I’m sitting in the car outside a church, preparing to present films about our work in five districts in Uganda, including Kamuli. We arrived at this location today after driving from Kole yesterday, where we conducted the same activity at a church.
It rained throughout the drive to Kamuli, and today was no exception. It started drizzling as we checked out of the small guest house we stayed at last night. Just as we were starting breakfast at one of the cafes, the clouds decided to release all the tension they had been holding in.
As I have observed, breakfast in Uganda differs from breakfast at home. It is more like lunch back home. My colleagues had plates full of rice, ‘matoke’ meat, and chapati, which is the norm in Uganda. My colleague and friend Martha tells me that on the days they do not have such a heavy breakfast, the day is ruined. I find this fascinating.
Even though I have been several times, I have yet to get used to the food here. One might assume this is simply due to my familiarity with Tanzanian cuisine. Other than food, many things are pretty similar to us.
While in Lira, I met Joel at the hotel restaurant. We slept there the morning before we started our drive to Kamuli. I said, ‘Hi,’ and he responded, ‘Where are you from?’ I told him I was from Tanzania. ‘Thank you,’ he responded to my being Tanzanian. ‘Your people saved my people,’ he continued to tell me. You are safe while you are here.’
He told me a story about how his late mother gave eggs to a Tanzanian soldier after they saved them from Iddi Amin soldiers in the 1978-79 war. As he spoke, my mind went back to the book I read a couple of months ago titled ‘Vita ya Kagera, Uvamizi, Mapigano na Kuondolewa kwa Nduli Iddi Amin by Stephen Isaac Mtemihonda. This book narrates the history of this war in depth, from how it started to how it ended, with some stories of the entire process. It is a decent book that people who love history will find enjoyable. I should write a review of this book.
Back to me in the car, I look out through the open door. There is a tree with raindrops that takes me back home. One of the many trees at home whose sticks were used to whip me and my siblings, this tree is not my friend. My mother is one of those you would call strict mothers, and her being a teacher did not help at all. Nonetheless, my siblings and I are forever grateful for how she raised us. She made us the disciplined, responsible, and accountable adults we are now. Of course, we did not see it this way back then.
Rainy days at home meant staying indoors. My family and I would roast corn over a charcoal fire, occasionally with Mom’s friends joining us. It was a bonding activity. We would tell stories as we plucked corn in lines, saying those lines were paths to our grandmothers and fathers on both sides.
Tea was used during rainy days because people did not want to stay cosy. However, whether it was raining or not, tea was a staple in my home. It was considered a sin not to have tea in the house. If you cannot tell, my mother is a tea person. She is a traditional tea drinker. She doesn’t fancy light tea. She likes it dark. She often asked me to re-make the tea because it didn’t suit her tastes. This goes to milk tea as well. She needs it to withstand the heat for as long as possible before she approves.
We had coffee, too. We have coffee farms at home. We roasted the coffee beans locally and ground them at the maize mill machine. The neighbourhood was filled with the aroma of coffee. This is why I love both coffee and tea.
Now that I live alone, rainy days are not different at all. I like them indoors, cosying up with my coffee. Sometimes, I have wine, and other times, I have tea. I always have coffee in the mornings and reserve tea or wine for the evenings, depending on the day of the week. The only thing missing from my rainy days now that I am an adult is the community.
I miss the togetherness and the opportunity to connect with my family. I don’t have a cooker that would allow me to roast maize, but I still boil corn when it rains or buy roasted ones. My only bonding at home is with my plants and books. Would I have wanted this any other way?
Yes and no.
No, I love and enjoy spending time alone in my own company. I spend a great deal of time alone in the house. I paint. I take care of my plants. I make and have coffee (I should do a separate post about how I make coffee at home). I read, and I write. I am learning to play guitar. Now, I have added something else I do at home—colouring. This colouring book has plants and animals, and I love it. I am never bored at home.
Yes, because I wonder how different my life would be if I still lived closer to my family. Or I wonder how it would feel to have a community where I would enjoy roasting maize and drinking coffee or tea in my home.
Humans need a community for their mental well-being. They need to feel that they belong somewhere. Ikigai, a book that follows the longest-living individuals in Japan, emphasises the importance of having a community where one can find acceptance.
Yes, our ways of life have changed significantly, but I feel that I need to cultivate a community, however small. I have a few friends, but my community would be incredible. This is something I am working towards.
You see, my rainy days are not different from those of my childhood. This demonstrates the significant influence of an individual’s upbringing and life path. The family and environment that raised me shaped me.
This post answers that for colleagues and friends who wonder why I love roasted corn.
I hope you think about your community as you go about your day. Where do you belong? Are you accepted there? Do you accept those who consider you part of their community?
Happy Holidays!
Until next time,
Jane 🙂
