We Are One Village

by Nikki Lovell

  The interesting conversation had made the journey pass quickly and I soon found myself in Luke’s village. Now what? I still wasn’t sure if this was the village where he was working. If it was, I had no idea where his house might be. I must have looked as bewildered as I felt as buda-buda men soon called out to me. ‘Munzungu, munzungu.’

  That’s it! I walked over to the men, hopped on the back of a motorbike and asked them to take me to the other munzungu. I figured if this village was anything like Namwendwa, being white would make Luke a celebrity and the buda-buda men would know where he lived.

  I figured correctly. The buda-buda man took me straight to Luke’s house. Luke was shocked to see me. Not delighted or amazed. Shocked. Emily, the other international volunteer, was even more surprised to see me. Roney, a Ugandan volunteer, was the only one who actually seemed happy at my arrival.

  I had thought my surprise visit would be seen as exciting and romantic but, seeing the look on Luke’s face, I suddenly felt like a creepy stalker. The buda-buda man had already taken off and I felt stranded. I had travelled for over three hours to get here and now, in an instant, I wished I could disappear.

  Once Luke accepted the fact that I was here, he was polite but in a way that was detached and distant. How could it be that only a week earlier he had come to see me and we had been so close? I felt like an idiot. I stood outside his house, quiet and awkward. Emily offered to show me around. Their house was simple but had large windows so the rooms were a lot lighter than in our place. In Luke’s room, my eyes were immediately drawn to the photos that he had stuck on the wall. They were all of his girlfriend, Sarah. I felt completely humiliated but tried to act cool, as if it was fine for him to be treating me like rubbish. As if I didn’t care that all the affection he had shown for me had been an act.

  The day passed slowly and, as the hours went on, Luke felt more and more like a stranger. When night came, and he and I were sitting in his room, I couldn’t help but ask him what was going on—the sudden shift in his behaviour was confusing the hell out of me. He pulled a strange expression, as if he was trying to look sad, but it was obvious he was enjoying himself. He told me that he liked me, but not enough to justify breaking up with Sarah. I said I understood. I didn’t want to embarrass myself further by letting on how much I was hurting.

  I remembered that I had brought chocolate. I had grabbed it from the supermarket in Kamuli on the way, just as Luke had done when he had visited me. I pulled it out of my bag in an attempt to show there were no hard feelings. That’s what I tried to tell myself anyway. In reality I wanted to draw him back to the passionate moment that we had shared a week earlier.

  Luke’s face lit up when he saw the chocolate . . . And then there was that damn smile again. He really had the biggest smile I had ever seen, it looked like it might stretch right off his cheeks.

  Roney and Emily were asleep in another room. In Luke’s room it was dark, the only light coming from a lantern in the corner of the room. We were sitting on the mattress. I opened the chocolate and handed it to Luke. He broke some off and then handed it back, our fingers touching as I took it from him. Oh god. I was so attracted to him. We both sat quietly, eating our chocolate. And then we kissed.

  I truly wanted to believe that whatever I was feeling, Luke felt too. But when the kissing stopped, and Luke fell asleep, I lay awake. I was wondering how I could be aware that I was being a complete idiot and yet still continue to act in such a way. At some point I must have fallen asleep. When I woke at first light, everyone else was still asleep so I tiptoed outside. Unlike our house, where we had neighbours everywhere, their house had plenty of space around it and so I could sit outside in peace.

  I thought about my relationship with Luke—how cold and distant he had been when I arrived the day before, and how his behaviour hadn’t really changed that much until he kissed me. This was the first time he had acted not just disinterested but unfriendly towards me. Then I remembered when the first time he caught my attention, he was sniggering at a comment that one of the Ugandan volunteers had made. I remembered his reaction to the girl who had stolen his wallet, and how furious and vile he was to the woman in the phone shop. Luke had never hidden this side of him, but before yesterday he had never treated me badly. I was angry with myself that I had been so naïve as to think that I was special, that I was different. But mainly I was disappointed in myself, that I had still been so interested in Luke even after seeing how poorly he treated others. He was self-absorbed and rude and I had realised that, and I had liked him anyway. Who did that make me?

  It seemed forever until Luke woke up. He woke up as Luke the Jerk, not Nice Luke. He told me how the kissing had been a mistake and that he just wanted to be friends. I agreed that that was best and then had him point me in the direction of the matatu. I was ready to go home.

  I arrived back in Namwendwa before Jane, and of course Lillian and Wemusa were not around. I sat on one of our wooden chairs out the front of the house. I was feeling pretty flat, but I thought that watching the children play would cheer me up. Dawoodee was dribbling with his ball. It seemed like he was constantly practising. His woven ball was beautiful, and I wondered if he had made it himself. I stood up, and gestured for him to come over. He ran over with his ball and we kicked it back and forth. Dawoodee was always barefoot and so I took my sandals off too. I liked the feel of the dirt under my feet.

