Day 18

01/03/09

Sorry it has taken me a while to post. No internet available for a bit so there are three new posts today beginning with "Day 16" below.
Today was…different. I woke up at 7:30am, when the heat became too unbearable to sleep in, and read for a bit. Then I got dressed, had an egg and some fruit for breakfast and headed to the synagogue. The service was the usual but hot. I was given the first aliyah, being the only Levi for…hundreds of miles most likely. After the service, we returned to the guesthouse for lunch. Two American-Israelis from Tel Aviv joined us. The man, whose name I never got, was a doctor who taught at University of Michigan and University of Wisconsin after fighting in WWII. He has published over 65 papers in nuclear medicine and invented the test for Cushing’s disease twenty-something years ago. After lunch, we sat in on the Torah discussion for a bit and then the day started becoming different like I mentioned above. I took a walk with some friends to Semei Kakungulu’s grave. On the way, I realized how much of Nabugoya I had not yet seen. There was a huge leveled soccer field in the middle of the mountain slope, the Semei Kakungulu high school which consisted of multiple buildings (including, to my initial surprise and eventual disappointment, an ill-equipped science lab), and a dorm building for girls who would otherwise have to travel too far to school everyday. The grave of Kakungulu turned out to be more of a tomb than a grave. Kakungulu was the governor who rejected the New Testament and declared himself a Jew, and is considered by the Abayudaya to be their founder and first rabbi. His descendents live in the (relatively) massive home next to the tomb. In front of the tomb, which is marked by a huge stone extending the entire length of the body, are his three spears – one wooden with a single metal tip, one wooden with a double-headed tip, and a third which was all metal with just a cone-shaped head. The man was a warrior and spiritual leader, his family made up of Christians and self-declared Jews. Behind his tomb lay more graves, family members of both religious faiths. We walked back from the grave and the girl who guided us, Norah, told me a bit about her life. She is 17 and converted to Judaism when she was 12, because most of her friends were Jews and she wanted to share in their faith which she felt penetrated much more of their lives than Christianity did hers. Her father, a brick-layer, and her mother, a farmer, were still both Christian and, along with her siblings, did not plan on converting. I felt sorry for the girl but was extremely impressed by her courage and certainty at such a young age. Her intellect was mature way beyond her physical years which was apparent even with the language barrier between us which often makes it difficult to tell if someone is not so bright or just lacks any advanced English skills. As we neared the heart of the Jewish village, we bumped into basically the rest of the Jewish village who were walking down the mountain to a funeral. The nurse of the Jewish clinic is a Catholic (they also have a Muslim and Protestant on the Board), and her father was a well-respected community healthcare worker. He passed away yesterday morning and hundreds of people headed to the family’s property to attend the burial. We asked if it was okay to tag along, me thinking that, while this may not be the most usual Shabbat activity, I would likely never get another chance to attend a Catholic funeral, in African, with members of all religious faiths. So I went. The sun was brutal and I was sweating and dehydrated about halfway to the home. When we arrived, we found hundreds of people in bright colors, some women with their heads covered, men with kippot and the traditional Muslim head-covering. People wore suits and dresses, others wore rags. The body arrived from the cemetery in an ornate coffin lying in the back of a pickup truck. The immediate family sat around the coffin in the back of the truck. As they pulled up to the house, the family jumped out and men lifted the coffin from the truck, carrying it to the other side of the property as the crowd followed. As the coffin passed the children who were sitting outside the house, they began to wail, screaming in Lugisu. I let most of the crowd pass by me, and everyone began singing this somber tune in Lugisu. Again, though it was a sad and slow song with words I did not understand, the melody was moving and unnaturally perfect, with harmonies emitted from the natives that complemented each other with ease. A few more somber songs were sung and then a man, whom I’m guessing was the priest, spoke for a bit. At various times throughout the ceremony, old women wailed from behind me and family members in the front of the crowd broke into these horrid screams of agony and were lead away back into the house, fighting their guides and crying out. Suddenly the ceremony ended and everyone turned around, leaving me in the front of the crowd. I let a few people pass and then followed them off the property again before heading back to the Jewish village. The climb back up the mountain was once again brutal and I downed two Fantas when we got back. Then I napped for a few hours. When I woke up, I hung out with Isaac the manager for a few minutes and then went to the synagogue for the afternoon service. I was given the first aliyah again, same reason as last time. After the service, I spoke with the rabbi for a few minutes outside, possibly convincing him to visit Brandeis when he is in the States in April/May. After three stars were visible, we said maariv, the evening service, and then havdallah, the blessing signifying the separation between the Shabbat and the rest of the week. Another muzungu around had glowsticks for all the children and they had a good time with those. I returned to the guesthouse, said goodbye to everyone there, went to the rabbi’s house and watched some Israel news before saying goodbye to him and his family, and then took a boda motorcycle back to Anne’s house. I had not seen Anne since Monday when she left for Kampala and it was good to see her back home. Tomorrow I am meeting with the artist next door to take pictures of some of his work in order to possibly set up a website for him (which, if successful, I may partner in), and then meeting someone I met today who wants me to get some music of his to someone in Chicago, so I’ll copy his cd onto my computer and then email it from a US internet connection to whomever, and then head to BCC to work. It’s funny…I think I mentioned earlier that people here work to finish a certain amount of goals each day, rather than work a certain amount of time each day. Several people have asked me why I haven’t taken a day off besides for the trip to Sipi. I can’t understand why they are so surprised. I am here for 3 weeks and there is so damn much to be done, I spend some nights writing a grant until 4am. How can I stop working for a day? I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for not achieving the most I could during my short time here. But I’ve almost been…reprimanded for working too hard. In my mind, I’ve been pretty laid back work-wise here. Yet Anne told me, very kindly, that all the people at BCC have been telling her was how focused I was and how determined I am to get a job done. I know I take my work seriously and work hard but I recognized that this was my vacation and while I was exhausted most of the time, I don’t think it has been due to overworking. I’ve been enjoying myself immensely and everything I’ve seen has been fascinating and I feel rested and happy. Why should I take a day off? I guess the only answer is, once again…Welcome to Uganda. Shavua tov everyone, have a good week. I will be home soon! And if you’ve been following along, don’t stop for another week. After I get home, I plan to post one last blog – summing up the trip, the culture shock of returning to my world, and telling you about how this whole thing came together in the first place. Stay tuned for tomorrow!