No day goes by for me without thinking of Uganda! I haven’t been back since I left in May 2013 to return to the good ol’ USA. I have fond memories of the joyous time I had, when I took a two years hiatus from “The Home of the Brave,” carrying with me Child of Mine. Truly, Joie de vivre! I made new friends, new adventures, new discoveries, and new lessons learned.
I realized then, that I was born a “Hasher,” something I never caught up on, living my childhood in Uganda! I traveled to the most remote corners of Uganda, as a ‘donor,’ a tourist, a runner, and a community trainer and mobilizer. Plus, a “DIY Expert,” bringing back those golden days of “Bulungi Bwansi” and “Gwanga Muje,” before the NRM government and international [in]humanitarians messed up the country with “brown envelopes/handouts culture”.
Nowadays, Ugandans wait for Mzungu — white people— to come from Europe, North America, Japan or South America [Yes, in Uganda even South Americans and Japanese are “white”] to run their common sense errands. Like, plucking their jiggers, building pit latrines for them, teach them how to rear chickens or raise their kids, even if the “trusted white saviors” have never seen jiggers or a pit latrine, themselves, do not have or have never raised children or chickens! Did I say, there are white people teaching Ugandans, “The importance of hand washing after using the toilet” or “the Right to Play”? Yes, somebody, sadly ‘retired’ common sense, among a large section of Ugandans.
Still, I had an amazing experience re-living Uganda. I re-learned some ’truths’ I had taken for granted, growing up in Uganda. Since returning to my “Wild West,” I have not been able to re-live My Uganda, except bits and pieces of recaptured memories, here and there, meeting Uganda connections, or hanging out with Uganda-like social circles. Very limited!
Of course I am not romanticizing My Uganda, whichwas not without challenges and frustrations: the hustle and bustle of Kampala City can get to you, the disfunction of the public service, the excessive abuse of power by the arms of government — especially the Executive – the President’s State House, under the Executive Branch, and the police —under the Judiciary.
The President and the Police literally hold the entire country and its citizenry at ransom. The President allocates himself unfettered powers to spend the tax payers money at will. Not on provision of public and social services, but to reward political patronage, and bribe anyone who dares to oppose his “long hand” dipping in the National Treasury – including the Legislature. The Police, commanded by a military general, works not for the maintenance of national law and order, but to safeguard the interests of the President. Instead, the Uganda Police Force is embroiled in abrogating the expectations in a multi-party dispensation, and the constitutionally stipulated mandate!
Perhaps that explains why I no longer habitually keep myself abreast with news from Uganda via the national dailies. Decades ago, after changing my habitual residence from Uganda, I regularly read the national dailies online to catch up on news about Uganda. I participated in national debates, by submitting electronic letters to the Editor, or posting commentary on online news. Not anymore; too much sad news in the papers! One can sponge up so much pain and agony in their lives!
No wonder, a quick “Google” or “Bing” search about Uganda is flooded with negativity: anti-homosexuality; police brutality against opposition politicians, opposition sympathizers and civil society activists. This news travels as far as Nigeria, from where a friend recently sent me a news piece on Uganda – about the controversial “undressing of a woman under police arrest, on the streets of Kampala City,” in broad daylight!
Then and now, Uganda is positively broadcast internationally: among CNN top 16 tourist destination; the World Linguistic Agency best English-speaking country in Africa; the Lancet Global health Journal top five health diets, and many more.
For the most part, I source most of my news about Uganda via social media – Facebook, twitter, blogs, and via personal friends who keep me posted on exciting happenings in-country. Of course, I am spreading My Uganda, in my global orbit, whenever I have a chance — via cyber communication, within Child of Mine’s social circles, personal encounters and
As I close off the year, take a look at what captivated My Uganda 2015
- Wakaliwood, the brainchild of Isaac Nabwana, a self-taught film director, and owner of Ramon Film Productions, located in Wakaliga [from which it derives its name], one of the rough-tough slums of Kampala City. I learned about Nabwana, dubbed “Quentin Tarantino” when he was featured on a BBC World Service Radio, and later on CNN Inside Africa, for using locally improvised equipment, material and skills in his movies. While Ramon Film Productions is not an official member of UgaWood, its products and the ingenuity of its founder are a force to reckon with, that put the shine on Uganda, and definitely caught my fancy!
Uganda Freestyle Kayaking team came to me via my Facebook feed, as participants in the 2015 ICF World Freestyle Kayak Championships in Ottawa, Canada in September. After numerous failed attempts, the Canadian Visa Consular ran out of excuses for denying them visas, and allowed them travel to the country. Thanks to the indefatigable efforts of their British Manager and a supportive community in Canada, through fundraising and numerous visa letter petitions to the Canadian Visa Consular in Nairobi. They had great reception in Canada from the local Ottawa community. Hopefully, next time, the organizers will reach out to Ugandans in Ottawa.
Queen of Katwe, starring the instantaneously world magnetic Lupita Nyong’o, is a biographical drama movie produced by Mira Nair (Mississippi Masala), about the real life of Phiona Mutesi, Uganda girl from Katwe slums in Kampala City, a Chess prodigy, who becomes an international Chess Master candidate after performing at the World Chess Olympiad. It is a real-life story about rags to world fame, that could inspire any girl growing up in the hard-knock slums anywhere!
