Dark Chocolate Confection

An amusing miscommunication during my last LiA interview on Wednesday: Apoka Alex and I could not connect on the number of children he supports. There was repeated discrepancy: 3, 2, 5, 4. Some questions often meet with confusion, but number of children had never previously been difficult to interpret. I wrote what I thought was the correct amount, and continued on with the survey. Then, when I finished the third of what I thought should be five children surveys I was told I was done.

“But, aren’t there two more?”

“Yes.”

“Well…may I also interview them?”

“I have another wife. They are with my other wife.”

The survey is specific to each household, and the discrepancy was that the two other children are a part of Alex’s other household. Like many Ugandan men, he is polygamous. Once again, Western assumptions slapped me in the face.

I handed in my final literature paper this week- had my last lit class with Prof. Mukakanya. He’s a wonderful, eclectic, elderly Ugandan man. He makes sounds of agreement that resemble Yoda and has sideburns that resemble the 1970s. On the first day of class he asked what previous interaction we each had with African literature, and upon hearing of my previous readings of Ngugi, Soyinka, Mukulu and the like, we had an immediate bond. It’s odd to begin the goodbyes.

I have a hard time staying involved when the goodbyes have begun, and we’re starting to receive information about handing in hangers and bed sheets. I’m fighting the inclination to check out emotionally. I’m not fighting it hard enough. The weather gets hotter, and the puddle I’m reduced to every day covets the winter approaching New England. Ugandan writing style and grade scale differ enough for me to dread my final exams. I’m done with LiA, and the next few weeks seem longer than necessary. I love it here, but if I have to leave, let’s get it over with.

Today I cradled a dark chocolate bar of an infant, confectious and curly haired. For an hour she drifted in and out of sleep, while I kept my hand on her back to make sure she was breathing- so tiny and fragile, I was nervous I’d break her. I was again visiting TAPP (see previous post), but for World AIDS Day this time. Several of us went to help at an event supporting and advertising AIDS treatment and prevention; supporting the end of “stigma and segregation.” We pinned red ribbons to women’s gomezi, served lunch and soda, and I cradled the infant while a Canadian doctor spoke about how HIV/AIDS is and is not spread. And I wondered how long this confection would survive; wondered if she is HIV/AIDS positive. Her presence there today means her mom probably is.