February 18th, 2012

I wake up before the rooster again. Kirsten and I run through the endizi orchards behind URF.

Goodbye to our other half. There are hugs and high fives, then the van containing Rohan, Atilla, Brendan and Yassin leaves for two months.

Kirsten, Leandrea and I head to Kyetume to catch a taxi to Masaka. The forty minute cab ride costs about two dollars. The windshield bears the phrase

"Thank you god" in bright, shiny blue. The brown floral seats smell of sweat, and remind me of a couch I had as a child. The heat is immense even

with the windows open, speeding down open highway. The road is in disrepair, and under construction. The ceiling and the top of my skull become close friends.

Kirsten ends up with two seatbelts that have the same end, and ties them together in an attempt to be safe. The first stop is at the side of a field, after much discussion

two women and a baby board with large bunches of endizi that take up a seat or two as well as under my seat. Further up the road a man gets in with dead chickens tied to a stick.

A few minutes later the chickens sqwuak and flutter as they come to. To quell this insubordination the man punches the chickens until they stop moving, this happens

a few times before we get to Masaka. A family of five drives by us on a single motorcycle as we wait in a small village for more passengers. The endizi belong to Cesi

and her mother, they are heading to Kampala to sell them. Armrests on the aisle of each set of seats fold out to accomodate more people. Children walk bikes with jerry

cans of water tied to them.

My head hits the ceiling as we speed across broken highway, the chicken sqwuaks, mocking me with it's small stature. We will see who is laughing come dinner time.

The man knocks the chicken out.

Lunch in Masaka, and in an attempt to catch a taxi we are swarmed by people offering "special taxis" to where we are going. A man steals a pen from my pocket and a taxi driver

driver returns it. Another attempt to get in my bag through a taxi window, as well as Leandrea's.

We make it back to URF just in time to head to a grad ceremony in Nyangay. She is a graduate of Mass Media and works for a radio station in Kampala. There are a few hundred

people, tents, and food being prepared. There are long speeches of congratulations that I can't follow, but remind me of family gatherings at home. Food is served and I stand in line

with a large group of nuns. Irish, matooke, meat, rice, yams (which are purple) and beans. There is a speech by a nun, followed by a comedy routine involving a man in white face, and two in drag as a bride

and bridesmaid. Three young men do a ridiculously fast hip dance as they circle around the crowd collecting money. Their speed is only matched by the length of the routine.

A song is put on just for the mezungus. We are thanked for our contribution, and for attending the celebration. We form a circle and dance, one by one we enter

the circle and dance solo. I prove to a few hundred people that I can not dance.

Extra people climb into the van as we head home.

No power means bucket showers in the dark.