Kampala Fashion Week, is growing like a storm, year after year, with amazing fashion designers, new models, new creativity and just a new, juicy, illuminating fashion, defining Kampala, and bringing joie de vivre and creativity that I know about my peoples. I was awed by pretty much all the runway fashion, particularly Jose Hendo’s collection “Resonance,” a revival of barkcloth an original Ugandan clothing material from the inner bark of a Mutuba tree (Ficus natalensis), worn before western-designs infiltrated the country, and destroyed the local garment industry. Add to that, the photo genius of Giulio Molfese, top fashion photographer in the country with a golden eye to bring camera pictures to life.
GirlGeekKampala made international news, as a hub for Ugandan women passionate about establishing their footprint “Geeking-Out” in a male dominated info-tech industry. The host incubator is Outbox, Kampala’s “Silicon Valley,” thanks to partial funding from Google. Also check out AfriGal Tech, a team of four Ugandan women software engineers building Mdex, a SickleCells app, and Hive Colab, the first collaborative Tech Hub in Uganda.
Yoza, the equivalent of Uber for Dirty Laundry, falls in the same league with tech-ingenuity coming out of Uganda. Yoza [“Wash” in English], is a locally developed app to find laundry services providers around Kampala, from the comfort of your home. Now one can nurse a longer hangover on Saturday, without the worry of laundry!
The Gay Community, deserves a special ululation here, for its continued unapologetic mainstreaming of its presence, in a society still highly bigoted toward gays. Uganda society generally views homosexuality as an immoral, abnormality, and a threat to “children” and “the ‘normative’ institution of heterosexual marriage”. But the landmark court ruling in 2014, which overturn the Anti-Homosexual Act (AHA), 2013, boosted the gay community with renewed confidence.
Highlights of the Uganda LGBTI community is the annual Gay Pride, and this year, the first SMUG (Sexual Minorities Uganda) Gala and Equality Awards held in December to recognize its supporters and allies. Thanks to its indefatigable and unabashed LGBTIs, like Kasha Jacqueline Nabagesera [who in my opinion was more deserving of the Glamor Woman of the Year Award than Caitlyn Jenner], an internationally recognized Ugandan gay, feminist and founder of the first gay NGO, Freedom and Roam Uganda. Kasha has bolded stated that while LGBTIs were until very recently a total taboos in Uganda, she never had to come out, because she was never in the closet. She has always lived openly gay, even in high school, where she got expelled from numerous schools, for her attraction and intimate fraternity with the same sex. Kasha was one of the petitioners for repeal of AHA, 2013.
@ImSoUGANDA a revolutionary twitter account invented by Ugandans, on a mission to positively branding of their country. Using #Ondaba, Ugandans share their “SoUgandan Moment,” while on adventure or tourism in-country. T-shirts with #ondaba are often worn by Ugandans traveling abroad, and pictures shared.
#UgandaInSpain, is closely related to #Ondaba, an effort by a small group of Ugandan, perhaps inspired to reverse the backlash against #SpainIsNotUganda, a hashtag from the pronouncements of Spanish Prime Minister demeaning their country. This group of Uganda tourism, sports and media personalities, took Uganda to Spain in 2015, to promote “sports tourism,” made connections with Spanish politicians, and world renown Spanish Soccer League players, and successfully lured them and their supporters to add Uganda to their tourist destinations in 2015 and beyond. #SoUganda!
Uganda wins CECAFA 2015, on Saturday, December 5 when Uganda Cranes, the national soccer team, beat Rwanda 1-0, taking home their 14th Confederation of East and Central African Football Association— title. An exhilarating moment, especially after that heartbreaking failed attempt to quality for the 2014 Confederation of African Football Cup last year, after losing to 2-0 to Guinea.
Running and Physical Fitness continue to blossom in-country, with more people taking seriously healthier lifestyles, safety-first approach or social exercising. Fundraising and fun running has caught on following the success of MTN Marathon Kampala, with a growing number of annual marathon/half-marathon/10K or 5K runs, in Kampala such as Hope Ward Run to raise money for the International Hospital Kampala, the Rotary Cancer Run to raise money for the Cancer Ward at Nsambya Hospital, and the Kids of Africa Run, toward support for a Swiss African Children’s Village. Running and fitness clubs are growing, notably Kampala Hash House Harriers, an internationally inspired Drinking Club with Running Problems, whose laid-back, no membership style, non-social stratification attracts any Kampala. Don’t be fooled, because these Drinkers run are also serious international marathoners. Fitclique Africa is the first ever women-only gym in Uganda, founded by Mildred Apenyo, a 2014 Mandela Washington Fellow Gym; Fitness 4 Life-Uganda, a gym that that offers military-style group workouts and drills in Kampala, amazingly sliming waistlines and ‘magically’ disappearing potbellies of many among Kampala’s drinking and eating spendthrifts. Triathlons and Duathlons are also catching up, as well as biking, mountain climbing, adventure parks and many more!
Pope Francis visited Uganda in November 2015, shortly after his US trip, exciting into ‘penitence’ even the bitterest enemies into lovers! His presence in country, miraculously induced a handshake between arch political rivals President Museveni, and his stingy rival Kizza Besigye! Turns out, “It was Politics, STUPID!” But the biggest accolades went to the Ugandan public, notably Media CEO and public personality, Robert Kabushenga, who led a successful fundraising drive toward support for the renovation of Uganda Martyrs Shrines in Namugongo, where the Pope was schedule to visit and conduct mass. In true Ugandan spirit of “Bulungi Bwansi,” the drive attracted Ugandans of different religions, in-country and in the Diaspora, and raised a total of UGX1.3billion [USD 384,618], through sale of rosaries, those sacrilegious Catholic prayer beads, and a Charity Walk.
