We Are One Village

by Nikki Lovell

  Before I could respond, they both suddenly tackled me where I was and then turned the shower on full force. Now I was in hysterics. Were they tackling me or tickling me? It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I was drenched, and all my other clothes were also wet from having just been washed. I walked to dinner soaked, water dripping off my hair and down my face. When I entered the room, Irene looked at me in disgust but I couldn’t hide my smile—I was deliriously happy.

  Every night, once each of us girls had tucked our mozzie nets under our mattresses and the main lights had been turned out, we would enter our own little world. Some would flick torches on and scribble in their diaries or read novels; others seemed to drift peacefully to sleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows.

  On this particular evening I had my earphones in again, with Missy Higgins singing softly. Her album was on shuffle and my eyelids were growing heavy when the track ‘10 Days’ began.

  As I listened, I realised that I had been away from home exactly ten days. As the song continued, tears dropped from my heavy eyes.

  I wasn’t crying because I missed home. I was crying because I didn’t miss it, or not as much as I felt I should anyway. I had only been here ten days and yet already this place—which was still so intriguing and so full of uncertainty—felt more like home than Australia. I think it was the unpredictability that I was drawn to. I went to sleep every night with no idea what the next day would hold, and I loved that.

  I brushed my tears away with my arm, quietly pulled my mozzie net out from the mattress, and snuck outside. I felt guilty about how much I was enjoying the changes that were happening in my life. For the last few nights I had taken to sitting outside and staring at the Southern Cross. When there were no phone calls, no emails, I would look at this constellation and tell myself that this was something that connected me to Australia, to Jack.

  As I crept outside on this night and gazed up to the stars, one star was shining brighter than all the others. It was magnificent. And then I realised—I was looking at the North Star. On every previous night I had been so distracted by the Southern Cross that I had completely forgotten that Uganda was on the equator. Now I stood bewildered. My eyes drifted between the North Star and the Southern Cross: my new life and my old one. Finally my eyes rested on the North Star. Perhaps because it was new and different and exciting. Or maybe just because it really was the brightest star I had ever seen.

  4

  A Magical Place

  JINJA—NAMWENDWA, UGANDA, February 2005

  After stuffing my face with matooke and groundnut sauce, I was walking back to the training room for the afternoon session when I passed Luke talking on his phone. His voice sounded frustrated. I knew that I should have just kept walking, but my feet were operating against my will and had slowed to a snail-like pace. I realised that Luke was on the phone to his dad, and it sounded like they were arguing about the theft and the pressing of charges. It dawned on me that perhaps it wasn’t Luke’s arrogance that I had heard earlier. Maybe he didn’t want to press charges at all, but his dad was pressuring him to do so. Then again, perhaps I was just interpreting things the way I wanted to. Admittedly, my feelings about Luke were becoming increasingly biased.

  We didn’t have training on the weekends and so this was our time to explore our surroundings. Luke was desperate to get his phone unlocked so he could buy a Ugandan SIM card but nowhere in Jinja was he able to do so. He had decided that he was going to take the bus to Kampala, the capital of Uganda, to find a place able to help him. He invited me to come along for the ride. I was not a fan of big towns, but I was curious to see how Kampala compared to Jinja.

  It was only a few hours on the bus and, as I’d suspected, I didn’t like Kampala. It was a big, dirty city. But we found somewhere that said they could help Luke with his phone, so we felt we had achieved our mission. The sales assistant said it would take an hour, so we wandered the streets and had lunch. As we were walking back, we discovered an ice-cream shop. We hadn’t had any treats since we had arrived in Uganda, so we indulged. We still had our ice-creams in our hands when we got back to the phone place, but the woman who had first talked to us now apologised and said they had a small problem. They had successfully unlocked Luke’s phone, but in the process all the numbers that had been saved to it had been lost.

