Elizabeth's Post: You Are Most Welcome Here

July 2nd, 9:41 Uganda time
Posted by Elizabeth

And so it begins.

Or rather, so it ends. Our first day in Uganda is just winding down. We got a late start today, as Mom and I slept in (well, slept WAY in for me) to the slovenly hour of 10:30, trying to shake off our jet lag. In the early afternoon we took a taxi out to the OTD Foundation house; our cab driver had to stop four times along the way to ask for directions. Finally, he asked a man how to get there and the man came over to the car, shook our hands, and hopped in, offering to help us find our way. We eventually found the house down a narrow road and went in to meet the house’s “Mom” (she lives there full time) and Monica, a former OTD house director.

There we planned out the workshop that my mom and I will be doing with the kids; we expect about twenty students from ages 7-16. My dad, the eternal carpenter, may try to put up a netball court (a popular game here; none of us had any idea what it was and had to have the sport explained several times, complete with numerous repetitions of “No, it’s not basketball!”) with some of the kids so they can play when they’re staying at the house when school lets out. Mom and I have a lot of planning to do for our workshop this weekend; we came with some basic supplies and a lot of ideas… but now it’s time to get moving! We also spoke with Monica to plan our trip up north to Gulu, where we will visit the IDP (Internally Displaced Persons)/refugee camps. That will take a couple of days, as well. Figure a few other day trips we’ll be taking, and we’re going to be busy this week!

On the way back to the hotel, we had our driver drop us at the Constitutional Plaza and we walked some of the way back, stopping a local crafts store and then a mini-mart to pick up some bottled water. (I also got a few local newspapers to check out what’s going on from a more local perspective; I will bring them back with me.) Now: a word about Kampala, as we will be spending most of our time here for the next week and a half. It is a very gritty city (pardon the rhyme). Between the diesel fuel, red dirt roads, and wood smoke, the air is uncomfortably hazy in the city center. I came back to the hotel to wipe a fine layer of dirt off of my face. (Otherwise, the city is really clean—less trash on the streets than most other cities I’ve seen.) Crossing the street is also, at times, hazardous—the lack of traffic lights and often lane markers force you to go as quickly as possible the very second you get a chance! (Of course, the British-style driving doesn’t help. My dad said he almost got a hit by a car this morning because he forgot they drive on the left side and didn’t look the correct way before crossing the street.) (None of this, however, is meant negatively—it’s a simple “as-is” description of what I’ve seen of the city so far.)

The people are so incredibly friendly. This cannot be overstated. Whenever someone hears that this is our first time, let alone our first day, in Uganda, they grin and say “You are welcome!” Everyone shakes hands with you and introduces themselves upon meeting you. People wave and smile from the houses and shops. Everywhere, so far, the Ugandan people have been most kind, open, and warm.

I want to mention the incredibly long journey getting here, but also want to wrap this up as it’s getting looonnngg, so… a few quick things that I will always remember about the trip here:

The feeling that crickets had hijacked my body on the way to Newark Airport—I was hoppy and chirpy as could be. Flying into Amsterdam, where everything looks like it came straight out of IKEA. Trying so very, very hard to pass for Dutch. Cajoling my parents into the rainy city streets so we could, during our five-hour layover, just get a quick peek of the city, which I’ve always wanted to see. (I then took them on Elizabeth’s Impromptu 6 AM Tour of Amsterdam on a Rainy Sunday When Nothing Is Open. And I loved every second of it.) That thick, sweet smell of wood smoke when I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac in Entebbe. (My mom always tried to explain it from when she lived in Ghana, I now know what she was attempting to describe!) The polite chaos of the Entebbe baggage claim. The full moon over Lake Victoria. The orange glow of lanterns from houses, shops, markets on the side of the road. The crunch of gravel under my feet, the creak of the rust-colored metal gate as we walked into the hotel. Being told, repeatedly, everywhere I go, that I am “most welcome here.”

When you think about it, it’s really a wonderful thing to say.