The eagle has landed.

I'm here!! I wrote an epic blog post about everything on Tuesday night, but the wifi turned out to be mythical until today. Here are some belated first impressions. N.B.: The title of this post refers to the line my father used to alert his family of my birth many years ago. Gotta keep up the Buetow legacy.

Sunday night through Tueday night comprised one continuous day with a few catnaps in between. I survived the epic journey and even managed to escape Heathrow for a bit during my layover and walk around London with Curtis, my site partner. I guess it's relevant that I went from London to Entebbe, because the British controlled Uganda until 1962. Still, not even reading about Uganda's history and culture could prepare me for my first step off the plane.

The first thing I noticed when I walked onto the blacktop runway was the smell. The warm air carried the scent of wood, flowers, water, and that faint tropical mustiness that reminds me of southern California. It was refreshing beyond belief after 8 hours of recycled air. Entebbe airport comes up out of nowhere; you think you’re going to land in Lake Victoria until the runway appears under you at the very last minute. In the distance, hills covered with acacia rise to the gentle blue sky. The dirt is a bright rusty red and the brush is lush green. The colors are more vivid here than anywhere else.

Outside the airport, Gelvan met us to bring us to our accommodations at Uganda Martyrs University. Gelvan works with the university’s outreach program and is closely involved in Ford’s project with the parish of Nnindye. More on that later. The drive was a 3-and-a-half hour sojourn that took us from the rolling countryside, to the crowded streets of Kampala, through the swamplands, and finally back to the hills where UMU is nestled. Sanity dictates that the passenger in a Ugandan vehicle not dwell on what is happening before his eyes. Paying too much attention to the continual near-catastrophes with cars, pedestrians, produce-bearing trucks, and boda-boda motorcycle taxis will make you prematurely gray. So will the common sight of policemen in blue camouflage fatigues toting AK-47s. There are an astounding number of these officers, and most of them seem to just stand by the road or sit in the bed of a truck and watch casually. They are just “keeping the peace,” said Gelvan, with a grin that could have been sardonic or sincere. He said their guns function more as walking sticks than anything else, leading Curtis to ask the excellent question of why they didn’t just use actual sticks. None of the Ugandans seemed phased by the outward presence of intimidation; in fact, Gelvan sped past a truck full of policemen and almost grazed its rear-view window. Neither he nor the police did so much as blink.

When we finally got to UMU, we were crashing; our two and a half days of traveling were hitting hard. We met with the rest of the outreach program, who introduced us to a common and lovely Ugandan greeting to strangers: “You are most welcome.” We were escorted to our rooms, which are spare but certainly functional. In fact, the whole set-up reminds me of a combination of Interlochen and Lewis Hall. When I walked in the room, it had the woodsy, slightly dusty scent of a camp cabin. The two bare beds were set up in the L-shape so reminiscent of empty dorm rooms, with a table in the corner and a Lewis-like open wardrobe. I feel like I’m half inside and half outside. Even now, the smell of the room, my soap, and the lingering odor of sweat that pervades the whole dorm is giving me bizarre flashbacks to working at camp. It’s so funny how the most unexpected things connect. 

A little more on my dorm (yes, I'm bragging a little about roughing it): the showers are cold and the water comes out in a single torrent, like a kitchen sink. The toilets are BYOTP, and mosquitoes like to hang out there and feast on one’s—ahem---more exposed flesh. There are big sinks for doing laundry, and I just rigged up a bright green mosquito net to keep the bugs away at night.  It’s amazing to me, though, that in this atmosphere that reminds me so much of a summer camp, the students are as serious and passionate as any I’ve ever met. Many in my hall are finishing their exams this week in subjects like business ethics and social welfare. They are engaging and very well-dressed and put-together, despite the fact that I have yet to find a mirror and can’t even imagine walking on the rocky pathways in heels. There is so much success taking place here, in conditions at which an American university student would cringe. At the same time, there are many modern accoutrements: a library with internet (though the wi-fi still doesn’t like me), the staff pub, where I had a delicious lunch of tilapia stew and rice while American music videos played in the background, and a little convenience store that sells everything from toilet paper to shoes. I can’t absorb it all, can’t connect these discrepancies and surprises. Not yet, anyway.

I managed to commit a social gaffe already. We met two girls in our dorm who invited us to dinner at the dining hall, and afterwards offered to buy us sodas from the counter in the corner. (Note: soda here is de-licious. It comes in a glass bottle, it’s made with natural cane sugar, and it is the prefect refreshment for a hot afternoon.) I responded to this generous offer by asking if we could buy them sodas tomorrow in return. They looked surprised and immediately started shaking their heads. “No, no, in our culture, we do not do that. We like to share; it is a gift.” Whoops. In the U.S., you go through that whole stupid dance of oh-you-shouldn’t-have-let-me-pay-you-back. In retrospect, the Ugandan way is more respectful and sincere. You give, you receive, you say thanks. Then you go and enjoy a Coke together.

I know this is long, and there’s so much more I could say, but I’m going to get ready for bed. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to 7 AM mass (people get up pretty early here), eat breakfast, and then hopefully follow the outreach people to Nnindye. I still can’t believe I’m here. In Africa. I stick out like a sore thumb with my pale skin and casual clothes and too-fast speech. But I’m very happy to be here and happy to see what unfolds. 

I miss you all and I wish you could be here with me. Goodnight for now. xoxox

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