I'm a Lady

Uganda is comprised of beautiful scenery, gorgeous children, weird plants, and more than her fair share of characters. Somehow Rebekah and I get exposed to quite a few larger than life characters. I don’t know if it is the travel we do, the fact that we are a bit of an oddity in our region, or if God just wants to remind us not to take ourselves too seriously.

The road from Kabale to Kishanje winds over and through the hills and valleys of this region. It passes through countless villages, town centers, open air markets, and brings us into contact with old and new faces. There are common stops along the route, allowing for the loading and unloading of supplies and passengers.

Lets start in Kabale town. We stay at this homey hostel called Edrisa, in the local language it means “window”. The staff takes good care of us and we are able to relax, eat yummy food, and even sleep in the dorm with no hassle. Enter character number one. We call him “the shouting preacher man”. He rarely makes an appearance in the morning, but come afternoon and all through the night he is bound to present a sermon or two. In between breaks for waragi (the local vodka of sorts), he preaches about wearing trousers, the word of god, bicycles, and local news events. His pulpit happens to be the road right in front of Edrisa, so many a night I have fallen asleep to his vehement speeches.

Around the neighborhood is “elephant man” named thusly because he makes and sells elephants for a living. They are cute as can be, cleverly crafted out of banana fibers. He generally can be found in front of Edrisa or the other back packer hostels. I get a kick out of watching him work. He pantomimes “come, see me in my wheelchair, come help me, come buy this cute elephant” and the gullible mzungu walks over. 10,000 shillings for an elephant. At this point I generally look at him with one eyebrow raised… the real price is 4,000 shillings. He laughs and rolls away with a 10 note usually.

Hop on the truck with me. In the back of a large lorrie you are bound to meet at least one character. Generally not larger than life, but memorable. It usually begins with comments directed at you, but not to you- you know, the ones like “I see the mzungu rides in a truck. Have you ever seen a mzungu in a truck?!” And then progresses to direct inquisition like affronts: “mzungu, where is your husband?” “mzungu, come here”, “mzunugu, what is my name?” (they really mean, ‘what is your name’, but tenses are hard). Some days I am tired, so I pretend I can’t hear them – after all, my name is not mzungu, so how do I know they are talking to me? The persistent ones are harder to ignore, especially when they bodily grab me and begin the questioning again as I am held prisoner. Times like that I generally answer their questions with questions. Confuses them and gives me a laugh, reminds me not to get angry that a stranger is currently demanding personal information from me. “Mzungu, what is my name?” “Mukiga, tell me, what is your name?” “Mzungu, where is your husband?” “Mukiga, where is your wife?” As you can see, we get far.

I have told you before about the “For me I know” statements… they still frustrate me. Last week I was told, “mzungu, the children love you, see they dance for you! For me, I know when I come to America with you, children will dance for me.” Uh huh, deep breath. “Sebo, do you have an identity card? No, well, you should get one. Then work on getting a passport. The visa will take a few years to process. You won’t like my place, we don’t have obushera (the beloved local drink). And children won’t scream “Ugandan!!” if you go to America.” A shocked look. Ori Kubiiha!! (You lie!!) No, I am not lying; believe it or not, people of all color live in America. You would not be noticed.” “Mzungu, for me, I know you are wrong.”

Oh well.

About 30 minutes outside of Kabale town there is a parish called Ikarama. Love Bruce is the character you are most likely to find in Ikarama. Today as Rebekah and I waited for our friend we were meeting up with, we had the pleasure of being serenaded to by Love Bruce. Are you familiar with the Shania Twain song called something like “always and forever” or “in your eyes”…. You know, right? I may not know the title, but I do know the chorus and most of the verses…. Bruce begins the song with a throaty “I am a lady” which is not part of the song and then slurs through at least one verse. Then begins the speech about his baptized irishes; “Here, take them, baptized irishes for you, I know you are hungry. “ Now here, if something is baptized, it is named… no, I did not ask what he named his potatoes. He continues with a long monologue about whether he is a man or a lady. He is both his own husband and his own wife. He is working in impregnating himself. Then comes the dance and acrobatics. Verse two of the song, (poor Shania) more confusion about his state of being (here, there, wife, man…) and loud slaps on the windshield. At this point I am looking around for the truck driver (we have a new one… ) and see that he is enjoying the show. Love Bruce may be called that “because he loves” but the fact that we were not appreciating his performance was too much for him. “Now Mzungu, Here I am greeting you and you refuse to greet me. Are you a person or not? Are you a woman? Are you a lady? I’m a lady, I greeted you. (SLAM on the windshield.)” He takes a break when he sees his reflection and discovers there is a sticker on his forehead. Excellent. Removing it from his forehead he slams it onto the windshield and gains his second wind. “I’m a lady! In your eyes I’m a lady”.

Indeed Bruce, in my eyes… maybe not a lady, but a character for sure.