funny or not?

so, i have thoroughly enjoyed writing about my experiences and laughing at the cultural differences i see every day here in uganda. but when something i find funny happens to me i always have to ask myself, 'is this funny to everyone or just me because, let's face it, i'm a little evil?

i have the stories that get told on the blog and then the ones that are borderline rude that get sent in emails to my family. they can't judge me, they are required to love me, :). but seriously, where do i draw the line on laughing at the culture clash and mocking something i don't understand. i wanted to post these thoughts because i never want to offend anyone with what i say on here and my take on what i see/how i see things. i don't write about the sad stuff usually because, well, it's sad. and my words don't really do what is happening justice to be honest. it's easy to write about the funny things, the sad stuff takes effort that i don't have most of the time.

i was a little convicted about the portrait i was painting for all of you at home of what things are like here. i'm reading the poisonwood bible right now which is a fictional story about a pastor moving his family to the congo in the 1960's. it's pretty accurate about what life is like in the bush here and the way the author writes is spot on. my own words would botch it up, so here is an excerpt of something that i appreciated. it is written in the voice of one of the teenage daughter's after being instructed to write home and tell her friends what africa is like:

"we're still wondering, where do you start? 'this morning i got up...' i'd begin, but no, 'this morning i pulled back the mosquito netting that's tucked in tight around our beds because mosquitoes here give you malaria, a disease that runs in your blood which nearly everyone has anyway but they don't go to a doctor because there are worse things like sleeping sickness or the kakaka or that someone has put a kibaazu on them, and anyway there's really no doctor nor money to pay one, so people just hope for the good luck of getting old because then they'll be treasured, and meanwhile they go on with their business because they have children they love and songs to sing while they work, and...' and you wouldn't even get as far as breakfast before running out of paper. you'd have to explain the words, and then the words for the words."

this definitely resonated with me because there are countless times i try to explain something either in an email or on here and i just give up because it comes out with too many details and makes no sense. the best way i can try to explain the feeling is this...you know in the states when you meet someone and you are just getting to know one another? male, female, work colleague, friend, potential 'someone' - whoever. you go through this phase of explanation. every story you have needs a background story. 'well, me and my best friends from high school - well, they are 3 girls that i've known for like 8 years and we do everything together and they are like sisters. there's sara without the h and sarah with the h and even though they are both nurses they are completely different. and then there's julie who is different too but still just as great...' see? i've already lost you. and most of you know the people i'm talking about!! or when someone gives you a compliment and you just act really awkward and then you have to explain that you're a mennonite and mennonites don't give compliments so even though you appreciate them, it's weird for you - and so on.

now imagine that phase times about 56 and that's how difficult it is to talk to you all about the not so fun parts of uganda. i feel like just when i start to understand why some of the poverty exists and why it operates the way it does, i learn a whole new level, a whole new 'background story' and my mind gets blown all over again. the only example i will attempt is the saddest (daily) thing i encounter here. i have yet to take a picture of it because it deals with exploitation and all of that photojournalism ethics stuff. it's the children that sit on the side of the road, begging for money. not with words. and not just children. toddlers. some that can BARELY WALK. these small people just sat down by someone, expected to tug on the heartstrings of people walking by. they sit there allllll day long, looking up at every pedestrian with their hand extended into the air, usually supported by their other arm no doubt because both arms are tired from performing this action for hours on end. i have cried multiple times walking down the street, not knowing what to do, if anything. there has never been something i have seen in philadelphia, lancaster, grantham, or any other place i've been that can actually make me sob just from seeing it. i have asked many ugandans what i can do and the answer is always the same...'well, don't give them money because there is probably an adult watching them down the street or from a nearby window and they will take the money. you could give them food, but you would instantly have all the other children begging following you until you give them some too.' and i feel helpless. unless i do something dramatic, i can't help. is this a call to do something dramatic? maybe...

