Nassali of the Chima clan.

Saturday morning meant the embarking on two weeks of living with a family in Mukono. With Meema’s duffle bag and a jerry can of clean water I was dropped at Deborah and James doorstep. Sarah and Grace met the van and took my belongings before I even knew they were there. I followed their scurrying, past the crumbling front steps, and was soon cozy with Sarah on the couch in the sitting room hearing of the “Angels” singing trio she and her friends have at Mukono High School. Milly snuggled in to share how she likes literature and writing stories about helping friends who have AIDS, and welcoming refugees from the North. And it really did seem to all happen that quickly- arriving to belonging in a matter of blinks.

Flavia, Winnie, Isaac, Sarah, Milly, and Grace are my sisters and brothers (four girls, two boys- can you guess which names belong to the boys?). Within my first three days with the Nyonyi’s they have all left for boarding school. Sarah left notes in places we are still discovering for us though, and most of the schools are easily within visiting range. I plan on thanking Sarah for the notes in person when I stop by her school on my way home soon.

Monday evening was my first 40 minute walk back home from campus and Grace ran to meet me as I walked down the last dirt path. Arm-in-arm we past one of the hogs. There are at least three oinkers that I see regularly- one pink, one black, and one a polka-dotted mix. On my way to campus in the morning they are usually wallowing prostrate in the mud, and greet me with a hearty trill. Do they know they are greeting Nassali, named for the cleverest woman in the tribe? That is my Chima clan name, given by my homestay Daddy on Sunday morning after I brought him his tea. Homestay mom likes me to bring Dad his meals, as he is always pleased with my attempts at Luganda (the language) and Buganda customs. Interesting note: supper is eaten much later here than the 5- 6:45 time slot at Gordon. Gordon’s dinner is comparable to our evening tea. We ate past 10 pm both Saturday and Sunday, but since the school week started it has been served by 9. And I am thankful.

In response to the several comments I’ve received surprised at perceived bitterness and frustration, I want to quote part of a previous post: “I fumed with fact after distressing fact. Then I was pressed back into my place by the reminder that it is easier to get angry than be humbled.” I would argue that I have never been as constantly bitter or frustrated in my posts as Caleb would like to assert. I hope that I have presented the hope and joy and beauty I experience daily alongside sadness and frustration. I know I have no right to bitterness or anger- only humility and commitment. Nor did it take coming to East Africa for me to feel much of what I have felt. I am reminded more than I make discoveries; affirmed in ideas where reserved hopes of being wrong hid. I do not think I have been kicking the fridge of blundering foreign policy and atrocities, even though I repeatedly stub my toes. I hope I have just been attempting to open the fridge door, and even though I braced myself, have been surprised by how cold the air is. Shiver.

Our latrine is outside, across the small cement courtyard we share with the neighbors. I love using it at night. I did not foresee experiencing joy in the need to unbolt the back door to use a pit latrine, with my headlamp aglow and toilet paper in hand. But the view shivers with radiance resonant of David Crowder: “I look into black skies strewn with shimmering dots of light - nights with stars that sometimes seem to hum and buzz with word of their maker. Moonlight you can feel on your skin if you pay really close attention …a touch of remembrance that the sun is shining just as bright as ever and dawn is coming.” No really, you should use a pit latrine at night sometime in East Africa, you won’t regret it.