Village Life

There are some things that can’t be described well with words; experiences that can’t be relayed over cyberspace; lessons that can’t be learned simply hearing about them…I hesitate to tell stories that are so real only to us who had the blessing of experiencing them because they aren’t just stories- they are real places. They are real people.  

Derrick drove Brayden, Hannah and I to his village, introduced us to his cousin Martin and drove away. He said he would return later, maybe the next day.  Martin and Derrick’s sister, Nunu, gave us a tour of the village and surrounding farm and lands…we walked for miles and miles- rich dark earth between our toes- our hosts explaining and showing us unusual fruits, plants, animals….explaining what everyday life is like for them. 

                                                Nunu with her sugarcane walking stick. 

Martin, Bryn, Hannah and Nunu. 

Children there don’t see white young people much and would run to the roadside and stare, point and wave. If we smiled and waved back, they would laugh and scream with delight. If we spoke to them in the few words of Toro that we know, they would grow wild-eyed- their mouths hanging open in surprise.

The head lady of the village welcomed us, grasping our hands warmly as we bowed to her in respect. She spoke of how happy she was we came to visit her.

That afternoon, they helped us kill, pluck and cook a chicken. In a matter of minutes, I saw a rooster go from running around the yard making a racket to being a few pieces of white meat in a pan. Hannah and I learned how to prepare a meal over the open fire. Can I just say that if everyone in America ground millet on stones, carried your water in jerry cans through forests and up hills and worked in gardens every day, there would be no need for gyms and fitness clubs- EVER. Now I understand why Africans don’t get working out- and think it strange. The women there were kind and patient, laughing with us as a couple of white American kids tried their best to live the way they do.

The pigs watching. 

Boiling the headless chicken so the feathers come off.

Removing the feathers. 

These pigs were cracking me up. 

Veggies for dinner. 

Hannah and Bryn outside the kitchen.

We sat around that evening, drinking tea and eating the meal we had prepared…using lanterns for light. Needless to say, we were SO ready for bed by the time we finished eating. Our sleep was interrupted by a very drunk man who angrily yelled outside the house for quite a while…shouting at the dog when no one else would listen. I was very grateful Brayden was with us. J

In the morning we had more tea, visited and attempted to carry water up the hill from the well. Between the huge cans, slippery mud and high altitude- it’s a wonder we made it at all. But then again we had our new friends to cheer us on and say how we needed to do it because “many American women are weak.” Ha. That was motivation enough. J

We sat in the sunshine watching Brayden teach some of the guys how to juggle in a open space in the garden. Life there is so quiet (most of the time) and peaceful. The people in the village spend hours sitting and talking. Or slowly walking down a long dirt road- speaking to those they pass….They work hard to live but take their time doing so.  

                                              Bryn and her favorite Ugandan baby- Melissa. 

Juggling lessons in the garden. 

Melissa and Brayden playing peek-a-boo. 

I came away with a new appreciation for dozens of things…running water, electricity, quietness, a day without a schedule, a day without worry and hurry…the sunrise…the birds…children laughing. No, these people don’t have easy lives or lives any better from anyone else. They are not nobler because of how they live. However, I think in a culture of affluence and “prosperity” we have lost awe for so many things that matter. We have lost a patience for them. A love for them.  

My time in the village made me thankful again for the simple things in life. Aaaand am I very thankful that every time I feel like eating a chicken sandwich or having chicken tortillas- that I don’t have to catch the chicken, kill the chicken, boil the chicken, pluck the chicken, wash the chicken……..