but this brings me to the background story. oh, sorry, yeah...we're not done yet, not even close. n.g.o.'s (non-governmental organization) in uganda are a problem, a biiiiiiig problem. there are thousands in uganda and there are a lot of percentages thrown out there about how many are actually corrupt, from 25% all the way up to 90%. corruption comes in all forms, but the big one is that people register their organization as an n.g.o., then get westerners to donate tons of money because they showed them a picture of a kid with flies on his face and a big, malnourished belly, and then they keep a huge portion of the money. or there is corruption that might not even be seen as corruption. example: i was walking to church on sunday (i LOVE my church here, so good, so needed...don't judge it by what i'm about to say), and i counted 6 brand new landcruisers that passed me all within 30 seconds. they were all going to my church. i laughed after the first two thinking how ironic it was that both of them had their organization's icon and slogan slapped on the side and then my mouth dropped when FOUR MORE organizations vehicles drove past. and this is just in my church!! i would love to know how many n.g.o.'s are represented there. it has to be upwards of 50. i'm not saying that the people i go to church with do not sacrifice to live here and to be here. they have chosen to live away from friends and family and raise their children in a not-so-affluent or convenient place. and that's commendable, always. but i have to wonder who pays for those landcruisers - the people who donated the money to the organization? the home church of the couple driving it who supports them? who? where is it coming from and is that purchase necessary? i don't know...maybe they are. just speculating.

i have rabbit trailed...see how confusing this all gets and how it's all tied together? back to my point. if there are 50 n.g.o.'s represented alone in my congregation of 200+ people, how many of them are working against each other instead of with each other? i could start a street kids organization here in kampala and try to save the kids i see begging, but how many people are already doing that and how do i know they aren't just saying they're doing it and not actually doing it? that sentence even confused me...sorry if i lost ya for a bit. but seriously, n.g.o.'s need to work together and maybe combine themselves and their funds instead of competing for donations and attention. i had to chuckle because i met a woman this week who was explaining what exactly her organization does. this organization started itself to help minimize the amount of n.g.o.'s in the country and help to combine them. sounds great in theory, but then again, they are just another n.g.o. we have n.g.o.'s forming to stop the forming of n.g.o.'s. this is humorous to me. maybe they are doing great work, but the concept made me laugh. this is me, stepping off of a soapbox that i only understand in the most minimal way possible.

alright...who wants to laugh? me! this is one of those, kinda had to be there stories - won't be offended at all if you skip it!

last saturday, i went to a bbq with some friends. hannah has a little suziki that fits a driver and three passengers comfortably. so, naturally, six of us met at garden city (kinda the town center/mall) and climbed in. i was up front on esther's lap because, well, i'm kind of a midget. so we're driving along and we come to a stop next to a police officer (ugandan police notoriously stop white folk for doing nothing wrong because they can usually get a bribe to not 'punish' them). he comes to the driver's window and says, 'excuse me...how many people do you have in this car?' hannah says, 'well, five plus just a little one.' they argue about the illegality of the issue and when he turns his back to direct traffic, esther hops out of the car and walks to the nearest gas station to be picked up when we make it past the police officer. he turns around, sees there is only five of us, looks confused and let's us pass. on the way to pick up esther, hannah gets stuck in a pothole, holding up about 20 cars. i hop out, thinking she will be able to get out with 95 pounds less in the car (haha, that was a joke, i'm obviously 100 pounds) and as soon as i close the door, she glides out of the pot hole. the boda driver zooms past going, 'mzungu, you are very heavy, no?' i resisted the smart comments flying through my head and smiled while nodding like an idiot. so i jogged up to where esther was and hannah picked us both up. we thought the interesting part of the journey was over, and so did you. we have a paragraph left - i won't lie, it might not be worth it, ha.

so, hannah takes a wrong left hand turn and we are headed down a steep hill and it's raining so it's a bit muddy. we decide to turn around but you know in the 3 point turn when you're blocking both lanes of traffic? well hannah was at that point when the car just stopped working altogether. we have a line in each direction of at least 15 cars and the ugandans are screaming at us in a language i still don't know. i just smiled and waved. then we decided to pile out and push the car into the nearest driveway. how ironic that when five white girls get out of the car, the insults the men where hurling at us in luganda turned into, 'mzungu, i am so sorry, how are you?' it was a chorus of high pitched voices offering help and we had about 8 men come help us push the car up. there was a truck full of men waiting and when the road was cleared, they drove past us blowing kisses and winking. touching, really.

we got to the bbq two hours late, starving and ready for food when hannah told us that she had the grill in her trunk the whole time.