Early morning I heard scratching at the mat on the front porch.  I’ve been trying to “make friends” with the poor, pitiful white feline who seems always to be around.  At times she/he/it  stretches out completely motionless for so long, I walk over to see if there is still life in the old thing. I’d like it not to die on my watch.  It is afraid of  humans and if I get within the same solar-system, looks at me with withering distrust (or maybe disgust), just before running away.  But now I can get within about 12 feet before the great escape.  When there is extra or extra-smelly tuna fish  (which describes ANY tuna fish on the shelf in Uganda) I leave it out in a bowl at the far end of the house.  Recently however, we’ve left things closer to the the front door to discover the bowl licked clean by morning and we think it is Kat doing the licking. At least Kat has taken now to speaking to me through the window on rare moments, when there is the protection of a concrete wall and window between us.  

So – when I heard the scratching, I thought it was Kat.  Quietly peering out the window, the source of the racket revealed itself to be the neighbor’s rooster scratching the papyrus mat in search of – what?  (If you were a Ugandan, you would both ask and anwser that question:   And he was looking for what???  He was looking for ______.) Certainly the grass outside has better offerings.    Still sporting the fashionable hemp rope (worn by most cluckers here) tied to both legs and once-upon-a-time to something else to keep him from wandering, he kicked both legs as though to shake off his shackles, letting me know it was beneath his dignity to wander around with his prison clothes on.   Continuing to strut around,  he was giving me that eye that birds do – cocking the head as though to say “Yeah – and what are YOU looking at?”  Then he sidestepped in my direction,  accompanied by his lady-friend  – daring me to  block his path. Telegraphing his intention to march right through the front door and have a look around, he obviously has none of Kat’s  inhibitions re: humans.  

One of these days I might look around by the edges of the fence-line and see if there have been any eggs deposited there by the neighbor chickens  – but not today.  Caroline (landlady) has just approached with a young woman with a hoe.  Seems we have not been doing the Ugandan thing of keeping the 4-5 foot area surrounding the house scraped clear of even so much as a scrap of grass.  I don’t know why they literally scrape the earth that way.  Earlier I thought it was to keep snakes away, or mosquitoes – but neither of those seem to be either encouraged or impeded by high grass. They are perhaps unaware of the implied deed restrictions regarding same.  But bare earth is the culturally proper thing and we – neither possessing a hoe nor the time or inclination to use one in this manner – are possibly bad for the neighborhood.     Odd that no one seems to consider the landfill amount of rubbish lining the streets and indeed – the alley between our house and the bar – offensive.  Just grass next to the house is against the rules.    It’s just another one of those non-sequiturs of Uganda.

Today I head out again for Kampala.  There is a group – an unofficial delegation (NODEL) – here to look into US. programs:  CARE being one and Peace Corps evidently being another.  A couple of PCVs are going on their rounds of projects in the Gulu area today and  a couple of others have been invited to have lunch with them in Kampala.  I am one of that small group lunching in Kampala, which should be interesting, but I have to GET to Kampala.  Hoping not to have to ride the always-excruciating  public transport there, I’ve ever-so-gratefully snagged a ride in one of the caravan of vehicles headed back to the big-K this afternoon.  So it’ll be Easter weekend in Kampala – staying there because on Tuesday I finally get the new (translate – permanent) crown installed. I’m fantasizing about a movie and maybe even a pedicure.   I’ve been guaranteed a single room in the Annex – one with a fan, but NO WINDOWS!!!!  Funny, the things one get accustomed to:  water, light, windows, clean air.  Aaaaah – I am beginning to understand why it is that people kiss the ground on landing back in the U.S.    And on that note – there’s a poem written by another PCV, I’d like to share if you follow-the-link to read American Skin:  karla-offscript.blogspot.com

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