This past week was pretty uneventful. We carried out the tasks of everyday life; going to class, going to our NGO’s, getting dinner at Club 5 on campus, and trekking to Wandageya for Gonja (a grilled banana) or whatever else we have needed. I finally feel like I am starting to overcome my homesickness, but it always comes back when I least expect it. Before I came to Uganda, I knew in my heart that there would be a time when I would feel as if Africa was my new home. After all, I had dreamed about coming here my whole life. I KNEW that this was something I had to do for myself, and I was sure that I would adjust quickly and fall in love with the country. Well, perplexingly to me, this has not happened. Surely there is still the possibility, as this is only the fourth week, but I am beginning to doubt it. I had watched Save the Children ads and pictured myself saving those children. I had researched Kampala and Uganda. By the time I left, I had a pretty well-developed picture of what I was getting into. Most people we talk to, even Professor Stewart, has expected that our group wouldn’t have pictured Uganda as it is, but actually this is what I thought I would encounter. The reality of what goes on here, however, and not just what it looks like, is something different than what I had imagined.
A large part of this is my delusion that I can make a difference in Uganda. Working especially at Sanyu Babies Home, I can see that the Ugandan staff have everything figured out. It is the volunteers, many of whom are international, that make googly faces and think everything and everyone is just so cute. The staff knows the hard work that is involved. They love those kids dearly. There is nothing that we can offer them except extra hands. The more muzungus I see, the more annoyed I become. Although I hope to think I never thought I was superior in anyway, I feel that white people in general come to Africa seeking to “save Africa” and whatnot. What Africans need is a helping hand, not a superiority complex. There are many great intelligent minds here working for the change that we in the first world just talk about. I hate muzungu parades and I don’t want to be a part of the charade.
I was once told that if you want to be loved, there is always someone out there who will love you. I wanted to find my own personal joy in Uganda which comes with fulfilling, devoted relationships. I have found that at Peace for Children Africa, where the kids desperately want attention and someone to hug them. I love being that person for them, even if it’s for a short time and I am only deceiving myself with thoughts that I am actually doing them good. After all, I am leaving in a few short weeks. What will I have left them with? I am starting to think that I am falling much harder for them than they are for me. They are used to being left by bleeding heart muzungus.
Since I am beginning to find that sense of joy I have sought in coming to Africa, I wonder why I am still not as connected to Uganda as I had thought I’d be.
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