Naarumanya Ogu

February 10, 2012 · Filed under General

If there’s ever a time in my life when I felt bad for Britney Spears, this is it.  Granted, in Uganda one hardly needs to shave her head, stop wearing panties, and/or pop out three babies in the space of approximately 14 months….you just gotta be white.  Being blonde doesn’t hurt either.  Reflect the sun’s radiation from every angle.  But really, if you want to feel special…move to rural (America-friendly parts of) Africa and ensure that you’re the only cracker around.  Like my fellow PC Volunteer Extendee, Doug, said… “I’m like a rockstar.”  Well, to be fair, he really IS like a rockstar.  He’s friendly, you see.  The kids love him!  I usually spend most of my time refusing to give them sweets and telling them they have bad manners.  But still…people know me.  I am known.

Sometimes this level of familiarity in the village is irritating—very little privacy, visits/calls from all people at all times, and when you buy things on credit at the supermarket…they know how to find you!!  (Really hard to hide from those yoghurt debts.)  But overall, I think this is really great.  Even though I will always be an outsider here, this recognition makes me feel like part of the community, where everyone knows each other.  All the rockstar and blonde-admiration stuff is just a tough bonus.  (I’m gonna need an ego adjustment in a few months)

I like shopping in a town 2 hours away and, even though I haven’t been there in about 6 months, the man remembers my name.  I like that I no longer need to say my orders in many restaurants.  I like that taxi drivers in 3 surrounding towns know me and where I’m going—that I no longer have to tell them my destination or negotiate a local price.  I love when people in my groups call me “muhara waitu”, “our daughter”.  All of these things make me feel both included AND safe.  But what I like the MOST is all of the complete strangers who I don’t know, but who know me.  These are the people who frequently come to my defense, out of nowhere, with the phrase “naarumanya, ogu!”  Translated, “this one, she knows the local language!”  These good Samaritans, upon hearing others talking about me in Runyankore, warn them that I can understand everything they’re saying.  I can’t decide which I like more—their brotherly defense of my dignity, or their flattering assumption that I can, in fact, understand everything they’re saying.

In reality, my Runyankore is not spectacular.  The other day, someone told me that our neighbor had lost his father.  I responded by saying “thank you”.  I meant it to be more like “that’s horrible but thank you for informing me”…not sure the whole point got across.  Ahem.  What I’m trying to say is….community-living is fantastic.  There is some small print there, but basically….fantastic.  Ugandans are some of the friendliest and most welcoming people I have met, anywhere, and I am so blessed to feel like a part of this place.  Also, I will repeat, it does not hurt to be blonde. 

(Except when you run into things…or try to think too hard.)