- Etofali Lya Buganda, which preceded Kabushenga’s Pope Fundraiser, started as an initiative to raise money for the completion of Bulange Plaza. Building on its success, popularity and public commitment among in-country and the Uganda Diaspora, Etofali extended its mandate to include other projects of Buganda Kingdom continued on various building projects of Buganda government. It caused lot of excitement, pride and prestige for Buganda!
Makerere University improved its international prestige and rankings, ascending 22 places from 891st in 2014, to 869th position, according to the Center for World University Rankings 2015, based on the quality of education and training of students, prestige of faculty and quality of research. Talking about Makerere University, I wouldn’t be doing myself justice, if I did not give a shout-out to my favorite academic and best scholarly mentor of all time, Makerere University Professor J. Oloka-Onyango, who was finally rightly honored to deliver his inaugural [ironically close to his retirement] lecture. No doubt, he has served the world renown institution with the highest prestige, dedication and distinguished honor and integrity!
And if you just wanna catch up with all things inspirational, mind boggling, challenging, or gossipy about Uganda, I recommend “scare-a-hero,” a blog by Simon Kaheru, a self-described “Professional Communicator”. Simon is an indefatigable activist for all things, deeds, thoughts, products, taught, learned Ugandan. He is a PR machine, an entrepreneur, and employer, and an innovator. He is a much sought-after “go-to-person,” and brains behind a lot of Uganda branding breakthroughs, including #UgandaInSpain, #Ondaba, #IamSoUganda. He’s truly #SoUganda No! I am not getting paid for this PR plug; I wish 😃
Ok, I will it at this. Feel free to add to the list….and let’s see what 2016 brings in My Uganda……hopefully ….really hopefully geographical proximity!
I am sad, but I’m happy
I am lost, but I’m found
I am soft, but I’m a hard shell
I stumble, but I don’t fall
This is my Year-Long Musings!
Another year, another 365 days going down. Plenty of soul-searching, reviews, pondering, and hope. What else would I have, if I did not have home?
I am feeling a little funky lately.
I have not been driving for a while. But I am back to driving.
I have also not drove the Mercedes August. But now it is back, and all mine. Well, hopefully!
The first day I got back to driving it last week, it brought me a little sadness. To the pile of sadness I have.
The Mercedes represents grandpa. It reminds me of grandpa. It replays the entire memory of the life I knew of him, especially this year.
It reminds me of witnessing the pain and agony of his life, straight up, in the same house.
I had never been in the same space, up-close, with a person so sick.
Yet feeling inadequate to help. Often feeling, it is not your place to show great care and concern.
Not sure whether I would be construed as “overstepping the boundaries” or “crossing the line.”
But I wonder, how could somebody ail so much! Yet not get well to enjoy life after that gruesome pain?
How could one go down too fast? It seemed it all came and went down too fast!
How could one hurt so much, yet remain strong for others, for those he loved?
He surely kept on taking care of those he loved — his wife, his children, his in-laws and his grandchildren.
I particularly recall him seated in the living room, groaning with so much pain in the abdomen. Especially, whenever he tried to get up.
He loved driving, to the mosque, to the store, to take school kids to school, to take his wife to work in the morning or to take his family on long trips.
But getting up to go drive, was the climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro.
Throughout the ailment, he drove on other family trips: to Detroit and back to PA, down to Atlanta and back, to Toronto and back.
I recall so vividly his last long drive, a 500 miles roundtrip PA-MD-PA, while trying to contain excruciating pain.
He avoided eating, and barely drank, the entire trip. He did not want to have to get up and go to bathroom; it was too much hardship.
Yet, he stayed steady on the wheel, without a single incident. He did not knock off the steering wheel, and only took very brief rest stops
So, with such display of stamina and resilience, how could he not live through his ailment to full recovery? I still wonder!
Because, his strength did not burn out.
He often woke up in the wee hours of the morning, drove wifey to the NYC bus terminal in our PA-hood.
He drove two girls from their Muslim community to and from their school bus.
Because their mother, worked early and long hours, and left and returned home before and after school bus hours.
I watched how he splashed his grandkids and children in-law, with love and adoration.
But he is gone. It is three months later!
But that is not the central feature of my sadness. Though, it struck me as well.
I am sad, as the year draws to a close. Reflecting on what has transpired.
How much gained, how much lost. Of course, plenty gained —especially in the weight department!
I see me in my “new mother suit” again. And that makes me sad, and induce me to create more sadness.
It has to go, I cannot keep it around in 2016.
Can’t support it no more! Big is not always desirable.
But I will take big pockets, and big bank accounts!
Big, I will embrace, to rise again. Big dreams, to become big reality.
Big smile, big achievements. Big social networks. Big alliances
Yeah, I will even take a bigger contribution to the carbon footprint, then settle back into my “tree-hugger-ness”
I want to fly by, be big, celebrate big and sleep big.
I’ll take all that will keep me happy, I need big happiness of mind, body and soul.
I need the positive energies that come along with big feelings and big achievements.
I need my big confidence to rise and shine through again.
I miss my big old-self!
Santa baby, I want my big happy self back
I want a sing a new song
That, I am happy more than sad
I am not sad, but I am happy!
I never thought I would willingly and consciously arrange for Child of Mine to celebrate Christmas at my own volition. Not since I quit organized religion umpteen years ago! But, that is before I became a parent.
Before I realized that parenting is a totally new era in one’s life; of undoing one’s beliefs and comfort zone. Before I realized that parenting is not about you!
This year, I am gonna let Child of Mine experience a Christmas celebration, as part of my parenting.
