A New Mzungu

It has been two weeks since I have arrived in Uganda, and as my plane from Nairobi began its descent, it was quite obvious why Uganda was once known as "The Pearl of Africa." The ground is covered in lush green jungle as far as the eye can see, with red stripes that act as dirt roads decorating the landscape. And as we landed alongside Lake Victoria, one of the largest lakes in the world, I took a deep breath--the time had finally come. I was about to set foot in Uganda, something I had been imagining for years.

It is a strange thing whenever a world that you have only imagined becomes your reality, and I was quick to realize that the way I had imagined Africa to appear was slightly different than how it actually is. On our drive from Entebbe, where the airport is located, to Kampala, the capitol city of Uganda, I saw less of the huts that I had many a time seen in documentaries and instead saw more settlements as if they had just come out of a classic Western. There are rows upon rows of structures that look like they could have once been saloons along the main roads in Uganda. Some hold tiny shops that sell sodas in glass bottles and air time for mobiles, while others are just homes--one or two rooms with a curtain acting as a front door. As we passed by these villages, many Africans were outside, some doing carpentry and some hanging washing on the line while others sat on their front step shucking maize for their evening meal and even more just sat there staring.

As we neared Kampala, it wasn't long before we heard people shouting, "Mzungu! Mzungu!" greeting us as we passed. This word has become my identity here, and I am more often called "Mzungu" than "Lacy." "Mzungu" means "white person" in Swahili, and although referring to people by the color of their skin would be rather politically incorrect in the United States, the Ugandans are simply stating the obvious--they mean no harm. In fact, white people, or moreover westerners, are quite revered here. We are seen as rich and wise, especially in the Christian sector, and consequently often asked to speak in church. And by speak, I mean preach. Maree, our coordinator in Uganda, warned us of this during our week of training in Kampala and advised us to always be prepared with something to say, at the least a testimony.

She was right in suggesting we have a testimony prepared. The very first night we arrived at our placement in Namiliri, a village just off the main road to Kampala, Pastor Benedict, our overseer, informed us that he was very excited to hear our message the following morning at church. Also, since it was our first Sunday in the area, we would be sharing at the mother church. With no better way to dive in head first, we spent our night settling in and preparing testimonies and shared them the following morning with the adoring African congregation. We were gifted with plastic lawn chairs in the front of the church instead of my preferred back row bench, and these spots on display made it perfect for these naturals at dancing and singing to view our hesitations as we left our reservations behind and attempted to fit in with the vivacious culture during their times of worship. After a few of these jumping and jiving sessions, I have a feeling I won't be able to stop moving once I return home; it really is as freeing as it looks.

I continue to experience new things about the culture everyday, whether it be collecting water in jerry cans, weaving mats out of dried banana leaves, or getting used to pit latrines and lizards crawling on the walls inside my bungalow. These things are making my stay here an adventure from the start, with new things to offer day by day, and I always find myself excited and curious about what rare experience the next day might bring in this, the "Pearl of Africa."