  This news didn’t go down well and Luke started yelling at the woman. I felt awful for her. Surely Luke could just email home and get the numbers again? I was starting to feel seriously uncomfortable and to think that my first impression of Luke had actually been spot-on. But as I went to turn away from him, he caught me by surprise and dabbed the tip of his ice-cream onto my nose. And then there was that smile. We both burst out laughing. Suddenly Luke seemed to forget the problem with his phone and we left the shop.

  On the bus back, we were both listening to his iPod, with an earplug each. I was becoming tired and, without thinking, rested my head on his shoulder. It felt like the natural thing to do. I had my eyes closed, but I nonetheless felt it when he placed his hand on my knee. I liked it.

  The next day I entered the training room and sat down. Irene, Paul and Charles were already sitting at the front, and Irene had a very sly grin on her face. I had a feeling that something terrible was about to happen. The other volunteers sat down, and everyone seemed to notice the unexplained tension in the air. We sat silently, staring at the SPW staff expectantly.

  It was Paul who stood first to speak. He seemed to like being the one in control. He announced that they had decided who each of us would be on placement with. My heart started pounding uncontrollably. Charles then stood up as well. He and Paul spent many minutes joking around with each other, teasing us. They were toying with our feelings, it seemed, amused by how easily we had become putty in their hands. I felt overwhelmed with nerves. Tears were forming behind my eyes. Unintentionally, I found myself sneaking glances at Luke. He still had that big goofy grin on his face and I almost felt pissed off that he didn’t appear anxious at all.

  Finally, Charles handed Paul the piece of paper that said it all. Paul glanced at the paper, and then at us, enjoying a final moment of power. Then he started to read. There would be two international volunteers and two Ugandan volunteers on each placement. He read out the first village placement name and then, painfully slowly, announced which volunteers would be living and teaching there.

  I started crying. How embarrassing. I am such a product of my parents—I was pissed off, as I imagined Dad would be in this situation, and also an emotional wreck, just like Mum. The truly ridiculous part was that Paul hadn’t even said my name. I was just so stressed that my emotions were swamping my sense of reason. That seemed to happen a lot to me in those days. I thought of myself as being a relaxed person, and yet here I was with my head buried in my hands, tears flowing, while surrounded by people in exactly the same situation, who were completely calm.

  Paul paused again and looked up at me. I imagined that my thoughts were written all over my face. I had a tendency to be totally transparent, regardless of whether I wanted to be or not. Finally, he remembered that he was mid-sentence and continued talking. ‘Namwendwa—Nikki, Jane, Lillian and Wemusa.’

  I repeated his words in my head. My first thought was not Luke, I wasn’t with Luke. My second thought was Stop crying! Act happy! ACT HAPPY! Deep breaths. Think rationally. Better.

  I was actually pleased to be with Jane. I respected and trusted her. She was also a little bit older, 22, and I was grateful knowing I would always have her support. Lillian was very open and friendly, and while I didn’t know her well, I imagined that we would get along. Wemusa, however, I was very disappointed to be placed with. I had previously told the SPW staff that I definitely did not want to be placed with him. He was a very serious young man. He wore a suit every day to our training and believed firmly in formal teaching practices. I, on the other hand, wore flowing skirts and thought creativity was the most effective way to empower students to learn. I suspec
ted that our differences would go far beyond our dress codes and teaching ideals.

  After Paul had finished reading out our names, Irene almost jumped out of her seat. It was obvious she had been waiting for this moment. ‘Nikki is clearly upset,’ she said, trying to conceal a smile, ‘but we couldn’t make everyone happy.’

  Thanks, Captain Obvious. Then she gave me a mango. A mango! I loved mangos but, please, it was more than a little patronising and it all got stuck in my teeth, making me an even bigger mess.

  Tired of my emotions being used for the entertainment of SPW staff, I caught a matatu into town and went straight to a shop with the internet. This time hope didn’t even rise in me as I waited for my email account to open. When my inbox downloaded and I had eight new emails, I was surprised more than delighted. Jack’s email account had been down the previous week, and he had now compensated with numerous messages. He said all the conventionally right things—how much he missed me and was thinking of me— and I really wished I felt the same way. But I didn’t.

