Namirembe (Nah Me Rem Bay) Trip

Moses goes to Namirembe on Wednesday's.  That is where God Grace School is, and where I am going to teach on Tuesday's.  It's about an hour and half away, southeast of Masaka, on Lake Victoria.  Lake Victoria borders three countries in Africa:  Uganda, Tanzania, and Kenya.  The school is located in a very remote area, deep in the bush, past what most of us Westerners consider "civilization." We were schedued to start out at 8 a.m. but at 11 that day Moses informed me that the truck we were taking was in the garage, a problem with the starter.  (Gulp.  Smile.  Nod.  Okay.  Gulp.  The imagination is running away with me again.......gulp.  Reasoning returns.  Sweating stops.  Palms are a bit drier now. Resume composure.  It's okay.  Truck will start!  Moses doesn't want to get stuck in the bush.  Moses lives in Uganda.  Moses knows best).  I need a coffee. 

I would wait patiently since I wanted to try and get on the internet at the cafe and write. I attempted to connect several times, but to no avail.  In the next moment, I looked over and saw a Muzungu (white person) in the cafe that day.  Without shame, I ran up to her as would a 4 year old on the playground when a new kid arrives, and stood in front of her, hands by my side, eyes wide, and in that loud, direct, overly annunciated kid talk I said, "Hi, I'm Hope.  (Subtext:  Wanna come out and play"?)  Her name was Hilary. She asked me to join her at her table, and I plopped my 5 bags of books and electronics on the table, trying to establish myself at this table, my refugee camp.  Taking out books, journals, chords for phone, internet, camera and usb chords to download pix, files, checkbooks, keys from home.....I had "the bags." My bags. Those bags that have become appendages. Ugh!

The instant Hilary asked me to join her I found a piece of America that comforted me and kept me safe for the 2 hours that I talked with her.  She is doing a research project through her school, I am teaching in schools. We are both here to learn about Uganda and it's people, convincing ourselves we are making a difference being here, and trying to articulate something that has not readily making itself clear to either of us.......that we are here to learn something about ourselves, and it has to be learned in Uganda.  Seems no other place will provide the lessons we know we need.  We shrugged our shoulders on that part of the conversation, put our heads down, averted our eyes, and moved on to discuss her research. She told me about Malaria, a bacterial infection, and a blood infection she contracted all within the first 3 weeks of being here.  I popped a Doxcycline and "pounded" more coffee.
But I was responding in fascination and awe to her tales as if I weren't in the same country, or exposed to the same risks. Her friend, Lindsey joined us an hour later, and the connection between the 3 of us became stronger, conversation richer, and our little ex-pat circle was formed. 

Moses returned from the garage with the truck at 1:30 p.m.  We loaded the car together, and then I got into the passenger seat to settle in.  I closed the door to the truck and the handle fell off.  I looked around as if I were on Candid Camera, and frantically tried to put the handle back on.  I looked like Lucy Ricardo, and could actually hear my own version of an Ethel in my mind telling me to hurry up and fix it.  I couldn't fix it so I threw it on my seat, put on my seat belt and waited for Moses to return.  He got in the driver's side, and said, "Well, it is running but if I stop the truck it has a problem starting up again."
Hot sun, tempernmental truck, nervous woman with an imagination running wild as the hens in Masaka Town, and the possibility of no reception.  I am seeing myself walking for miles, getting sun sickness, feet blistering, unprepared for the snakes and gorillas I was bound to meet, and village people who would run up to me and call out, "Muzungu.  Muzungu."  I know I can escape and go back to the Volunteer House but I stay locked in my seat.  Moses sticks the key in the already running truck, and we're off.

Moses and I rarely speak when we're driving together.  But I'll open a Cliff Bar and offer it to him, after I rip a piece off the top for myself.  He thanks me.  I ask if he likes it.  He does.  And then we'll continue on those African back roads, and bounce and undulate along for a couple of hours,  having said everything we need to know about each other with few words.  The Cliff Bar, dried fruit, him stopping in town for me to ensure I have air time.  He stops at the side of the road when he knows I'd appreciate the photo op.  We smile.  We are now friends.  
 

New piece of information from Moses:  He says, "These trees are filled with monkeys."  "Really!  I love monkeys." I stated overly excited.  I am sweating profusely again.  My imagination is stirred.   We're going to slide on the gravel into one of these road trenches, or fall into a hole in the road that could swallow a Land Cruiser whole.  And the car will stall.  The monkeys will come.  Moses will try to fight them off, screaming in Luganda, me screaming in English.  They'll be confused and annoyed and they'll go for the Muzungu.  It'll be over quick.  He'll carry on to the schools to deliver the goods, with a knot in his stomach, knowing when he returns to the office, he'll have bad news about the monkeys and the Muzungu.  A bump wakes me from this daydream.  I regain my composure and begin praying the car will not stall, or better yet, if it does stall, the monkeys will come near excited by a visit by the muzungu.

Namirembe is beautiful. The kids at God's Grace School are beautiful.  We go and talk about what lessons are most needed.  I video the children laughing and screaming NI MEE REM BAY b/c my Luganda is so bad that they are teasing me about my pronunciation. Moses gets in the running truck, backs up on a hill and parks the truck so that the it is pointed downhill.  I know why he's done this.  He's going to CUT THE ENGINE.  He's going to turn off the truck.  And he does. 

We prepare to leave a half hour later after our talk with the school's pastor. Of course, I can think about is the "what if's" - the truck may not start up again.  Sundown.  No cell reception.  Vast land and sky.  I'm hungry. We ate the Cliff Bars and dried fruit.  The monkey's.  The heart is beating wildly again. 

We say our goodbyes, and I am practically running to the truck.  For some reason I always think if I move faster than others it will create positive results for any situation or challenge.  So, I am moving like the wind, up that hill, standing at the passenger door, looking through the window and willing that ignition light to go on and that the truck will start.  Moses climbs in with grace and ease.  He inserts key.  He turns.  It does not start.  3 more tries.  On the third turn of that key, it starts.  I wave frantically at the kids from the window, smiling, and thrilled I am safe to return to Masaka.  But I am anxious to return and see them, no matter what the odds.