On one hand, parenting is scripted. There are tons of books for new parents – the indisputable What to Expect series, starts When You’re Expecting…going all the way into the Second Year. It is so influential, that it was ‘canonized’ into a movie released in 2012, starring Cameron Diaz.
The alternative new parenting scripts include lessons that mothers of the Expectant mother/parents eagerly share, either unsolicited or unwelcome. Plus, Old Wives Tales, passed on through generations to expectant mothers and the new parents. Not to forget that, if the expectant parent(s) was/were born around little children — siblings, cousins, nieces or nephews, or friends children, The Parenting Script is available through first-hand observation.
Parenting, we tend to think, is easy peezy, right? Plenty of resources —reading all the books, listening to ‘experts’ advice and watching other parents! You swear to an entire Parenting Script of NEVERS!
- You vow never to repeat the ‘mistakes’ other parents commit against their children. - You will not allow an unruly child in your household. - You will not bend your rules to accommodate your child’s needs or demands. - You will not introduce your child to any systems of socialization that you do not adhere to, including religion, entertainment, schooling or relationships. - You will not babysit a five-year old child!
And many more!
Until one day, you actually become a parent! And wonder, whatever happened to your self-avowed script, the script passed down unto you by parents before you, the script you wrote when you were expecting, and the script you re-wrote as a new parent. Some among us even wrote our own What to Expect: The Birth Plan.
We also had our post-birth parenting scripted in our heads, laid out well-tested rules and regulations to maintain order, transmit culture and ‘good moral character’ into all children in our household. Then, one wonder why you are making so many compromises to accommodate your child’s comfort over yours!
But none of the tolerable comforts include intimacy with organized religion or becoming indolent.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not have any problem with the religious. In fact, my best friend – RIP was religious. She is one of the very few people I know, beside my mom, and my mom’s father, that practiced the humanity of religion. She was more human than religious. She was never judgmental, yet she subscribe to the new religious revivalism. The pentecostals, baptists, and the whole nine yard, who scare you and ostracize you, that if you do not convert to JC, you will go to hell fire. Or that Allah is the only true path to afterlife, and there is “Judgement Day”, when everybody is gonna be judged according to their religious practices.
See, I come from a family of multiple religious beliefs. My mother’s father came from a Catholic family, but converted to Protestantism, growing up with a Protestant family. He went on to become a Reverend, serving the Protestant Church. Two of my sisters are married to Muslims; one of my sister’s ex is Catholic; my paternal family has plenty of other religions that I can only relate to old school protestantism and veganism. So, religious pluralism was never an option for me, nor religious tolerance a luxury; it was the humane way of life.
Religiosity is rife in Uganda, where I come from. There is a prevailing expectation that everyone is religious, and anyone who says s/he is not religious —that is— does not subscribe to any of the Judeo-Chiristain or Islamic religions—is often frown upon. Yet, there is a laissez-faire approach to religious tolerance.
It is not uncommon to hear the Catholic church bells toll at the top of the hour, or the Muslim call for prayer every morning and evening. Yet, the loud noise from these places of worship has not caused a societal revolt, but taken for granted as part of social living. To some, like my mother, the morning call for prayer from the neighborhood mosque has served as her wake-up alarm clock, since I was a child. Similar to the morning cock crow in the villages.
But in America and other western societies that count themselves as “civilized,” such loud ‘noise’ cannot be tolerate, as part of social living! Or perhaps there is selective tolerance of noise in different parts. For instance where I live, the church bells doth toll, yet it is unfathomable to imagine a tolerance of the Muslim Call for Prayer!
Exposure is fundamental to nurturing tolerance of others. My siblings and I attended Catholic schools, even though we were raised Protestant. We went along with the Catholic rituals at school—going to mass, reciting the rosary, observing lent period, and anything catholicism required of us.
None of us grew larger or smaller because of practicing a religion outside our beliefs, None of us felt indoctrinated and coopted, because outside school, we were still Protestant and went to Protestant Church. Plus, to reiterate, I have catholic family, whom I love regardless of their religion, and who I do not have the luxury of discriminating against.
Coming to America changed my relationship with religion. I ran away from religion, as soon as it started confusing me. I had never imagined that one can be religious, yet pray and support dropping bombs on others.
I don’t understand religion that welcomes strangers, yet excludes those who do not profess the same religion. I do not understand a religion, that also preaches love, then practices hate and prejudice. I do not understand a religion, where “sisterhood” is built on the notion of religious belief, not family connection or our common humanity!
Although I must say that I have been embraced by some religious communities — among the Mormons, Mennonites and Catholics—whose religious convictions is informed by a sense of community and a shared humans. I have felt very comfortable among them, never felt judged, ostracized or evangelized to, but welcomed and supported as a human being.
Coupled with my upbringing, I have remained open to embrace the religious, and allow my child get a glimpse into the various religions. We participate in religious festivities with family and friends.
But, I am not about to push him into any form of religious indoctrination. I realized that his family was not willing to incorporate him into their religious festivities because of his non-religious status, and stopped trying to get him introduced to their beliefs. On the contrary, my family takes a laissez-faire approach to him or myself, recognizing that we are more than our religious proclamations!
Still, religion is not too far from Child’s mind; he is learning about various religion from school teachers. Forget about separation of church and state, in public schools! We are talking about PA, not in NYC, where a school principal recently banned Santa, The Pledge of Allegiance, replaced Thanksgiving with “Harvest Festival,” and Christmas Celebration with “Winter Celebration!
