my life in a hut.

Spending a week living in the African bush was an experience much different than what I expected. On Friday we left for Eastern Africa, the district of Soroti, with the region of Iteso people (who were affected by the flooding of this semester). We stayed the night together at a staff member’s house and then Saturday morning we were dispersed throughout the community into Ugandan families.

The anticipation of who my family would be and what my hut would look like excited me. My dream was living miles from all the white people with me, in a mud hut, with a poor family full of kids. These hopes and expectations were shattered when I pulled up to a few cement buildings slightly off the road. I almost cried because I was so shocked at the “extravagance” of the place, and was only slightly relieved when I saw a cement- grass thatched-hut for me to sleep in. Because this was not the experience I expected or thought I wanted, I had to fight to have a good attitude.

Therefore through the five days I chose to love my family and be present and fight for contentment. A verse at church on Sunday, was Proverbs….. this really spoke to me and challenged me to change my negative thoughts. Processing the trip after I heard other experiences in huts was difficult for me, but I learned a lot. My challenge was not to survive a hut experience, because that would be easy, BUT to be content with the situation I was in and I really had to battle for that! But I also realized that I had a stigma about the people in rural areas ALL being destitute and poor, creating an “us” and “them” divide between us. And it was good to be again reminded that all of Africa is not poor, does not need my help, and is made up of real people who have stories and lives… therefore, they should not be boxed into the “pity-poor-box”.

Once I got over myself, it turned out to be lovely.  My family was wonderful:

Mama Catherine shared a hut with me and her son, Ivan, who was almost two years old. She was such a hard worker, and was responsible for cooking all the meals for the compound, doing laundry, teaching me everything about rural life in Africa, AND caring for her son. If anyone says Africans are lazy… it’s a big fat LIE!!

I woke to Ivan screaming every morning before seven (whooo!), but I was useless because he feared me.  He was adorable 24/7, but equally clingy to his mom and bratty.


My Tata (Grandma) and Papa (Grandpa) were the sweetest folks. Tata was 71 years old and still tilled, swinging a large hoe, in the “garden” (or LARGE farm!). She was a lead farmer for the community in honey and oranges, which she was very proud of! She even had Washington Naval oranges and tangerines… yay, a piece of home!  Papa was a retired educator, who was secretary to the commission of education of Uganda under Obote and Amin (two previous corrupt presidents). So he met and advised the presidents!!  He studied at Leeds University in the UK and was so wise and sharp with current news. Their sitting room and porch was where I spent a majority of my time, in awe of their wisdom.

Esther was a twenty-one year old cousin who had a daughter, Martha, and was pregnant when I left (but could have had her baby now!). I was always astonished when she would be lifting huge jerry cans of water on her head or giant pots of potatoes and bending over constantly, but in Africa about to have a baby I guess doesn’t stop women from working hard!   Her daughter Martha was a quiet doll, who was always watching everything, but shy in interacting.

Others in our compound (a mix of generations with different places to sleep and cook) were three children who were only present the first two days. But Ernest, my six year old cousin, always followed me and loved my watch and camera. I was sad I didn’t get to say goodbye. His sisters were also adorable, Eseza (2) and Esther (4).  A fifteen year old cousin was quiet but also a hard worker.

So, I stayed with them five days: farming, cooking, making gnut butter, enjoying tea time, and I even killed the chicken for supper!! Yep, uncle brian if you are reading this… I DID IT!!  On my first morning I was dressed for morning church and my mom asked, “Do you want to kill the chicken now?” I agreed with a chuckle (at the irony and out of fear) and grabbed my gloves. Picture this: I am dressed up for church with a dull knife sawing (literally) off the head of a pretty white hen!!!!! Crazy. So with my arm extended as far as possible, keeping a safe distance, I finished cutting the head off the chicken, while my cousin held her down. This is a cultural way in Iteso to honor the visitor- so my mama was SO happy that I did it. At supper, I wasn’t sure if I felt proud I ate what I killed or upset and grossed out that I saw what my food looked like first…. Hmmmmm…..

I helped Tata heap potatoes, weed potatoes, transplant potatoes, and harvest potatoes.  I made peanut butter (with what they call gnuts). First the shelled gnuts were roasted in a saucepan with sand, then I mashed them with a long stick, then I grinded it smooth on a grinding rock. It was SO cool to make organic peanut butter (like tjs)!!  it was hard work, and I have an even deeper appreciation for pb now when I eat it!

Other highlights were picking spinach leaves, making millet flour (even taking it to a granary), eating with my hands (culturally they use their hands to shovel their food, but it is NOT because they are too poor to afford silverware… they WANT to), smearing cow dung over a winnower (yep yep ), sitting and chatting on mats, and pumping water from a boar hole. One thing that was not so fun, but both a learning experience and another confirmation that life is short, was paying respects to a relative that died. We crammed into a truck and drove an hour, and immediately when the women got out they WAILED at the highest pitch and volume imaginable into a dark hut. I was shuffled in too, and just stared at the women yelling and crying next to the body of the dead man that lay in front of us. All the men stayed outside in chairs, and we, the women, joined them on mats nearby. (There are huge gender role stipulations and differences.)

Every day we did something different and I loved living like a hippie, completely organic in a hut, in the bush of Africa. I am inspired to have a garden now and live simply.  it was a HUGE learning experience and I was challenged in ways I never expected to be. Thank you God for such blessings and opportunities!

Lastly, our group traveled to a disintegrated IDP camp in Amuria district, where refugees have fled for safety from the LRA, the Karamajoung, and the recent floods. The conditions were awful, with families living in close-quarters and with maybe ten families to one latrine. Water and food are difficult to come by, and aid is either ill-proportioned or scarce. LAND: after living off the land for five days, I realized why hopelessness is rampant in the camps- because families can no longer work for their food with dignity nor have a place to raise a family. I hate to repeat myself, BUT: Africa is not what I expected it to be! It did not change my life (like I expected), but I did learn that sometimes when I want a great, personal story to tell or a wonderful experience to have, it is at the expense of the comfort of the people I am engaging (and I don’t want to be a part of “slum tourism”).