Village Life . . .

I will be honest—it has been a very difficult week adjusting to life in the village. I have come to the conclusion (with my great psychoanalysis skills :) ) that this is partially due to the fact that I was extremely unprepared both mentally and emotionally for what this experience would be like. Before coming here I never expected to have any major adjustment issues or culture shock. I thought, “I’ve lived in a developing country before; I’m sure I will be fine.” However, this is so much different than anything I have ever experienced. This country has such vast natural beauty, but the poverty can be overwhelming at times.

Although I live in a permanent house (i.e. concrete walls), there is no electricity and water must be transported from a significant distance. Therefore, it is used rather sparingly, which makes bathing an interesting experience. I will be the first to admit than in the States I sometimes have germaphobic tendencies, so I have been forced to resign myself to the fact that I will never feel exactly clean for the next three months. (I am rapidly moving through my baby wipes supply.) I have included a picture of my bedroom.

I am drinking bottled water, but it is only available in small bottles in Kiwangala. So, to save on cost, I buy the large 3 liters jugs every time I am in Masaka. I am getting quite the workout trying to carry 2 heavy jugs of water and my backpack from the taxi stop back to my house.

Another twist is that my host mother speaks no English. This is a challenge, as my Lugandan skills are still very limited. Luckily when I need to convey something important, I can walk a couple blocks to the school and ask one of the teachers to come translate for me. Other than the teachers at my school, most people in the village do not speak any English. I am trying to learn as much Lugandan as I can, but I am frustrated with myself at how slowly I am picking it up. Just learning the many ways to say hello can be tricky.

However, the thing that I am most struggling to get used to is the amount of attention I receive on a daily basis. I don’t think I can adequately describe what it is like to be constantly stared at, called out to and touched by every person within sight range. In Maska I often receive a double take for being a Muzungu. My first day in the village, though, every single person I passed open-mouth stared at me (even those walking the other way would turn and walk backwards just to look at me longer) and many people would point and giggle. It is incredibly overwhelming, and at times unnerving, to be on the receiving end of so much attention. I cannot walk past a group of children without them shouting “Muzungu!” and running up to touch my white skin. I am beginning to become desensitized to it, but there definitely days when I wish I could just blend in.

Note: I wrote this entry after my first few days in the village. Since it has now been two weeks, I am acclimating much better. I thought it was valuable to share my candid reactions, though.

Below is a picture of the street that runs in front of my house. The school where I work is the second building on the right.