Recently, curiosity caught the best of my Child,
COM: "Mommy, what is my religion?" Me: "You don't have a religion." COM: "Why don't I have a religion?" Me: "Because I do not have a religion." COM: "Can you check my DNA and find out what my religion is?" Me: "So, I can know your religion from your DNA?" COM: "Yes." Me: "Child, you are clearly a Pennsylvanian." COM: "Noooo! I want to be Ugandan." Me: "Ok, you are that, too!" [Thinking to self: Oh! It gets worse...Religiosity gets worse in Uganda!"] 😶😶
Still, we will not be subscribing to any organized religious gathering or denomination soon! But, we will accept any invitations for celebration. What better time than now in December, when we welcome Santa and his the elves, Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer, al bearing gifts on Christmas Day! While we do not put up any trees, decorate or sing carols, he gets opportunities of making trees with his Cub Scout Pack and makes Christmas wreaths and talks about JC in school.
At home, we are making gingerbread cookies, dressing up in green and red, and eagerly await Santa’s gifts under the chimney. I have already taken him around our neighbor to watch Christmas decorations and musical shows stationed in yards. No religious recitals! No religious talk!
And we will spiritually join our family in celebrating Christmas, as they do every year, and the years he was in Uganda. I doubt he remembers the celebrations in Uganda when he was three and four years. I want Child to learn that some people celebrate Christmas because of their religious beliefs. I strongly believe that exposure to religion, or other social experiments/systems, breeds understanding, and breeds religious tolerance.
The religious intolerance, witnessed among some Americas, is symbolic of when religion is treated as an “exclusive club” open only to the believers. Religion in America is largely about exclusion than inclusion of those who do not profess the same faith. Those who convert from one religion to another tend to ridicule the religion they left. Some religious groups are not receptive to curious non-religious, nor encourage partaking in the celebration of customer of other religions.
Contrary to my experience growing up with religion in Uganda. Eid Christmas and Easter are all designated as public holidays. Unlike America, only Christian holidays are accorded public recognition — Christmas is conveniently scheduled as “Winter Break,” and Easter as “Spring Break,” celebrated as days-off from work, and big shopping weekends at commercial establishments. A few establishments, employers and cities would grant “a day-off” for Muslims to celebrate Eid; in New York City, Jewish holidays and recently the Muslim Eid are designated as days-off in the school calendar. Of course the atheists and satanists aint celebrating all these religious display, in their faces!
But I want my own child growing up, with an understanding that, while mommy is non-religious, some people celebrate religious holidays. I also want him to understand that there is nothing wrong with the religious and non-religious, and none is better or more knowing than the other; they all belong to the same global society.
In fact mommy’s family is religious, and mommy friends who are religious. Mommy’s best friend who died was religious. But Auntie Jude and mommy are not religious.
I want to know that parenting involves setting goals, and exercising flexibility when raising our children as social beings. Most importantly, I want Child to know that what binds us together is our common humanity. We should be good and strive to do good to others, not because we are bound by some religious doctrine or conviction, but because it is the human thing to do.
Call me a terrible mother! But I am a self-confessed Uganda-Chinese-French-America parent, and in that order! Uganda, because that is my country of birth, where I was raised. Chinese, because the parenting style of, “Spare the rod and spoil the child”, is a lot similar to Uganda. French has the “hand-off child. Adults and children belong to separate spaces at playtime, meal time and leisurely”, and I am a big fan of that! America, you probably figured that out already. Yes! my child is American and we live in America, my country for over fifteen years. So, we have to follow the rules about American parenting, and adopt the socio-cultural upbringing of children growing up in America or as Americans.
Dr. Jeremiah Gibbs, a white married christian male shared his “coming of age with racism in America”, when he wrote, The Day That I Started to Understand Racism, inspired by his experience as an adoptive/foster parent (with his wife) of a black child.
“Our first weekend together we were on our way to a birthday party and had to stop to get a last minute addition to our gift. We had to stop at a store that was in a town not far from our own. That town had a long and well-known history of racism. So as we got out of the car to walk into the store, I began to run scenarios through my head. What might I do if someone in this store makes a racist remark to this boy that has been given to my care? Should I just ignore it as if the comments don’t matter? Surely I cannot let that be OK for my new son. Should I confront the racist jerk and tell them how ludicrous their comments are? I couldn’t imagine what I might say. Would I just respond with violence and stand up against injustice? That didn’t seem like a Christian response and no one likes to go to jail.(March 18, 2014, http://jeremiahgibbs.com/2014/03/18/the-day-that-i-started-to-understand-racism/. Accessed May 13, 2014)”
I can perfectly related to all these questions, even though I am neither white nor a parent of a white or multi-racial (white and black) child. I am a black woman of continental African origin, living in suburban America. I am a mother of an African American child of lighter skin color than myself, that he has sometimes thought of himself as white. Well, he is five-years old, and recently returned to America from living abroad where racism or race was not a fronted identity or discussion. He is just a lovely baby, an American baby, and since I have lived in America for most of my adult life, I consider myself an American.To my friends and family back in my country of origin I am an America, though not the same with my American friends here. In a way, this is a good and a bad: good because it gives me “a pass” with white friends (“You are not like those black people,” I have been told more than once). A bad because it allows me that uncomfortable pass, which I ride with, because I do not want to “disturb the status quo”. Partly, this is why I can relate to Dr. Gibbs’ story, most especially when I am running outdoors, and when I go around looking for work.
