Nice Time

In Ugandan English, as in most English speaking countries, there are particular phrases associated with this particular dialect. One of my favorites is “Nice Time,” which is a phrase often used to signal the conclusion to a conversation. In much as others might use “adieu” or “see ya” or “check you later,” “Nice Time” punctuates the moment and often replaces the standard parting word “good-bye.”

On Sunday I hosted my fourth and final (at least for now) Thanksgiving Dinner in Gulu. This event has always been my big moment of the year. A time to invite the families and friends I have made throughout the years and gather and share tons of food and sodas and dancing. I must say this year’s party had a couple of twists that previous years have not. For example, knowing that I’m overwhelmed by the closing down of the project and my life in Gulu, I recruited Gulu’s top chefs Jeanne Briggs and Layla Eplett to accompany me in creating a feast de resistance (sorry Francophones…) These ladies can cook and we created delicious standards like turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie, along with creative and super yummy additions such as artichoke dip and sweet potato pound cake. Of course, I’d be remiss not to mention our most creative helper in the kitchen, Miss Amy Karr, who brought us perennial faves like kickass mashed potatoes like her grandmother used to make, as well as new favorites shall we call them such as cheese potatoes topped with frosted flakes. Amazingly the frosted flake dish was completely finished at the end of the evening. I cannot thank them enough for contributing to the finest Thanksgiving table I have ever seen.

The other big change was the addition of goat slaughtering. Since my second Thanksgiving I’ve been acquiring a live turkey and having my housekeeper slaughter at dawn of the big day. The first year I did this I got a little too close to the bird and couldn’t eat the meat. The next year I kept my distance and scarfed away. This year I did entertain the idea of killing it myself, as sort of another African lifestyle rite of passage and to try to avoid what vegetarians might consider hypocritical eating habits. But after one step out the door toward the bird who was tied under Jeanne’s generator, I quickly retreated.

I got a call from SPRING’s driver and one of my favorite people in Gulu, George, who said he was bringing me a goat. “A goat?” “Yes, a small goat for your party.” Jesus. I’ve got everything carefully timed and now have to factor in the logistics of a live goat being delivered to my house. George recruited Uma the guard to slaughter it and with the dogs locked up and me literally hiding in the corner of my house, ears plugged and talking to myself (unlike turkeys, goats scream when they’re being killed) the goat was put down, skinned, gutted and taken away to be roasted. Sorry sports fans, but I couldn’t deny you the play by play. In fact I’ll get a nice pictorial sequence up in a minute. In a conversation with my dad after the event he gently hinted that slaughtering is not necessary in the US and if I return, perhaps I could leave that Gulu tradition behind. Although I played it off like it was no big deal (because it isn’t to most people here) I’ll actually be glad to leave this aspect of Gulu thanksgiving behind.

I set the time of the party at 3pm and even though I knew people would be at least 2 hours late, I fretted and fumbled until the first guests arrived, who were Johnson, my trusty/dysfunctional guard and his family, including Baby Fred who’s named after my dad. Slowly we were joined by everyone else and I believe we had the usual 45-50 people. By the end of the evening, the adults were rubbing their swollen bellies and the kids were super hopped up on sodas. One little girl was trembling with the sugar shock of at least four sodas with a great big frenzied smile on her face. I was happy to have Beatrice, Arthur and the baby there. Arthur was my photographer for the day and I felt so happy about staying connected to this family all of these years and since their father and my friend Charles was killed last year. We had a special guest star appearance by Allen Rock, who just happened to be in town. I giggled profusely at an exchange between him and our Stephen. I introduced Stephen as the future President of Uganda and neither missing a beat exchanged dignified salutations and Allen even gave Stephen his card. Stephen, never missing an opportunity, immediately quizzed him on the pronunciation of his name and made sure that his email address was on the card. Sixteen going on fifty that kid is!

The evening ended by shuttling all of the families home. I’m pretty sure I broke 500 laws by piling 20 children into the back of Mollie’s Rav 4, but what happens in Gulu stays in Gulu. Let me take this moment to conclude where I started and say with both the Ugandan and English meaning an emphatic “Nice Time.”