  Suddenly a howling cry came from across the road. It was Kisashi. Her mother was whipping her with a stick. I could hear every blow and could see the raw red marks that it was leaving on the girl’s skin. I didn’t know what Kisashi had supposedly done wrong, but I did know that physical punishment was common here.

  Kisashi looked up—she could see me watching her. I didn’t know what to do. My own morals told me that violence was wrong, but who was I to judge that my morals were right? I didn’t want to simply assume that I knew best and impose my beliefs on others, because that in itself also seemed immoral. However, recognising the importance of respecting other cultures’ ways of doing things was easy in theory, but difficult in practice when just metres away there was a child screaming in pain.

  The woman was Dawoodee’s mother too. He kicked the ball back to me, encouraging me to keep playing. I returned him the ball and momentarily turned away from Kisashi. But the girl’s cries were echoing inside me. Finally I could not stand it any longer and, saying goodbye to Dawoodee, I raced back into our house. I went straight to Jane’s and my room. Lying on my bed, I reached for my iPod, put my earphones in and turned it up loud.

  Tears came flooding out of me. I was crying for Kisashi. I was crying because I was angry at myself for how I had treated Jack and how I had been such an idiot with Luke. I was crying because I felt totally alone. I turned on my side to face the cement wall. On it I had stuck photos of my younger brother, Josh, which I brought with me from Australia. In one of the photos he was playing the guitar and he had the most joyful smile. Josh loved music and when he played an instrument, or listened to music or danced to it, his whole body would come alive and he was so happy. I reached out to the photo, placing my finger on Josh’s face. I wished he were here to give me a hug.

  As I was looking at the photo, I realised that, just as the students had done the previous week, when I had been thinking of love I had only considered romantic love. But there were so many special people in my life. In the letter Mum had given me to read on the plane, she had written that when I was born she had been worried that she would not love me enough, as she already loved my brother Sam so much. But once I was born, she realised love was boundless. I was only just starting to understand what she meant by those words. I realised that I was upset because I cared about people. I cared about Kisashi, about Jack and— whether I liked it or not—I cared about Luke. I wasn’t alone at all.

  Jane bought disinfectant from Jinja and she saturated the bathing area with it. We asked Andrew if he could ask people not to urinate there and he said he would try. T
he next week we organised a community meeting. It was open for anyone to attend but we specifically invited 30 key players from Namwendwa, such as local council members. The purpose of the meeting was to explain how we were working in the area as health educators, mainly by teaching health in the primary and secondary schools. We also wanted to learn the community’s core concerns for Namwendwa.

  We were holding the meeting in the local council building. It was a cement block, with open windows and an open space for the door. Inside were wooden benches, and a wooden table and individual chairs up the front for Lillian, Wemusa, Jane, Andrew Opio and myself. The day was scheduled to start at 11 a.m. but by 12.30 p.m. there were still only 12 people present. While we were waiting in hope for others to come, Andrew explained that some people would have liked to attend, but to do so would have meant less time working on their land. The majority of people in Namwendwa lived off sustenance farming, meaning what they grew was what they ate. If they didn’t work on the land during the day, then they would literally go hungry that night and so would their family.

  Given what Andrew had told us, 12 people suddenly seemed like a reasonable number and we began the meeting. Lillian and Andrew mainly conducted proceedings because it was all in Lusoga, so when one of them wasn’t speaking, they were translating for Wemusa, Jane or myself. It was a little frustrating to feel like I was observing the meeting rather than participating in it. No concerns or issues were raised; people mainly just expressed their gratitude for us coming to work in Namwendwa. But I kept thinking about Andrew’s comment—the thought of people not being able to leave their land for even a day.

  It was a Wednesday and we had no classes in the morning, so Jane and I decided to visit Florence. On the walk to her house my right foot was really bothering me. I seemed to have developed some really large blisters, which was uncommon for me. I assumed it was because I wore the same sandals everywhere and walked so much. I ignored the pain.

  When we arrived at the school, a bamboo structure, Florence was teaching the kids a song and we didn’t want to interrupt. It was the first time that I had seen a teacher in Namwendwa use creative techniques. Florence was very passionate about her work and her enthusiasm was contagious. As soon as she spotted us by the doorway, she invited us inside. The kids were tiny and adorable—she got them to sing a song for us, and they all clapped in time as well. It was a really happy and positive environment.

  We sat in on the class for a while, enjoying watching Florence teach. But we feared our presence was a distraction for the kids, so we decided to leave. When we said goodbye, all the kids clapped and sang in unison, ‘Thanks a lot, thanks a lot, and we do it like that every day.’ It didn’t really make sense; but they had obviously been practising, so we also clapped for them, and then thanked them.

  We walked back to our house, picked up our things for teaching and were about to head to the primary school for lunch. Lillian was coming with us. But, as soon as we started walking again, my foot once more felt really sore. I had never realised blisters could be this bad and I mentioned this to the girls. They asked to see. We stopped walking. I took off my right sandal and lifted my foot up.

  ‘Oh, no!’ they both exclaimed. ‘They’re not blisters— you’ve got jiggers.’