Let me tell you why running in my neighborhood revokes feelings of fear, anger and insecurity in me, similar to Dr. Gibbs’ experience. I love running and jogging in my neighborhood, through the trees and waters. I barely see anyone running in my neighborhood. Perhaps they do, but not at the time I go out at 8:30am, when many are either out for work or are on their way, during the week, or sleeping in over the weekend. My neighborhood has plenty of older retirees, who got tired of the back and forth vacation travel up here, and decided to settle for good. The neighborhood is within a ski mountainous zone, attracting plenty of winter sports and vacation in the mountains. There are, as well, middle-age couples who got tired of the bustle and hustle of city life in New York and New Jersey, and settled here with family. Many commute everyday to work in New York City and New Jersey. That group is for the most part open-minded to folks from all walks of life; in typical NYC experience. Then there are the “original settlers” or long-term residents, some who still have the confederate flag on their big trucks. That group scares me.
Generally, I run around my neighborhood with no incident of disrespect or attack on me. I run mostly along the roads/streets but without pedestrian walk/run platforms, most motorists politely move over to allow me running space. Sometimes, I get a High-5 or honk, and sometimes I catch a smile. Most often I do not make eye contact, in respect of the “societal taboo” against staring at people, but as well due to my inner “insecurities” of running in a predominantly white neighborhood. I fear offending anyone, if I am caught looking at her/him. True, I get the rude pushovers. I have been honked at rudely, literally ran off the tarmac, given a finger, and near spat at by a drive-by male in a passenger seat. I have also been intentionally hit with leftover foods. Please believe it! One Winter Sunday, while running back home on my last leg, a car slowed down while approaching me with two middle-aged white folks. They threw leftover foods out of their window targeted at me, and drove off. Fortunately, it missed me by a thread, but I did not survive a bruised ego. I cried running my last leg home, and I wished that I had recorded the registration plate, said something or chased the vehicle to the stoplight and told them off. Since my instinct is not to fight, especially when dealing with a people of ‘higher’ societal privilege, I let it burn. Still, it haunts me, and I cry again sometimes when I remember that incident. I ask myself similar questions like Dr. Gibbs, how can I let such evil acts flyby? But I did.
But there is another very vocal resident of in my neighborhood that repeatedly outwardly disapproves of my presence in the neighborhood – “Holy dogs”. That fact that white people’s dog generally hate and bark at black people is hidden in plain view. That these dogs generally do not like black males or look-a-like males is also an established truth, especially if you are walking or running in their neighborhood. And if like me, you have low cropped hair, typical of a male, I wonder if that is an additional disadvantage. It is so humiliating when dogs – small, large, old or puppies bark at me through their house windows, fences or chase after me from their yards when I am running on the main street, not on their property. I have been bitten by dogs, so I do not take “my dog is sweat, nice to us and our cats and eats from our plates” crap. I also believe that dogs are trained and socialized to respond differently to different people. Most white people’s dogs are socialized [intentionally or not] to respond to black people harshly. From experience running in my neighborhood, I have witnessed a white person walk past a home in front of me without the dog(s) barking at her. When I came in sight, they started barking. There is a house by the road, where dogs chase after me from their yard, even after seeing me run past multiple times. Another time while running through the neighborhood, a dog charged me and barked at me repeatedly, while its owner sat on the front porch merely calling it back. I stopped running but the dog would not bulge. Each time I tried to move, it charged toward me. I begged the neighbor for what seemed like five minutes to come restrain his dog, until he felt ‘kind’ enough to get up and call his dog back home, by throwing a bone or play toy at it.
Once again, I asked myself why I did not notify the police? I guess my hesitation to involve the po po comes from my internalized understanding of racism in America, and fear that racism could prevent the police from responding to me. Even as an educated woman from an elite US university, sentiments about the unfair US criminal justice cannot simply fed away. So, I keep on running, hoping my neighborhood and the dogs would get used to my face and body, and accept that I am not gonna stop running unless they knock me over or eat me up. But for now, I keep on the main streets, and wear bright neon colors, to avoid giving anyone an excuse to run me over because, “they did not see me; I was too dark”. As much as I would love trail running, I keep away to avoid stirring anyone from shooting me for “trespassing” in their backyard. It is a privilege white folks can risk, well, unless you are a German exchange student at a high school in suburban Montana (http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime/father-german-exchange-student-killed-montana-homeowner-slams-u-s-gun-culture-article-1.1775600).
Similar thoughts came to me once, while trail-running with a team in a predominantly white neighborhood or Marietta, Georgia. We run through woods and streams, and in people’s backyards, without anybody shooting or shouting at us or calling the police on us. Well, I was running with a predominantly white group, and the only one of two black folks. A week later, while running in South West Atlanta, I did not feel brave enough to trail-run by myself, ironically in a predominantly black neighborhood. Why? Randomized surveys done on street racism have showed that blacks are as much likely as whites to profile black people. In a staged “bike theft” in a public park, part of ABC TV series, “What Would You DO?”, results showed that when it was a young white male cutting a bike chain off a stand, people looked on, asked questions and expressed shock when he told them the bike did not belong to him. All except one (out of 100) continued on without confronting him or calling the police. Even more revealing, when the “staged bike thief” was a white female, as passerby’s offered her immediate help to free the bike from the chain. Only one woman protested to her husband helping free the bike, and another called the police after she had left the scene. However, when it was a young black male wearing identical clothes as the white male, passerby’s immediately (white and black people) confronted him, congregated, confiscated his tools or immediately called the police. When asked to account for their actions, both blacks and white people pointed to their biases against “personal appearance”. Black people said “first impression matters”…..and…”they thought the white guy worked in the park.” White people generally said they were looking out for private property, some even claimed race did not matter. So, there you have it!
