Things sort of blend together here in a way that everyday is sort of the same, routine but different too. Today was the best day since I’ve gotten to Orom. Now that I’ve decided to live half in Orom and half in Namokora(the center 12 miles away) with Father William I suddenly feel more settled here. He is going to be my advisor for my final project and I just feel like I need to be around someone who I can really discuss ideas with and frankly I’m surprised by how reassuring the parish feels at the Catholic church. Something about the simplicity of it, the quietness in the orchard (mango, lemons), the children all playing around, the homemade lemonade and the table always set with tea. It reminds me in some strange way of my grandparents house in Germany. I guess this makes sense because they were devout catholic and had a sort of simple feeling to their home always with projects in the works. It feels weird to think of living there with three male priests (or some in training to be), but it also feels right?
I don’t know though because I am still so attached to Orom, attached to my little home there and to Catherine who I can tell I’m finally growing on. Catherine is the one who is related to my host father in Gulu and although I like her I think at first I was just some American girl that was sort of forced on her by familial obligation. Things seem to be slowly shifting though and even if Orom isn’t where’s best for me to be for school it feels like something I’m not done seeing and so I’m going to go back and forth, spending a few days with the priests and a few days in Orom each week.
Orom has a town center but for the most part the population is there because it was an IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) camp during the war when all the people from the small villages came for security from the Lord’s Resistance Army. After the war ended the World Food Programme was still giving Orom camp food up until this past year (and apparently are still giving food to those in the most dire need , mostly disabled). The combination of the end of food distribution and the serious drought Orom experienced this past rain season, means the area is suffering pretty seriously and people are often awkwardly laughing when they tell me they don’t know what they’re gonna do. This place is growing on me. It’s weird because there was a definite loneliness to being here (I’m only 5 days in) but there is also such a wonderful community aspect that you just don’t find in most neighborhoods in America, at least to this extent.
This morning I slept in late because I figured what the hell I’ve been waking up at 5 or 5:30 the majority of the last two months and I don’t really need to wake up that early it’s Sunday. Catherine came and knocked at my door at about 8:45 as I was beginning to wake up on my own. She wanted to know if I was sick. When I dressed quickly to join her she laughed and told me I must have been very tired last night. She handed a 5,000 bill to Phillip (3) and Brenda (maybe 4 or 5), Monica’s daughter (they live with Catherine) and told them to go get three chapatti’s. I was pretty proud in my own head that at least I could understand that in Acholi. The kids ran off to the nearby town center and returned carrying a little plate and breakfast. I still can’t get over the how mature the children are here. They give them so much more responsibility and freedom than we do in America. I mean Catherine will hand Phillip a knife when he keeps reaching for it and she just knows that he will mind it and not get cut, or maybe if he does than he‘ll learn to never do it again.
After breakfast Catherine had to go to a workshop, apparently they are training some 32 community members on AIDS and Malaria prevention and then they go off into the smaller villages to teach people who are less informed about ways to stay safe. I sat for a while talking to Okidi Alex, my supposed translator, who I had to break the bad news to that I wouldn’t really be needing him. I felt bad but frankly I told him I was unsure and we kind of struggle to understand each other which isn’t really a good sign in a translator (by this I mean that Catherine insists on translating every single thing I say to him into Acholi because otherwise he just looks slightly confused). This was a little disheartening given the fact that he sort of is my second translator now. Little Catherine was meant to be my first but after I realized she came to Gulu just for me and basically was expecting to live in my hut with me and be my month companion I sort of had to make a change. I felt really bad especially because the hut is big enough for two and what kind of spoiled brat am I that I need to live there alone, but frankly I wasn’t ready to have someone depend on me like that or be a part of my every waking movement. So ya two translators down…
After a bit I told Okidi Alex I was going to go and try to get my stove started. I’ve been wanting to cook my whole time in Africa and this was supposed to be my chance but to be honest it’s been a pretty impossible struggle and I realize why women here spend the whole day cooking. For days I have been trying with no luck to light the small charcoal stove. I let go of my pride, well this is pretty much an every day, every moment sort of exercise, and asked Catherine to teach me. Both times she tried though it was already getting late (like 5/6 and if you want to cook dinner here you almost have to start at 3 even for beans and rice) and she got fed up trying or impatient for how long it would take to heat up that she would just send some young neighborhood kid to fetch some good and hot coals to speed up the process. Today I decided I would try on my own and start at like 10 am to really have a good go at it. Within a half an hour I am proud to say that I finally actually got it. No one was around to witness this proud moment but I sat perched on the ledge outside my hut and frankly felt like I could leave Orom happy. I don’t know why something so simple feels like such a big deal but I think it has something to do with how much respect I have for the women here and how much cooking on these charcoal stoves means in their lives. I didn’t loose this happiness even after I proceeded to burn the beans I was making, twice. Don’t ask.
Later in the afternoon I went back to Catherine’s and found older Phillip sitting there. There are two Catherine’s and two Phillips so ya…He invited me to come watch the traditional dance in the center so we walked over. I’ve seen Acholi traditional dance but something was entirely different about seeing it when it wasn’t being put on directly for you. Here were people just doing what they love and sharing it with the community in a way that surprised me because I didn’t realize how many people still practiced this kind of dance. The group performing apparently travels around and every week sets up in different small centers and villages to share with the community. The men were beating calabash bowls with drumstick like pieces made from a collection of old bicycle spokes. Some of the men had wire pieces that fit on their head and bounced with feathers attached at the top. I’ll try and get a picture of this because it’s hard to explain. The women were dancing in the middle and mostly had pulled their tops up into bras to fight the sweat that was dripping down their faces and chests. The beads they wrapped around their waist bounced with every movement (the beads are something you see here on the women that seems to come as an influence from being so close to the border of Sudan). People were coming from all over the camp to come and watch and although I still stuck out like a sore thumb I also felt like people were starting to get used to me.
This honestly was one of my favorite moments since getting here, something about the music and the community/family feel of the gathering really made me feel at home here. After a while the musicians started to move and migrated over near Catherine’s house and under the shade of a nearby big tree. Apparently Catherine’s house is a hub for all sorts of things: medicine, food supplies, teachers, women, truck drivers, and musicians…I noticed that the neighborhood children were still playing with my hula-hoop on the small hill in front of my hut. I migrated over to them and soon we were surrounded. I think the entire group watching the musicians came to my hut to watch us hula-hoop. It felt so good to perch on the stoop outside and sit next to this older woman in the community who I really enjoy and watch these kids learning hoop tricks. It’s crazy how fast they learn. Every few children that tried, a different woman in the community would ask me to show them again and I would get up and give a mini hoop show. It was sweet that with every new group floating by, they wanted to make sure they saw me do it too. I got more and more comfortable with each mini performance and after rocking out a bit to the drummers in the distance I started to get tired and Catherine who had arrived in the middle began to shoo the kids of the mound.
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