Food

A few folks have asked about the food here in Uganda. It’s no accident that you have never been to a Ugandan restaurant. In general, the cuisine of this country can be described as bland and starchy. The national dish is called “matoke” (mah-TOE-kay), which is steamed mashed plantains and looks like congealed banana mush. I guess it makes sense if you live in a country with serious diarrhea problems but I think it is pretty unappetizing. I get constipated just looking a matoke but Ugandans love it and seem confused when you don’t order it at a restaurant. A typical Ugandan lunch plate consists of a big ol’ heap of matoke, a side of boiled potatoes called “irish”, some white rice, beans, and groundnut sauce, similar to peanut sauce. You can swap out the beans for some other small portion of protein like some fried goat bits or a skinny chicken thigh and there are plenty of other starches to choose from as well (boiled sweet potato, chapatti, French fries, etc…).

Before you start to feel sorry for us, though, I should mention that we don’t eat generally eat Ugandan fare that often at home and instead opt for locally made cheese and yogurt, pasta, and fish from Lake Victoria. The one Ugandan dish we eat a lot of is beans and rice, primarily because Ani loves it and one bonus is that the fresh beans, once removed from their pods, are quite lovely (see photo).

Also, there are some bright spots on the food landscape. Much of the fruit is delicious and very cheap – pineapples, passion fruit, extra-sweet little bananas, papaya, and melon. In my opinion, the best thing about Ugandan food is the glorious avocado. Avocados are abundant here and are usually about 3 times the size of those that you see in California supermarkets, have a milder and creamier taste, and cost about 10 cents. We eat loads of avocados – salted slices, guacamole, and blended into yogurt smoothies for an extra creamy morning treat.

Of course, there are the foods we can’t get here that I crave and look forward to diving into in January –dark chocolate, pizza, decent breakfast cereal, and chicken I don’t have to look in the eye before purchasing. When I start thinking about these things my mouth waters so I just grab another slice of avocado and try to savor that instead.

Safari in style

This weekend we went on safari, meaning we went driving around a game park looking at animals. Lake Mburo National Park is about 40 minutes from Mbarara and is considered underrated and underutilized compared to the larger and more popular parks to the west. We took in some great sites and kept track of the main animals we saw: impala, topi, zebra, warthog, buffalo, waterbuck, hippos, monkeys, baboons, and several species of beautiful and interesting birds. I think my favorite of all the animals were the weaver birds who use the papyrus that grows along the lakeshore and weaves these elaborate nests (see photo).

Instead of camping, we decided to treat ourselves to the fabulous Mihingo lodge at the park. We stayed in beautiful thatch huts with amazing views and really good food. It was probably the nicest lodge-like place I have ever stayed in and we are already thinking about when we might go back for another night.

Ani continues to be a fun and adaptable traveler. At one point on our drive through very rough terrain, she got car sick and vomited all over me, but besides that, she was in good spirits and continued to charm the other guests and lodge employees.

“Muzungu, how are you?”

This is the phrase I hear at least 25 times a day as I traverse the markets and take my walks. English is the official language of Uganda, however, there are 33 local languages that dominate day to day conversation. Apparently, anyone who has had any schooling learns this exchange: question - “How are you?” and reply - “I am fine.” Seeing a white person seems to spark memories of this tutorial and everyone springs this little conversation on us. Another popular query is “How is baby?” I always reply that we are “fine” or “well” or “good”. I’ve already tired of these responses and am considering responding with “I am fabulous” or “I have had better days”, depending on my mood.

In Mbarara, the local language is Runyankole. The only words in Runyankole that I know are “Agandi,” which means hello and “muzungu,” or white person. I usually know when people are talking about me when I hear murmurs of “muzungu” but I haven’t a clue of what they are saying. The attention is starting to get a little tiresome and I have a smidgen of sympathy for celebrities. At least I’ll appreciate our anonymity when we return to Berkeley. Ani, on the other hand, will likely need therapy to recover from the attention withdrawal she will face when we return. She has started to wave to everyone like she’s the local festival queen in the 4^th of July parade.

For now, at least, we muzungus are doing fine.

Weekend Update

Our first weekend in Mbarara was spent moving into our place and Ben worked through last weekend with the pilot testing of his survey. So, this weekend felt like our first real weekend here in Uganda. Originally we planned on the rather ambitious tourist agenda of going to Queen Elizabeth Park – about 4 hours from Mbarara for a safari drive. We scrapped that plan on Friday after a couple of nights of very limited sleep due to Ani’s teething and Ben’s huge workload. Instead, we went on a beautiful hike on Saturday with a handful of doctors (British and American) working at the University. Ben carried Ani on his back and she seemed to enjoy the scenery as much as we did.

On Sunday afternoon we checked out the English mass at the nearby Ugandan Martyrs parish. Mass was reasonably the same as in the States, although a bit longer with more singing interspersed throughout. I won’t be attending with Ani in the future, however. She was fine, really, by normal American standards, but Ugandan children seem to always be very quiet and well behaved in public, so Ani’s perpetual babytalk babble seemed distracting and inappropriate in that setting.

On Location

From Nicole's desk ...

When packing for our time in Uganda, I had this notion that I would bring comfortable, utilitarian clothing that could withstand hand washing and then I would leave most of my clothes behind when we leave in January. As soon as we started hanging out in Mbarara, however, I noticed that we were quite possibly the worst-dressed people in the city, followed by the other mzungus (white people) and that nobody here would be the least bit interested in our clothes except to use them for cleaning rags. The people of Mbarara take great pride in their appearance and amaze me in how they are able to stay clean and unruffled after a hot and dusty day. I live in one of the nicest and cleanest homes in the city and still by the end of the day I am covered in dirt and sweat and half my hair has sprung free from my ponytail.

In contrast to Mbarara, today Ben brought us along to a village where they were pre-testing the survey for his study and we got a glimpse into village life. The villagers are not immaculately dressed and coifed but rather fit more into the images you might see of Africa in the US media – barefoot and pantless children, a few goats along a dirt road, and tired looking women wearing old clothes. The kids we encountered were fascinated by Ani and all wanted to touch her and socialize. She loved it, of course, and it became clear that one of the benefits of being a one-year-old was that she wasn’t put off by a language barrier or cultural differences. Ani laughed, babbled in baby-speak and shook hands like she met these kids on a playground in Berkeley.

I’d like to say that I was very cool and gracious during our visit, but that wouldn’t be accurate. Looking at the kids with their distended bellies and runny noses, I did consider the twist of fate that separated them from Ani, who was dressed in her preppy outfit and leaving shortly in a SUV for a nice clean house in town, not to mention back to the US in a few months. In spite of this awareness, however, the main thing on my mind was “Oh dear, they keep touching Ani’s hands and face. Where is my hand sanitizer?” I spent the next couple of hours waffling between the emotions of a sympathetic visitor and a germaphobic mother.

Perhaps this nervousness will wear off in a few weeks and perhaps not. In any event, at least I know where I can leave behind our clothes.