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I woke up to the sound of rain falling on the tin roof. Norah and Bob, my early bird roommates, were still in bed. I donned my trusty raincoat and bright pink gum boots and made the trek out back to the clean, yet unsavory outdoor toilets. Although it sounded like it was pouring inside our small house, in reality it was just drizzling. I made it back slightly damp but by no means drenched.. rain, it happens right? There was work to be done, survey’s to complete, budget proposals to plan, discussion groups to be held. I was ready for business.. but soon I realized as long as the rain persisted, no matter how insignificant by Western standards, no work would be done. In my tiny Ugandan village, Bukatabira, life literally stops at the first sign of precipitation. The dusty red roads instantly turn to slick mud pits and travel is virtually impossible… I decided to go back to bed.
Four hours later, I had finished my book and run out of patience. Ugandans have an amazing ability for doing, well, absolutely nothing for hours on end. I on the other had.. do not. The rain coat and boots went back on and I went back out in the rain. It was just me and the cows trudging down the muddy lane. And I began to wonder, what in the world am I doing here?
Later that afternoon, the rain stopped just as quickly as it began. And just like that, Norah jumped out of bed and started cooking lunch, Bob went to fetch water, and David and Juma (the community volunteers) arrived from their local homes. Soon we were on our way to meet with a group of community elders, winding down tiny one track lanes through the mist covered African landscape. I arrived to a compound of grass huts where a large group of woman sat on papyrus mats. The women were all dressed in the traditional Ugandan style, bright flowing dresses with pointed sleeves and shiny buttons. Toddlers swayed through the crowd and babies clung to their mothers’ breasts. Every week this intrepid group of women meets to pool their meager funds to sponsor a chosen member’s income generating project. As soon as we arrived the chairperson of the group ran to grab us chairs and warmly welcomed us to her home. Then she gathered her members.. mothers, children, and babies.. to give us a proper Ugandan welcome. The mats were pulled away and soon we were surrounded by singing, clapping, dancing, and the echoing of a cow hide drum. As I got out of my seat and began to dance, much to everyone’s amusement, I began to remember just why I was here.
