a 2009 bush holiday

very common traditional housing in busia, near lake victoria

most people in uganda have a place where they live and work, though it is almost always different from their village "home." in fact, given the proximity of these villages homes to the nearest employment opportunity, such a distinction is unavoidable. so whenever you ask someone where he/she is from, you should specify what you mean - do you want to know where they live or where their village is?

when the christmas holiday approaches, people begin migrating back to their village homes, where they will find children, grandparents, spouses, and siblings. transport prices double and in some cases triple as people shift from one part of the country to another. kampala (uganda's only major transport hub) slows to a frustrating crawl amidst choking throngs of pedestrians and trapped vehicles under an unusually thick haze of pollution. i had to travel through kampala several days before christmas last year and swore i'd never do it again. it is complete and utter madness - kind of like a giant, filthy mall.

this year, i happily accepted several invitations to visit friends of mine at their village homes, staying far away from the capital city and relying almost exclusively on the kindness and curiosity of several ugandan strangers who picked me up along the road...

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neighbor's compound is situated in the midst of several enormous mango trees, around which sit five circular huts. the dwellings are modestly constructed out of crumbling, exposed brick and are more or less half-finished. i believe they might appear quite differently if this were the site of their original home, a permanent place built up over many years. but, sadly, her family was forced to flee from that established setting during "the insurgency" in 1989 during which soldiers commandeered the area, cutting down trees, destroying houses, looting the place and stripping it of all practical value. when neighbor came back more than a decade later, there was nothing left. her family decided to start over in a new location less than a kilometer away, which is where i visited.

a mango tree is rather impressive, like a wide, dense, towering cloud of leaves and branches whose ceiling is conveniently about six feet off the ground. it serves as a great shelter and allows most people (excluding yours truly) to walk comfortably underneath. to have one of these trees in your family's compound, let alone three, is a blessing, especially when they are producing. i was given a bowl of five ripe, juicy mangoes after lunch, which i enjoyed thoroughly. actually, i've eaten so many in the last couple weeks that my lips are raw.

it was coming to dusk as we sat drinking hot cocoa from mismatched mugs under one of the three mango trees, which had a pile of firewood - for cooking - stacked at its base. i almost didn't notice the hen as it approached, but my curiosity piqued when it hopped up from one piece of firewood to another until it was halfway up the tree trunk. once there, it stopped, looking befuddled. i asked my neighbor what was going on and she told me, very matter-of-factly that the chickens were getting ready for bed. they have been trained to sleep in trees! i think it's actually a regional phenomenon for this to happen and some chickens do it instinctively - up in the limbs, they are safe from predators and less prone to disease. as an added bonus for me, it's hilarious!

within minutes of my question, i saw a whole gaggle of hens climbing the mango tree on the opposite edge of the compound. one by one, they hopped up into its branches not to be seen again until morning. all were safely nestled above except for the rooster, who is apparently too heavy to hop to such a height on his own. but he's not left to his own devices on the ground; one of the (five) wives of the compound picked him up, walked him very calmly over to the edge of the tree's canopy, did a full-body wind-up, and threw him full-force into the mango tree! the rooster squawked and flapped and unsteadily came to rest amid his leafy evening surroundings. good night, delicious bird.

from a clear patch of night sky a half-moon was shining, the light of which was enough to illuminate the compound and allow us to do most of what we needed without a lantern. nights like these are neighbor's favorite; she can sit outside until very late, conversing with others and still able to observe the entire village. on this evening, as our yawning grew more and more contagious, we noticed dark storm clouds organizing themselves in the moon's glow from the opposite direction.

i entered one of the huts, which i shared on this night with the head of the compound and husband to the five wives. we settled in and, moments after we laid down, we could hear the first fat, heavy drops of what promised to be a solid rainfall. after several false starts, the sky opened up on our iron sheets, increasing in intensity until it was deafening. despite its alarming volume, this sound can be a very relaxing thing, conjuring a feeling similar to that of being warm in bed while cold winds are howling outside. just knowing that the crazy outside cannot touch the cozy inside amplifies this comfort. i was consciously appreciating this when i thought i felt something hit my leg... then my arm... and then my eyelid. the weather was no longer being held at bay by our roof - it had forced its way in and began raining onto my bed! i was too tired to react (nothing could be done, nothing at all) so i just pulled my sheet up and tried to settle in the dry spots. it was likely a wind-related issue, because my indoor rain stopped after only about ten minutes while the outdoor rain continued long after i fell asleep.

over a dinner of freshly roasted chicken earlier in the evening (the only bird who didn't make it up into the tree that night), i was informed of various "chicken customs" among the tribes of uganda. the common thread among all of them is that a chicken must be slaughtered for a visitor. but beyond that we find deviations: some cultures force the visitor(s) to eat the entire bird on his/her/their own while other cultures send the visitor away with a live chicken and any remaining cooked chicken from the meal. in the particular region of uganda i was visiting, the hosts customarily join the visitor(s) in the meal (which i think is a healthy practice) and then send a live chicken with the visitor when they go. the following day, i had the pleasure of carrying a living, pooping chicken on my 3 hour journey home, along with a guitar and a backpack stuffed with sweet potatoes, maize, freshly picked oranges, and an untouched change of clothes.

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$25 per person bought each of my friends 12.5 kilos of meat this year

yes, christmas in uganda is a pretty big deal. as one friend said, people begin planning (saving) for "their christmas" from the first of january. it is a time for people to come together...to come together and eat meat. groups of friends and colleagues pool resources and pay their share slowly, bit by bit, throughout the year to save enough money for a cow/bull. our college staff had organized such a group and held their slaughtering party on the 23rd. music blared from a boom-box while the meat was cut, weighed, and distributed in the blazing midday sun. on this day, it turned out that each $25 share bought 12.5 kilograms of beef for the share owner to carry home to his/her family. as a lucky bystander at the slaughtering party who grilled up four extraordinarily fresh charity steaks on the 23rd and as a guest at two of the homes, i had more than my fill of beef this holiday season. moving through villages on the road to my counterpart's home, he said (just as i was thinking the very same thing myself): "these festivities are smelly, as you can see..." it was in the air, the smell of raw, not-so-fresh-anymore meat. needless to say, by the end of it all i was just craving an apple and a celery stalk.

season's greetings, phonetically speaking