  I had never heard of jiggers before but, from the tone of Lillian’s and Jane’s voices, I figured it wasn’t good. Unfortunately I was right. Jiggers meant worms—I had worms living in my foot. Apparently I had got them out of the dirt.

  Moments later I was sitting out the front of our house. Jane was sitting in front of me and my foot was resting on her lap. She had spent some time in Costa Rica and had got jiggers there, so she knew all about it and promised to remove the worms painlessly. Everyone came over to watch and offer to help. It was a little nerve-wracking having so many people staring and pointing at my foot. Jane first used a sterilised needle from my medical kit to make a hole in my foot. It didn’t hurt because all the skin around the jigger area was dried. She then literally fished out a worm, carefully ensuring that she got all the eggs as well.

  Everyone was gasping; they hadn’t seen a worm so big. Most people normally recognised straightaway when they had jiggers and removed them when the worms were still small and before there were eggs. Of course I had never even considered that the bump on the sole of my foot was a worm laying eggs.

  It took about an hour to remove all the worms and eggs. The worms were thin and long and looked like noodles. After the removal procedure was complete I had an impressive hole in my foot, which Jane covered with a bandage to stop it getting infected. My foot still felt a little funny to walk on, but it was a lot better than it had been.

  At last we continued on our way to the primary school. When we got there, most of the teachers were having lunch— porcho and beans—but Sam and Andrew were not to be seen. Lillian sat down to eat, while Jane and I asked after Sam and Andrew. One of the teachers, Moses, stood up and had us follow him to a room at the end of one of the classroom blocks.

  We found Sam and Andrew in a small room we hadn’t seen before; apparently it was the storage room. It was a mess. Sacks of maize, bags of charcoal, rat poo everywhere, but also books. Books! Apparently the government had sent them to the school, but the school didn’t really know the best way to store them and now most of them had been chewed apart by rats.

  With the discovery of the room and the few uneaten books, Jane and I both had the same thought—the room could be transformed into a library. We asked the men what they thought of this idea and they were very excited. Most of what was in the room was either rubbish or could work as part of the library; as for the sacks of charcoal and maize, Andrew offered to store them in his house.

  Moses was especially excited by the library idea, and was literally jumping up and down and clapping his hands. He offered to help us clean up the room. We still had time before we needed to teach; after my foot worm episode I had lost my appetite, so we skipped lunch and set to work.

  First we pulled everything out. There were many spider webs with large spiders living in them. But I have never been afraid of spiders—despite knowing the deadliness of their bite, they still look like funny little creatures to me. Harmless rats, on the other hand, I was not a fan of and there were many of them scampering about.

  By the time we had cleared the room, it was time for us to teach. Our lesson went well, and Jane and I were in great spirits on the walk back home. We were excited about the library and talking about how we were going to develop it when suddenly I felt an agonising pain on the lower half of my left leg. I looked down, and there was a black bug biting through my skin and burying under it. Instinctively I tried to pull the bug off, but it was stuck. Then I thought I had got it off. But when I looked for it on the ground, it was nowhere to be seen.

  8

  My Brother Josh

  NAMWENDWA, UGANDA, June 2005

  The next day I woke to find my leg had inflated like a large sausage balloon. It looked pretty disgusting, but also kind of hilarious. I considered ignoring it but, given we had no lessons organised for the day, Jane convinced me to get it checked out.

  There was a medical clinic in Namwendwa but it was understaffed and under-resourced. If we went there, I would probably wait all day and not be seen. So we decided that heading to the clinic in Kamuli was our best bet. As I grabbed my wallet, I was also sure to grab my copy of Lonely Planet’s Healthy Travel Guide—Africa. Nothing like a little light reading and self-diagnosis for the bus ride in, I thought.

  At Namwendwa trading centre, the trusted white matatu, which had ‘God is Great’ spray-painted above the front window, was already waiting. Jane and I clambered inside and made our way to the back. There were only three other passengers currently on board—an old man who sat right at the front, and a young woman with her baby. She was sitting in the row in front of us dressed in the traditional gomesi and was peering out the window. Her baby was wrapped in a length of material and was tied to her back. Uganda
n women always carried their babies on their backs, and they left them tied like this when sitting. This made sense on the woven mats that had no back rests, but on the matatu it seemed odd.

  At first, I felt sorry for the baby in front of me, whose body was pressed against the seat, his little head resting just over it. But he smiled happily. He wasn’t even bothered by Jane’s and my whiteness, which was a pleasant surprise.

  We had to wait for over an hour for the matatu to be sufficiently overflowing with passengers, animals and luggage. While we were waiting, I continued to give big grins to the baby in front and, when I was confident that he wasn’t about to start howling in fear, I even pulled some silly faces. This was a lot more fun than reading about the potential illnesses I might have had.

  When the bus finally rattled on its way, I couldn’t help but stare at the baby’s bobbing head. It really looked like it might detach from his little body and go flying off at any moment. And yet he was still smiling. Amazing. It made me think that we must be far too over-protective of babies back in Australia—they are obviously much tougher than we give them credit for.