  Part of me wondered whether I had always known that I didn’t feel a truly strong connection with Jack and that I had tried to convince myself otherwise. Originally, I had desperately wanted a boyfriend—it felt like all the other girls had one. And then Jack had appeared. He was a year older and had a car, which had instantly made him cool. And he was cute and romantic. But, most significantly, he liked me. Goofy, stubborn, nerdy me.

  It was difficult to answer this honestly, but was it Jack that I had actually liked, or just that feeling of being wanted? I didn’t really know what I felt anymore. Sometimes it seemed like I missed Jack but I only felt that way when I was lonely. When I was happy or busy, he didn’t cross my mind. It wasn’t him I missed; it was knowing that someone was there for me.

  The only thing that Jack and I ever had in common was each other. People say that opposites attract, and maybe for us that was true initially. But when there are no passions or activities to share, what is the glue that holds a relationship together? I didn’t know. But I did know there was never anything wrong with our relationship, except for the very fact that it wasn’t right.

  Shit. I really wasn’t ready for life-changing insights right now. I told myself that it wasn’t fair to Jack to end our relationship via email. But that was bullshit. The truth was I was too scared, too selfish, to let him go and have to face the big scary world on my own. I denied my emotions, ignored Jack’s emails and emailed my parents instead. I anticipated that this would be the last contact that I would have with them for a month or so. I would leave for my placement tomorrow.

  At least I now had the name of the village where I would be working and imagined Mum would find reassurance in being able to pinpoint me on a map.

  That night, just after I had tucked my mozzie net in, Luke appeared. The main lights were still on but it was bedtime, not an appropriate hour for visiting. My eyes flickered around at the other girls but they were so absorbed in their own nightly rituals that they had barely glanced up when Luke entered. The SPW staff would definitely not approve of him lingering about our room but they already hated me and it was our last night of training. I lifted my mozzie net to say hello, and invited Luke into my little world. He climbed under the net and pulled the sheet over himself. We lay opposite each other, so close that our noses were touching.

  Since two weeks earlier when Luke had first sat on my bed and listened to my iPod, we had taken to sharing our time and our music. He had become the companion that I needed, but tonight everything was different. Words were unnecessary because we both knew that tomorrow we would be separated by our different placements, and we would no longer be able to share anything.

  Luke curled my hair around his fingers playfully. Then he gently stroked my face. Suddenly the main lights went out. The room was seductively dark but some of the girls still had torches on, so there was just enough light for me to see Luke’s face. I wondered whether the girls realised that he was still in our room, in my bed, but I was enjoying myself too much to care. Under the sheet, my feet rubbed against Luke’s. His toes were still cold from being outside. This was a new dynamic to our friendship . . . but I liked it. I had been craving this intimacy.

  My hands were curled up in front of my face. Luke took them in his own hands, running his fingers through mine. His face dropped so it was resting on our hands, our eyes were locked as he lightly kissed each of my fingers. His lips were soft. My eyes were looking into his. Surely he was going to kiss me . . .

  A little battle was going on inside my head. One moment I was urgently wanting him to kiss me; the next I was not so sure. Jack was still my boyfriend, regardless of how my feelings might have changed. But, I told myself my feelings had changed, and it was hard to be restrained just because that was supposedly the right thing to do. Then I remembered that there were six other girls in this room, all trying to sleep. Both my morals and my logic were screaming at me to do the same—and they overpowered my desire. But I still didn’t have the willpower to ask Luke to leave.

  I let my eyes drift away from him, which was enough for him to know that not all of me was in this moment. I wished him goodnight and fell asleep. By morning he was gone.

  When the time came to say goodbye I wrapped my arms around Luke. Our whole group was breaking up and we all had to go our separate ways. I didn’t want to let go of him. Everyone was saying their farewells and so no-one seemed to notice that I hugged him for perhaps a few moments longer than I should have. Then I pulled myself away and joined Jane and Lillian on the back of a ute. Wemusa had already climbed into the front seat. Someone from the village was supposed to have picked us up, but they’d never arrived and so Paul had decided to just drive us there himself.

