the great beyond

of course you know by now that i've got some serious guns. but did you know i could bend a banana as easily as the circus strongman can bend an iron rod??? maybe you didn't know that, which is why this post is so necessary. there were no camera tricks involved in capturing the above photo. i owned that ripe little guy, and he was alarmingly easy to peel...

goatstock!

yes children, it's that time of year again - time for uganda peace corps volunteers to converge in one beautiful place for a weekend of hiking, dancing, drinking, wiffling, arranging/performing ridiculous musical medleys, slaughtering goats, eating goats, dressing in bizarre costumes, and generally acting afool.*

* see two fools above

i iron everything

the orange stripes are for when i'm feeling funky!

one perfectly understandable cog in the conservative machine of ugandan culture is an unwritten rule that one should not hang his/her unmentionables outside where others may see or perhaps mention them. this is, of course, fine, and i make my best attempt to comply by hanging my wet (from washing, come on!) underthings on the three dental floss clotheslines in my sitting room. i find it mildly amusing, however, that it is perfectly acceptable in our american culture to post a photo of those same underthings on the internets where anyone in the entire world (including my neighbor who i am trying to protect by hanging them inside) may view them. so be it. this is just part of the delicate cultural balance i have struck since my arrival here - adapt as much as possible while still maintaining my own identity. my underwear is safely out of sight in my house but freely available online. excellent. everyone wins.

the rest of my clothing i am free to hang indiscriminately on the line outside my house, where it will dry at an amazing rate of speed in the direct equatorial sunlight - a convenience that sadly does not come without a price.

enter the mango fly. said fly enjoys good conversation, long, lazy flights in the bush, ripe mangoes, and laying eggs in and/or on warm, wet fabrics...exactly like those on a clothesline! if undetected and undefeated, the spawn of the mango fly may hatch from its egg in your shirt and burrow into your skin, leaving behind a hideous boil and a small hole through which it will breathe and perhaps wink at you. if this occasional eye contact with mango larvae makes you uncomfortable, you are free to smear a bit of vaseline over the airhole of the boil, effectively suffocating your little friend, who will soon expire and be forced out through the very passage meant to keep him alive.

thankfully, i have yet to play host to one of my mango brethren. we had been told in peace corps medical training classes that we should, for the purpose of neutralizing mango larvae with heat, iron all of our clothes. at first i thought it was a cruel ploy to frighten potentially slovenly pcvs into pressing our clothes and looking smart, but after checking my facts, i realized that these mango flies are indeed real! so now, i have made a complete 180 degree turn away from my wrinkled american lifestyle, where i may have ironed five items of clothing in my entire life. in uganda, i iron everything - underwear, socks, pants, t-shirts, dress shirts, towels, bedsheets, and more! it's completely mad! but so is allowing a tropical insect to hatch in my skin. this is one time i am more than happy to be called conservative.

i don't know how to put this, but i'm kind of a big deal...

i must say i was not anticipating this. after two weeks of visiting family and friends, traveling across the usa to familiar cities, houses, and offices in relative anonymity, i was ill-prepared for my return to uganda and the center of attention among people who are at best a little closer to me than strangers. being frequently engaged by friends and family is one thing, but having random ugandans call me by name and ask me daily, ceaselessly, about my nonexistent wife (“what? no wife? let me give you one!”), my travel plans, my work schedule, and my diet is quite another. to punctuate my frustration, a group of villagers can be counted upon to huddle nearby as i pass, rattling off a string of indecipherable dhopadhola followed by uncontrollable laughter, which i can only assume is directed, in some way (likely harmless and playful), at me.

when i meet children on the street, it is typically after they have been chanting my name ("mr. ofwono!") or more likely my color ("muzungu!") repeatedly and from a safe distance. the object of this game is clearly to capture my attention, although most of the time they have no idea what to do once they have it. some run away, some cry and flail their youthful limbs, some stand motionless and wide-eyed in shocked silence as i approach. having gotten this far, i will attempt to shake hands and greet them. often their replies are brief and barely audible; their eyes not on mine but rather the hand they are shaking, or even more specifically the skin on that hand, as they inspect it, rubbing it carefully to see if they can glean any information about why it looks so different from theirs.

on days like today i feel lucky to have the energy to face these interactions with patience and good humor. at other times, however, the exposure can become exhausting and leave me with nothing more than the desire to disappear someplace quiet, secret, and impenetrable. but even if a temporary vanishing act succeeds, it only makes me more conspicuous, for it is contrary to the extremely social culture in which i now live.

let's assume that i have opted to hide away for a while. now suppose i choose to step out of that place, even just for a moment; there will invariably be some children nearby who stop what they are doing to stare, wave, and wonder what incredibly mundane task i am about to undertake. is the muzungu going to the bathroom? short call or long call? is he going to take his clothes off the line? sweep the lizard leavings off his doorstep?

whatever it is i end up doing will ultimately be broadcast through a series of elaborate word-of-mouth networks to the rest of the community and beyond. in fact, i spend a great deal of my time in conversations with the local population confirming or denying information they have been given about my whereabouts, my friends, my sleeping and cleaning habits, and my meals. i sometimes feel like i am policing an extremely boring word-of-mouth tabloid. every once in a while, their information is wrong ("no - i was not in nagongera on tuesday! i went to TOWN! haha!"), and i feel as if i have won a small victory over the machine. of course, i have done absolutely nothing remarkable to earn this attention other than be a white man in africa, but i suppose that is really all it takes.

this experience has lead me to only one logical (well, i think so) conclusion. i, ofwono richard, am famous. not five touchdowns in a friday night high school football game famous, or even local news anchor famous, but REALLY FREAKING FAMOUS. i am, like, a big deal. so save that handwritten note from me or the photo of my hands facetiously clasped around your neck; you'll get all kinds of "cool points" by showing them off to your friends. because you, dear reader, know (or have been choked by) a celebrity.