty good at being my own harshest critic. Maybe he just figures that if I'm serious about this place, I'll get around to performing up to par. Whatever it is, one thing I know for sure: outside of Dr. Ward, few professors have made me want to exceed expectation more than my doktorvater. I want to do the best work I can, to make this the most useful dissertation I can, and then to one day have the good sense to shut my mouth instead of attempting to self-promote when I'm in academic company. 

All good lessons learned at the feet of a master. Although, I'm pretty sure he'd say I was over-stating if I told him that was how I felt. 

Thus it is that I find myself just a little broken hearted that he's going home so soon. 


I'll be able to continue my work in his absence (he's encouraged me from the beginning to be self-sufficient in that arena) but the rainy day talks will be missed. 

"The Slippery Slope to Wanton Hussy-ness"

On the Wall at Pece Stadium

Yesterday, at around 5:00 PM, Blake, Laura, and I set out towards Pece Stadium (read: outskirts of town on the east side) where we were supposed to meet Ron and Denise. We were all headed to a gathering of PeaceCorps volunteers, various sustainability workers, and a smattering of academics at a compound in the area and had agreed to meet at Pece so that Denise could show us the way.

When the three of us arrived, there was a commotion going on at the stadium. It seems there was a soccer match  being played. Much of the wall was lined with boys and young men, all watching with interest the game on the other side. I snapped a few pictures and then joined the crew on the wall. I hadn't been up there but a minute when a man in a security uniform with a very large stick began running along the wall and beating the legs of anyone sitting on the wall. Since being caned was not on on my list of Ugandan "to-do"s I jumped (along with everyone else) to avoid getting hit. 

Laura and Blake Peeking at Pece (pronounced Peh-Chay)

A few minutes later, all of the locals had taken their place on the wall again. The security guard can only beat so many legs at once, I suppose. 

Following the excitement of soccer, we were picked up by Ron and Denise who walked us into the Pece area, past the hoctagon (not hexagon, not octagon) house that the PeaceCorps volunteers stay in and to the compound we were to meet at. Inside, a group of women were doing yoga as the men outside relaxed from having taken a run. We pulled up chairs, tables with delicious home-made hummus and fresh veggies, and began to engage in conversations about USC football, various research projects, various grants, Luo language training, and other random tidbits. The group began to thin out slightly as the sun went down and the stars began to come out. 

There have rarely been clear nights since we arrived in Gulu but this night was completely open. The house lacked electricity (they have a generator but it is noisy and they didn't want to turn it on) which left us in a blissfully walled in paradise with open star-filled skies like the ones in the dead center of the Nevada desert. I found the big-dipper. Speaking of constellations -- since I arrived I've occasionally noticed what I thought was a cross in the night sky outside of my hotel window. Turns out that I wasn't making it up. I've been under the gaze of the Southern Cross the entire time, according to Denise. 

The Southern Cross (also called The Crux).

 In this shot its a little slanted with the head pointing towards the top and the right. 

I didn't take this picture. 

I got it from: http://www.desertedhotel.com/system/files/images/Crux_constellation.png

The conversation soon turned to dinner plans and what was left of the group made their way to vehicles and then to an Ethiopian restaurant near the stadium. I would like to put this place up as quite possibly the best food I've had since I arrived in Uganda. Not to offend local sensibilities, but most of the food here is some form of a bland starch. This food had spice and kick. 

The restaurant is mostly outside (as is much of the dining around here) on wicker couches that have cloth covered foam pads. In various stages of recline one eats from the coffee table height table in front of them. There were candles on the table, and a small fire going behind us with the clear Gulu sky above us. It was incredible. We ordered large group trays that held a little of everything offered: meats, chickpeas, sauces, etc. These were eaten with paper thin pieces of a sour bread (that tasted like a thin soggy sourdough), picked up with the hands. I wish I could've taken some pictures of the food -- it was SO delicious LOOKING...and then tasted like heaven. 

Our conversations continued on various tangents until one of the better known academics in the group began a debate with one of his advisees (student researchers) about the implicit meanings of toe-rings. 

"Its a slippery slope," he said, in exaggerated seriousness, "first a toe ring, the next thing you know you're sniffing glue on the street corners of Nairobi." 

One of the Ugandan NGO workers was asked his opinion and he responded that when he saw a woman with a toe-ring he felt that she was "exposed." 

The student laughed, "So its a slippery slope from toe-ring to wanton hussy-ness, huh? What about ankle bracelets? What do those say?"

"There's a historical connotation to those," piped in one of the other researchers next to me. 

