Taking a bath is like going to McDonald's....
I usually dislike both places, but once you have lived in Uganda for a while, those seem like amazing, glorious prizes out of your reach.

Buildings in Uganda
There are these buildings… they are small, brick, one story buildings that are stores. People sell things in them, like fresh produce, soap, toilet paper, radios, and about a billion other things people need. Some are stores selling cell phones or hardware.
Big companies come in and paint these buildings. They probably give a certain amount of money to the owner of the building and then some people come in and paint the entire outside of their building the main color of whatever company has bought the right to advertise on the building. For example, Coke has a huge marketing campaign here in Uganda and I suppose all over Africa, so they come in and paint entire buildings the color red and then put their logo at the top for everyone to see. They do this to about all the buildings, so there is this huge array of bright colors lining the streets.
Recently, a new company has come in and their color is hot pink. Because they are a new company, they have purchased tons of buildings to paint and advertise and now everywhere I look down the streets, in my village, everywhere, the cute little stores are radiating with this hot hot pink color.
I have thought about this idea that a big company with lots of money comes to a developing country such as Uganda, gives a small amount of money to a store owner, and then they are painting their logo all over the walls. I am not sure what I think of this, but it’s a good topic of conversation and just something to think about. Sometimes I think it’s not fair because the country is poor and so are its people so I wonder, are the big companies basically taking advantage of the developing world by shoving their products in their faces, paintings their logos, etc? And of course the store owner will not say no to painting their walls… it’s money. You would have to be crazy to turn down free cash… especially when you’re poor. Anyway, I’m not really saying I’m against it, I just like to see both sides and think about what’s actually going on. Are these big companies using the developing world to market their product when the people don’t have much say. At home if I own a business I wouldn’t want some company painting all over my store… I would want to paint it a color I wanted and then write MY company name on the outside or my stores name… I feel like here they don’t really have a choice. Haha, I don’t know really, but just something I thought about before looking at all these colors.

Miss White
As I walk down the street or through my village, I am always shouted at. People that know my name will call me, some yell, “mzungu”, others are quiet, but mostly people have something to say. The other day this man yelled, "Ms. White" to get my attention and it cracked me up.

I have a few freckles and beauty marks on my arms and face… some Ugandans think those are mosquito bites. I have been asked more than once, “oh, sorry, did the mosquito bite you?” and they will point to a freckle on my arm. I then explain to them, that no, that is a freckle that I was born with and also called a beauty mark… When I say that it’s called a “beauty mark”, that cracks them up.

I referenced Spiderman in my last blog and I would just like to say that Rambo, Arnold Swarsenagger? And most other superheroes or fighting men such as those are all considered real. Playing with the kids, they are always telling me about Rambo, how he will cut your head off and then they usually demonstrate with each other by pretending and then falling to the ground as if they were dead. Haha, one kid told me that Rambo is definitely the best and he can beat anybody. Side not, the kid is like 4 years old.
Oh, and by the way… not only is he 4 years old, he also knows like 4 different languages. He knows Lugisu, Lugwere, Luganda and English! The whole time he is telling me about Rambo, it’s in English… smart kid.

Burial
I went to a burial last Friday. The gardener at our school… his wife died and I am also good friends with their son. He had been telling me his mother was really sick and she died on Thursday. It was a really sad day. We arrived at the burial and there are tons of people standing around… under trees in the shade, around houses, standing all over the place. The people… there are always so many! And the sun… the sun always seems to be blazing at these burials. I think it knows that there is gonna be tons of people with little shade, so it just shines away… maybe it helps the tears just turn to sweat and no one even knows. The problem for me is that I am white. Everyone else with their dark black skin can stand in the blazing sun all day without even showing… I’ll turn red after a while... People are gathered everywhere to give their condolences to the family. The women, men and children gathered around singing beautiful songs. They are so beautiful that I guess it helps put us all to peace for the moment. And I don’t really know the words so I just hum along. At a certain point a man will come and stand in a big crowd of people preaching. This goes on for a while. Once they have finished, they take the body to where it will be buried. In Uganda they burry their loved ones together on their land. This particular family already had 2 of their children die, so the mother was to be buried next to them. When they bring her out, women begin to cry… they cry loud, sob, sadness all around. They don’t hold in their feelings at all. They let whatever they have in them come out, really whaling crying. It is also a tradition for the immediate family to wrap torn fabric, (all different colors and patterns) around their wastes and it looks pretty. Once it’s time, we walk over as a big group to watch the actual burial. I stood a little behind and prayed with the others. People are all crying and I even wanted to cry. Once they have lowered her down, it’s up to each person to pick a little bit of the soil and toss it on to help cover the space. I threw a tiny bit on and you say goodbye.

There is an offering… the teachers at our school collected and all together we offer it to the family of the person who has died. I contributed and as I was doing this, one teacher asked me if this is what we do where I come from. I said, “Well we don’t really give money, usually people send flowers.” He laughed a little and said, “Now what would we do with that (flowers)?” haha… it’s funny and pretty true.

And after, when we are all leaving, people always come up to me and ask, “is that how they do it where you come from?” And then I try and explain… I tell them about graveyards, wearing black, and what we might do at home for our funerals… I tell them how I haven’t really been to many and I guess I’m lucky, but they think that’s crazy. I guess cause it seems like here there’s a burial every week…