  I felt unsure about the whole situation. Surely, if the community wanted us there, they would have come and collected us. It felt intrusive to be planning to rumble into a remote village in a loud ute. But admittedly I was enjoying the ride. I liked being bumped about, and having my hair thrashed about my face. Being outside always made me feel so alive.

  The closer we drew to the village, the more beautiful our surroundings became. It was unbelievably green. I was sitting, resting against my backpack, and as I tilted my head, the sky was a perfect blue. We hadn’t even arrived and already I felt an attachment to this place that was impossible to describe. It was enchanting, magical in the simplicity of its beauty. Mud huts with thatched roofs were scattered along the side of the road. I stood up to try to see how far back the huts went, but fields of crops blocked my view. Suddenly the ute sunk into a pothole and then hauled out of it. I nearly fell over, so I decided to sit down again.

  I could hear children’s voices shouting. I looked behind us—little legs chased after the ute as their equally little arms reached out to us in excitement. I waved to the children, my smile taking over my face. I looked at Jane, whose smile was as wide as my own, her eyes glistening with joy and warmth. Lillian, too, was laughing. Her family home was not far from Namwendwa, and the surroundings were familiar to her, but sharing them was a new and exciting experience for her.

  The ute stopped. Paul and Wemusa got out, and we followed suit by climbing off the back. A Ugandan man wandered up to us. He wore a smile and yet he threw his hands up to his face in despair as he approached. ‘Welcome, welcome,’ he said, moving his hands from his face.

  He introduced himself as Andrew Opio, a teacher at Namwendwa primary school. He went on to explain that he had thought he was supposed to pick us up the following week. I was relieved to know that at least the community was expecting us. Wemusa, Lillian, Jane and I introduced ourselves; Andrew shook each of our hands with great enthusiasm.

  Many people had now gathered around and were watching us with curiosity as we stood at the side of the ute. Andrew pointed in front of us and announced that this was our home. It was the end section of a cement block that seemed to be divided by cement walls. At the opposite end of this block was a small shop that Andrew said he owned
. In front of our home was dirt and then a small grass patch and a little tree. A dusty road ran in front of our house and on the other side of that was a brick home with spaces where there should have been a door and window frames. To the left of our house were some small bushes and trees. Mud huts were scattered around.

  I couldn’t tell much else about our house from that distance except that it was small. Extremely small. Because its two wooden doors were padlocked shut, blocking us from entering, Andrew asked some children to go and find the landlord for the key. As soon as they scampered off, Paul, deciding that his job was now done, climbed back into the ute and disappeared.

  A small boy soon returned holding the house key and Andrew performed the grand opening. He swung the doors open and my jaw dropped ever so slightly. Our house was chock-a-block full of maize and bags of charcoal. Andrew looked embarrassed. He must have forgotten that it was being used for storage.

  As we all stood outside, looking at each other and wondering what to do next, it started to rain. Uganda is a tropical country and the rain proved a testament to that—it pounded down, loud and fast. We were all drenched, and my spirits too were starting to dampen. But then men and boys from the village suddenly appeared all around us. They began to work together, carrying all the maize and charcoal outside, as Andrew directed them. We were strangers in this place, and yet already everyone was so willing to help us.

  Within ten minutes, the house was cleared and Andrew gestured us inside. The wooden doors opened to the main room, which had two smaller rooms attached, each with a wooden door. Imagine a cement block divided into a rectangle and two squares—that was our home. It had a cement floor and a tin roof, unlike the majority of houses in the village that generally had dirt floors and thatched roofs. As soon as we entered, children followed in after us carrying wooden chairs. They placed them down, and then disappeared back outside. Andrew also left, hurrying out into the rain, laughing, and saying that he needed to organise some things.