I made a bit of headway this weekend in breaking stereotypes after writing the previous post on this topic. On Saturday Mr. Lubega had originally invited me to go with him to his brother’s introduction ceremony, an extravagant engagement party it seems. That seemed to be a conflict. I’d also told Vennie I’d go to the Learning Centre with her and work with the primary kids. And Betty was doing a catering job at Millie’s for her daughters’ graduation. Fortunately Betty convinced Mr. Lubega that the introduction ceremony would be boring for me and I didn’t have to go after all. It would have been a long day being on my own, not knowing anyone or the language, and being stared at from all sides. Instead I got to go with Betty to help with her catering job. When I arrived I was first invited to come sit at the front with other guest’s of honour but I insisted that I was there to help and went to the kitchen area where Betty, the other Betty, Mama Angel, Mama Mina and Lydia (Mama Linda) were already hard at work, since the night before actually. I insisted they give me a job so Jean and I started by wiping down plates to make sure they were clean. I told Jean about some of my other adventures, like the kayaking one around the Queen Charlottes and the bike tour through Poland. She was finding it hard to believe that I’ve cooked on a wood-burning fire before. I helped set up the tables and bring the food to each station. Filled up and carried the water tanks. Served the rice, mountains of it to several hundred people. I helped clean-up. Poor Betty kept worrying about me and how tired I must be. She kept wanting me to sit down and rest, but on garden chair like the guests, not sitting on the little stools or on the ground like the rest of them were. I kept insisting I wasn’t tired, and in fact I wasn’t. Joshua happened to be at the graduation. He’s one of the university students that studies at the Centre and had come to visit with us several times in the weeks that we were there. He was surprised to see me working at this ceremony and came to visit in the kitchen area after the meal was over. We chatted for quite a long time. He seems to have a crush on me.
Then Lydia and I had good conversation. She’s an 18 year old mother of a two year old with very little opportunity. She works in a shoe shop and with Betty and little Linda has malaria. She was surprised to learn that white people aren’t all rich. She was impressed with my work and we ended up going to dance with the kids, well I danced. Her high heels kept getting stuck in the soft ground. The kids were enthralled with the muzungu dancing with them. They were laughing and putting on the moves and cheering and clapping. I felt like the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Lydia wondered how I learned to dance like them. Dancing’s a pretty universal language. When the truck had arrived to take all the equipment back I was called off the dance floor.
I helped carry things to the truck much to Betty’s dismay and when I climbed onto the back of the truck with all the other young helpers Betty’s protests fell to deaf ears. I plopped myself onto a nice soft sack, Mama Angel was standing on the back bumper and I held on tight to her so that she wouldn’t fall off, especially going through all the deep pot holes. It was so much fun. Everyone else couldn’t believe that I was doing this and having fun at the same time and that I wasn’t scared either. When we got home I helped unpack, again to protests since I surely must be tired, but I wasn’t about to miss out on anything even if the sack I was sitting on turned out to be left over food and scraps that were being brought home for the animals. I was soaked through with it. It was pretty gross. After unloading I washed in the outdoor shower area to wonderings and protests that I surely must be scared out at night in the dark. So Betty and Betty stood guard. I slept very well and I was very happy that I finally felt useful. Sister Lydia was astonished at my escapades and warned me not to complain about being tired the next day because it would be all my fault. In the end, she conceded that I was more African than they were giving me credit for.
On Sunday morning was washing day. I helped with the wash-up. The other Betty, Mama Angel and I had a good system going washing all the plates. Several times I was bid to stop since I surely must be tired. But even though when I’d first woken up and realized my body was tired, after having gotten up I felt perfectly fine. And I worked right through till the end. Everyone was thankful and had to admit that I’m a hard worker. I felt very good. Hard work is good for the soul.
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