A cow walks into a bar

Yesterday, I cracked my first joke in front of an Acholi that legitimately made us both laugh. The conversation was with the gardener at my friend’s house and it went like this:

“Hi. I’ve come to feed Okello*”

(*Okello is my dog Jeter’s cousin brother who has been staying with a friend since Jeter was savagely attacked by an evil German Shepherd.)

“Ok please.”

I proceed to dump piles of meat and rice into the bowl and Okello laps it up with abandon.

“Okello is always hungry,” I say.
“He is eating seriously,” he says.
“Soon he will be the size of a cow,” I say with a smile.

BAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! We both crack up.

As I left the compound I could still hear him chuckling. It was the first time I made someone laugh in Gulu when they weren’t trying to placate me or laughing at me when I’m spasming in anger over some near death experience that they’ve just witnessed.

In the past week or so, after three years of living here, I have realized that maybe, just maybe, my perspective is different than the people among whom I live. In other words, I’ve been living in another culture. Well, duh. An anthropologist clearly I am not…

I look at the onslaught of visitors to Gulu and I scoff at their ignorance with a touch too much disdain and a tinge of envy. There are the missionaries, researchers and war tourists with big goofy smiles and endless amounts of sympathy thinly veiled as empathy. They don’t know what it’s like to live here day in and day out. If they were here as long as me, those smiles would not be so goofy, because they would see just how exceptional it is to truly connect to people.

I’ve been wondering why I’m so grumpy lately and then small moments, like the Okello joke, break through and I realize just how difficult it is to live in someone else’s culture over the long term. I could tell that the exchange with the gardener was a connection between two very different people that we both equally enjoyed. This is a rarity. Usually I run and hide in my house after a long day and find myself saying, “I need a break from Africa.” I think this is mostly ok, because it’s only just dawning on me that it’s natural to crave what you’re used to. (Another anthropological ‘a ha’ moment.) In other words, it’s ok that after a long field visit, I need an injection of the E Channel (well, that’s probably not ok because of its baseness, but I do it.) It makes sense that the longer I’m here the more un-apologetically I socialize with other ex-pats. Ok, it’s apologetically. But still. I need to be around my people.

Actually this blog has been hard to write. I’ve had to re-work and nuance my sentiments to avoid sounding like a neo-colonial asshole. I’m not sure if I’ve succeeded. I could be accused of good old fashioned classism, which can be found anywhere in the world. But I do know that I’ve lived in Gulu for a long time – very few have lived here longer. I think it’s ok that I’ve built up some cultural defenses and gotten a little grumpy. (Ok Hayden, a lot grumpy.) Perhaps that’s why making the gardener laugh was so joyous.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Bush dog

This morning I was rushing to start the day. I ignored the incessant meowing of Nownow, spokesperson for the household pets and arbiter of food justice. I needed to stop at the café and the bank and get to the office all before reaching a workshop that begins at 9am. I was delighted to find water flowing from the taps again – it’s been bucket showers all week. Did I mention I have to pack for the World Cup too? Poor me I know ;)


As a fairly accomplished multi-tasker, I’ve been struggling lately. I’ve been working hard to leave unfinished business behind or delegate, but since I’m convinced that no one can do such and such a thing better than me. But I’ve been so busy and so tired lately that I have no choice.


So I awoke with a start at 6:27am. I ignored the pet riff raff and the nagging sensation to immediately check email, and ran out the door. As I headed for the gate I saw the guard leave the gate ahead of me with leashes but no dogs. Curious. I emerged from the gate and looked to the right and saw my dog and his new little brother trotting merrily merrily merrily merrily down the road. They had little bounces in their steps and smiles on their faces. They were smiling and so I started smiling. It’s so beautiful in Gulu at 7:30 in the morning. The sun’s up, but it’s not too hot. People and roosters are stirring to the start of the day. With the smile still on my face and the cool morning breeze lapping against my back it dawned on me that my dog and his little brother were without escort. Indeed, they had absconded and were on the lam. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were just disappearing from view when I dropped my smile and sprang into action.

“Jeter.” Still trotting. “JETER!” Pause and head turn. “Come ‘ere Je Je.” His smile broadened and he bounded toward me in full sprint and Okello in tow. He jumped into my arms and got mud all over my work clothes.

There was a time when I would panic over Jeter’s escape. Actually I did panic. And the panic immediately dissolved my big busy day. As my guard approached with the leash I smiled. I could tell he was bracing for my freak out. I handed Jeter over to him, hopped into the car and headed to the Café.