While we were all cracking up, the Ethiopian woman who ran the restaurant brought a hot cannister that she'd been holding over the fire. She carried it on a long wooden stick and waved it over the tables. We realized that the contents of this cannister were freshly roasted Ethiopian coffee beans, and the smell was intoxicating. Of course, several people requested a small cup of freshly brewed coffee (I stayed well away...that stuff would've kept me up all night!) and even that smelled too delicious for words. 

Our small group took the pause in conversation as the opportunity to take our leave, paying, and piling into the vehicle of a researcher who is staying near the Catechist Training Center. She offered to drop me off at Acholi Ber and I dragged myself up the stairs. In all, the night had been entirely amusing. 

Somewhere around three o'clock in the morning I woke up to cracks of thunder and rain that sounded as if God Himself had opened the sky and then turned on a Heavenly fire hose. It is the first time I can ever actually recall being afraid of rain. I texted Blake, who lives down the hall, "Have you seen any arks lately?" The rain was shaking my windows and every few seconds the deafening roar of thunder cracking would be heard followed by a piercing shriek of heavily falling rain. I'm still not sure where this rain came from, since the night had been so clear that we'd been stargazing not five hours earlier. Never going to understand the weather around this place. 

On Rain and Mosquito Nets

Yesterday I spent a rather full and productive day at CTC (see previous blog). Because of this, and because they spoil me with food whenever I end up having lunch there, I wasn't too hungry come dinner time. Rather than head to Sancofa (See: incredible pizza worth walking all the way across town to eat) with the rest of the team I decided to just grab a sandwich at Larem, which is roughly next door to Acholi Ber. Throughout the day it had been dark and cloudy (in fact, I was at CTC as late as I was because a mid-day rainstorm delayed my trip. Caught the sound of it on tape, it was beautiful), but as I ate my sandwich I began to notice some tell tale signs that the rain was coming on again. Funny, I've only been here three weeks but I can now tell. Of course, it doesn't take a genius to see that when the wind starts to pick up, it starts to get cold, and the people around start taking cover, that it is probably going to rain.

I threw 5,000 UGX ($2.50 USD) to Katherine to pay for my meal, wrapped what was left in a napkin, and began to hastily make my way into the dirt road. Then it began to sprinkle. Then the people started RUNNING. I began to run too because no sooner had I managed my way two doors down to the lobby of the hotel when the sky opened up, the earth began to howl, and all the forces of water and wind converged on Gulu-town. Mark (owner, Acholi Ber) began to close up the big storm doors, and I watched as people ran by trying to avoid pelting rain. Thinking I was probably safe (being dry, fat, and happy) I decided to head upstairs to watch the water from the balcony. As I crossed through the storm door I knew I'd made a mistake. Water was flooding down the staircase, coming in through windows and flooding down from the fourth floor. It was a little like that scene from Titanic where Kate Winslet was trying to go down several flights of stairs to find Leo DiCaprio, and she was just drenched in water coming from everywhere. By the time I made it to my room I was as soaked as if I'd stood outside in it and decided to swim up the street.

And swim is what most people were doing. Okay, that's a little hyperbole, but the street did become a rushing river and the rain continued. The power flickered on and off, and the wind (probably the worst wind I've seen since I got here) was threatening to tear roofs off of huts. An hour later, it still raged on, with much of the open sewer now flowing down the street and intense thunder and lightning crashing through the sky.

THAT is why they call it rainy season.

I took advantage of my solitude and the availability of water (no pun intended) to get some laundry done. It was a long, wet night.

I managed to get some reasonable rest last night (with nowhere to go) but despite having learned to tuck my mosquito net in to the side of the bed I still managed to somehow wake with it entangled around my body. I will not miss sleeping with mosquito nets when I get home. All of the thrill that one gets of doing something new, of having bug protection, of having a personal pup tent above one's bed, all of this disappears the moment one realizes that there just is no good way to sleep with a mosquito net. Blake, who is 6'2", finds that he not only has half of his legs dangling off the bed but that he cannot keep the mosquito net around the bed at night due to this inconvenience. And the other night, I had a moth trapped in my net, which was made more interesting by the insect's absolute refusal to move unless the net was down. It was like sleeping in a butterfly cage.

Today has been a day of finishing laundry and tending to bug bites (unwittingly made a good meal for a spider the other night and now have the three pin head holes in my leg to prove it. I hope I rolled over and crushed him in my sleep, stupid arachnid).

I also found a book store. Ok...it's something of a book store. The books are all donated by "Books for Africa" according to the boxes that the employees were unpacking, and therefore the selection doesn't even compare to a poorly stocked GoodWill, but when one has already read through the only novel one thought to bring...one doesn't really have the choice to be picky anymore. The books are reasonably priced and I picked a couple up (night time around here hits at 7:00. I find that reading is one of the few things that keeps me sane lacking television and internet). 

All in all, another day in paradise.