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.