Sometimes I worry about running into a serial killer or kidnapper along my route, especially while running new, quiet and isolated neighborhoods. I guess it comes from watching too many “Forensic Evidence”, “Unresolved Mysteries”, “20-20” and “48 hours” TV shows. Pretty much all of the crimes featured happened in suburbs similar to where I live. I have heard from moms at my son’s bus stop that they are plenty of drug users in the neighborhoods, and some have been busted in the police. Then I worry whether, being a black person, anybody driving or walking by would care if they saw a guy forcing me into his car? On my recent Saturday long distance run, while trying to discover a new running route in the neighborhood. I got onto a new street with a few houses. From a distance, I saw three white males and a white woman standing by the road and “burning something”; there was smoke likely from a fire. My heart skipped, but I was scared of showing my fears by turning back. I worried they could chase after me, so I proceeded on. I guess they sensed my fears and said, “hello”, when I got close to them.
Perhaps I am too paranoid, but that goes to show how institutionalized racism is experienced differently by black folks. I always wonder whether a white person would have to skip a beat at such an encounter! The feeling of “I do not belong here” is so real to me everyday in this neighborhood, even when I am inside my home. I hate it when sometimes I say hello to person across walking or running in my neighborhood, and they do not respond.
Similar experience and sentiments with finding work in this neighborhood. I took a break from online application and decided to walk-into several professional establishments in the neighborhood. As the black people in the “bike theft case” said, first impressions matter. Pretty much every place here is staffed with white folks. Like I say, “You know the place is white, if McDonald is predominantly staffed with white people.” Welcome to my neighborhood! Although, I did not look for work at McDonalds. I went to Doctors’ Offices, Departmental Stores, Restaurants, Grocery Stores, education institutions, and several small businesses. At most places, I was asked to apply online, or bring a resume – including restaurants! I know times are tough, and jobs are not coming by easily. However, when you do not see anyone who looks like you in most workplaces, including the front desk, it is hard not feeling unwelcome. Still, I did all as requested, with follow-up call back and walk in, but no rewards yet.
I bet some of you are wondering, why I am still living in this neighborhood, if it is that traumatizing to me? In the words of Dr. Jeremy Gibbs…
“This isn’t the only thing that we learned from raising our son (that we gladly adopted last year). We also have learned that parents that want the most for their children are often faced with a dilemma (even when they have the means to make educational choice) about whether they will give their kids a school environment that is supportive of their identity. Or shall we choose a school where lots of children look like him and he can learn about being black in America? Usually the schools with large African-American populations are struggling and under-resourced. Do I use the means that are within my reach to send him to a school with opportunity that will ensure that he has very few friends that look like him? Is that somehow better? The thing that I’m learning here is that racial minorities have to ask questions that majority populations get the privilege of ignoring. I still don’t know all the questions that I need to be asking.”
It’s been a while, since I sat down to write something thoughtful. Forget about the daily email traffic, and posts on social media. WordPress is where I share my self-inspired “non-chatty” thoughts.
Uganda, it's gonna be a funky festive season! Sorry minority, this Christmas aint for you, if you belong to any one of these two social groups: 1) Wear miniskirts; or 2) Homosexual. And you thought iPads do not boost productivity? XXXX, are you still down-under? NNN, tell us, Min of Diaspora Affairs:)
"The ministry of diaspora affairs will have to start issuing travel warnings to the Ugandan diaspora warning them about travel to Uganda. So if you wear mini skirts, or play for the other team, you are persona non grata. PS: Your money is not needed too so spend it away from uganda's shores."
“Uganda in international news December 2013: screw Women’s rights; hello Gay rights! Talk about society always strategically playing women against any other!” I cried
"And what are the Karamajongs to do? Oh! The white man'a burden, of dressing us up!” I added…
NO Thank You, It's Friday in Uganda:(
"I think it's been a while since I've been sad, and publicly expressed my sadness, esp on a forum like FB. But the passing of the Anti-pornography bill in Uganda this weekend, hit me real hard! In essence, "the law bans material which shows parts of the body including breasts, thighs and buttocks, or any erotic behaviour intended to cause sexual excitement." As a self-declared comfortable nudist, I am terribly offended. Already, idle men in Uganda have been literally and verbally undressing women in public, if they deem you improperly dressed. Now they have a law to endorse their abusive actions. Two, Ugandan nation groups like the Karamojong, who do not wear clothes or not cover up fully are now criminals in their own country. A friend reminded me that Fr. Lokodo, Uganda's Minister of Ethics who proposed this law is also Karamojong, but he's basically saying, screw you my peoples! Three, most Ugandan cultural groups dance in what could be termed "erotic behaviour intended to cause sexual excitement". Is our culture and our cultural celebrations illegal too? True, the anti-gay bill has been passed as well. Not that I do not care; I have published my views repeatedly on the subject, and expressed solidarity with the Uganda gay community. I also think they have a whole international clout who will ensure that the Uganda government financially suffocates, if it dares to "mess around with their people -[read gays in Uganda]". But for the wretched of us, running and exercising in knee-high shorts, smartly and happily dressed in knee-high dresses and skirts, and twerking to the beats of Bakisimba or Badilisha, who have already been abused, pulled, verbally stoned by these idle men in Uganda, some living and dosing in parliament at the expense of our taxes, only waking up to abuse us further! And to claim that we are a god fearing nation, when millions of public funds are robbed by these men in political office without prosecution, is a terrible insult to my being as a human, a woman, and a Ugandan! It's a men's world, indeed!
This past weekend I returned to Boston, after four years away. The last time I was in Boston, December 2009 was to visit my BFF Phina (R.I.P), and bid her farewell. My then 17 months-old son and I were moving to Cape Town, South Africa. Little did we know that would be the last time we would see Phina in person.
I guess the older I grow, the more I appreciate the value of family….especially the notion of what is often called “extended family”. This does not necessarily have resonance in the African sense, since family is family – When we were in Uganda, my son always referred to his cousin, as “my brother”, which his America father (based in America) bound rather odd. He kept asking me, “Do you have another child?” I would explain, “No, but in my language it makes sense.” Or when my little two-year old niece calls me mummy because my son calls me mummy and I babysit them together. Now, my son’s daddy (again in his America understanding) does not like it when she calls him “daddy”. Never mind that this child knows exactly who her daddy and mummy are! My thinking is, she perhaps thinks, “mummy is my name”..since no one else really calls me by my own name…And I couldn’t care less!
I love the notion of “communitarian family”…something the African tries to lay a claim on…but not entirely true, anymore. I say, most of these labels are transient, and dissolve with changes in time. For instance, many educated Africans across the country are now comfortable with just one or two kids, or none at all. Some are even keen to keep to their “nuclear” family – father, mother and children, often associated with western/European societies. That is enough for their attention; they do not want to be bothered by grandparents, cousins, uncle and aunts.
Yet, no matter how much they slam the door int he faces of their larger family, they can never run away from the fact that FAMILY STILL DOES MATTERS!
I am not simply talking about family by blood, but our babysitters, caretakers, daycares, teachers and friends who raise us and our children, and lend a hand to our upbringing. I have very higher respect for them. For the tolerance of putting up with all our demands, selfishness and needs.
Since coming back to the United States, about a month ago, I have spent most of my time babysitting my son and my niece. Well, I am yet to settle back in and work-out-of home. I still have a couple of assignments left over from my Uganda work, that are keeping me busy. Plus, it is summer holidays and the kids are out of school, so I need to take care of my son. I do not recall the last time I spent so much time with my son in the last three years that I lived in Uganda. Don’t get me wrong, I have literally raised my son. When I got pregnant, I quit my job to focus on being pregnant and enjoying and preparing for my unborn son. I took a trip to Uganda, my country of origin where I spent my first trimester. I returned to the United States, did a one-month work stint, and then settled back into pregnant and waiting.
After I had my son, I stayed at home for the first year. While it was challenging, this is something I ALWAYS wanted – to have the luxury of staying at home and looking after my son for the entire year. So, I had time to fully take care of him: feed him, bathe him, play with him, teach him and build confidence in him, that I will ALWAYS be around. Soon after he turned 1 year, we moved to Oslo, Norway, where I went – for academic work. My son with me, in a new country and new lifestyle. -now a mom on a student stipend in the second most expensive city in the world! But we made it through, and our bonds just kept growing stronger. He cried each time I dropped him off at the daycare….but only for a short while. I was told, he recovered as soon as I existed the daycare. Then we moved to South Africa, when he was 15 months -again, for school.. After overcoming the challenges of finding accommodation acceptable to little kids, we settled in tougher, got our car and made it happen.
In both Norway and South Africa, it was just the two of us but with a wealth of backup and center-front support. The daycare people, the friends and strangers, who helped out whenever I need a hand with my son. I could drop him off at the daycare in the morning and go to class, library and the computer center to focus on school work until the evening when I had to pic him up for school. Sometimes when I wanted to go on a night out (in South Africa) , I could leave him with my friend -whom I met in my first days in South Africa, but was super-good to me!
And then, I returned to Uganda, and there I had my family, my friends and school support. While my son and I were initially hesitant to be raised by “new faces”, we transitioned into acceptance of that. We had such a wonderful time doing this. My family was ALWAYS available to help, day and night. I could go off the entire weekend, to run or work in the villages, knowing very well that I have a cushion of support to rely on. Granted, they did not do things the way I wanted them, but they did support. I could take off Monday night to hash, knowing that my friend, who had a child at the same school as my son, or my brother would help me pick up my son whether I provided transport or not. And would keep him at their home, until I returned to pick him up. Plus, I was assured that from Monday to Friday, he was in the safe, caring, educative and exceptionally experienced hands of his teachers. If I took him to my workplace, I could excuse myself off to the bathroom or go find food, knowing very well that my colleagues will help out. And when I took him to the hash, everyone felt they knew a piece of him and enjoyed him.
All these people re-emphasized the concept of family to me. That it is NOT just your “children and spouse/partner”.. but a wide array of social network that involves mother, father, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, teachers, daycare assistants, transporters, workmates, social groups and admirers. Now that I am a “full-time” babysitter, my appreciation of my family has skyrocketed even more. CHILD MINDING is the MOST difficult job in the world…for you have to take care little minds and souls, keep them entertained…succumb to their manipulations, sometimes…or negotiate through them…to make sure they do not run you over. Put up with ALL their nagging. Forget about Teaching they way you want them to learn, and Teach the way they Learn. Most importantly, you learn to tolerate other kids, beside your own. As someone who boosted about, “knowing it all about kids”, since I grew up baby siting all my elder sister’s kids, I have developed a renewed understand and appreciation of the job of “having one of your own”…which you CAN NEVER quit.
I am grateful for my family! I miss my family in Uganda, I miss ALL my son’s teachers, my son’s babysitters, my son’s friends, and my social networks. Who would even consider sparing a minute, just to put up with my son.
YES! FAMILY STILL DOES MATTER!