Fresh Fried Chicken

            I have always had a strong urge to slaughter my own chicken, pluck out the feathers, and then prepare it fresh.  I felt like in order to get the true “African” experience, I needed to prepare a chicken the real way, and not buy it from the supermarket.  I finally accomplished that goal…sort of.  Max, Ryan, and Caroline came over this weekend because we wanted to slaughter a chicken and make fried chicken.  My neighbors could not believe that we wanted to attempt this by ourselves with no help:

Francis: “Are you sure you can manage?  Let me get someone to assist you.”

Dennis (the 9 year old): “Eh, you are deceiving me.  You cannot manage.”

            Students were circling my compound, staring at the four crazy mzungu, and laughing.  I do not think anyone believed that we could actually do this.  Max, however, pulled through like an expert.  He slaughtered the chicken, and then I poured boiling water over it so he could easily pull out the feathers.  Max also cut out the insides like a champ!  I say I sort of accomplished my goal because I did not really do any of the manual labor – I just watched and took pictures.  We made delicious fried chicken and onion rings (super healthy!).  We also had a huge jackfruit, which we shared with all of my neighbors.  They were ecstatic and kept saying, “Thank you for keeping the visitors!”  (Ugandans use the verb “to keep” for hosting). 

            In the last blog post, I was so focused on grossing you all out, that I forgot the best part of visiting Willysha.  Willysha also lives on a convent, and the sisters had a party for all the teachers because it was the end of the school year.  Sister insisted that Willysha bring all of her guests - so Maggie, Elizabeth, and I all showed up way underdressed for the occasion.  We had to sit at the front, facing every one, and they had us serve ourselves first for dinner…even though this was a party for the teachers.  Gifts were handed out to all of the teachers, and then Sister handed a gift to each of us as well.  We each got our own gift bags with handkerchiefs!  Willysha headed back home because her back was hurting her, but Sister insisted that the rest of us stay to have a dance party.  One of the Ugandan male teachers took the microphone and said, “Let’s start dancing.  I want to dance with these guests over here!”  We couldn’t really say “no,” so out to the dance floor we went.  I wish there was a video of this night because I don’t think my words will do it justice.  Ugandans can actually dance, unlike us three mzungu who have no rhythm whatsoever.  Nevertheless, we made fools of ourselves and dominated the dance floor.  We were drinking wine, and whenever we finished our glasses, Sister would grab our cup and say, “No empty glasses!!”  By my sixth cup of wine, I could not drink anymore, so I left it half full.  That did not work either.  Sister took my cup and said, “Eh, you keep drinking.  I fill it all the way!”  I took to just dumping the wine out on the grass when no one was looking.  At the end of the night, Sister insisted that the DJ play a “western” song and I did the worm for everyone (I told you…my new signature dance move; it’s all I got).  If living in this country has taught me anything, then it’s that nuns can party. 

            The school year has come to an end, and we now are entering our two-month vacation.  I spent the past two weeks helping students prepare for their exams and I proctored a few.  My family is coming to visit in 33 days, and I could not be more excited!  I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving; we are all going to be celebrating on this end and preparing a special feast (slaughtering our own Turkey!).  I am sad that I will be missing my favorite holiday, but I know that the Knaptons (especially you, Steve) will eat extra just for me. 
            Thanks to all of those who have donated to Libraries For Life!  We have already raised over $11,000.  If you haven't already, please check out our webpage:  


https://www.booksforafrica.org/donate/to-project.html?projectId=79

           

Lastly, here is a little saying that Maggie shared with me – I found it funny:

“A man falls down a well, and a missionary walks by and throws down a bible.  An NGO worker walks by, and throws down some money.  A Peace Corps Volunteer walks by and throws down a bag and jumps in the well.  The man asks, ‘What are you doing?’  The Peace Corps volunteer says, ‘I have come to live with you.’” 

This is how Ryan showed up to my house.  Jack fruit strapped to the bike and guess what is in the plastic bag...

...a chicken!

Students watching the crazy mzungu

Well, I guess we should make this a Kodak moment!

Lunch!!

Max getting ready to slaughter the chicken

Plucking out the feathers

Inside of a chicken - gross!

Mmm...lunch

Onion rings...low fat for sure

Fried chicken

Dennis rockin' my sunglasses

           

             

Maggot Mac and Cheese

            Peace Corps Volunteers have two main topics of conversation: poop and food.  Whenever I meet up with a fellow volunteer, it is inevitable that we will touch on both of these topics.  We always talk about the food we wish could eat: cheeseburger from In and Out, bagel and cream cheese, homemade mac and cheese, a fresh salad with feta or goat cheese, nachos, etc.  Are you noticing the theme here?  Cheese!  We can find a lot of American type food in Uganda, but good cheese is hard to come by.  Kampala, the “Forbidden City” for Peace Corps Volunteers, is the only place where you can buy decent cheese.  We are able to find cheese in the bigger towns, but it always tastes like a sweaty gym sock and has a disconcerting texture.  Nevertheless, we continue to buy this awful cheese because we always think, “Maybe if we cook it this way, then it will actually taste good.”  Two weeks ago, Maggie and I had this exact thought – we decided we could make good mac and cheese.  We were really excited and got our hopes up that the mac and cheese was going to be delicious.  When we tried to grate the “cheddar” cheese, it just kept crumbling…this should have been our first clue that the cheese was no good.  The cheese also had the funky gym sock smell, but we kept saying, “Oh it will be fine once we melt it.”  We melted the cheese with some milk, and then decided to add some flour to thicken up the sauce.  We opened Maggie’s flour and there were a bunch of brown things moving about. 

Me: “Hey Maggie, what’s in your flour?” 

Maggie: “Maggots.”

Me: “Ok, I’ll just sift them out.”

Maggie: “Ya, it’s okay. Protein, right?” 

            We did not think twice, and used the flour anyway.  I’m fairly sure no maggots made into the sauce.  The mac and cheese turned out to be awful.  Once again, our expectations were too high.  The cheese had a funky aftertaste, so we just had to eat it really quickly so we wouldn’t notice.  The cheese was also kind of a weird, crumbly texture.  Then again, those could have been maggots. 

            Maggie has not had the best of luck with maggots.  She soaked her underwear and bras overnight, and when she woke up the next morning, they were covered in maggots.  She tried to wash them out, and even boiled her underwear and bras.  They, however, were then covered in dead maggots – so she dumped everything down her latrine.  I now know never to soak my laundry overnight!

            This past weekend, I visited my friend Willysha at her site near Entebbe.  She has a nice house with running water and tiled floors – it’s like staying at a hotel!  After I got out of the shower, I noticed some dry looking skin on my big toe.  I started picking at it, and asked Willysha what she thought was up with my toe.  She took one look and said, “Oh my god!  You have a jigger!”  Now, this is not be confused with chigger.  A jigger, also known as a chigoe flea, burrows into your skin and you have to dig them out.  They are really common where I live because they like dry climates and live in the dirt.  You can get them from walking barefoot or even wearing open toed shoes.  Naturally, I started to freak out, and ran to Willysha’s bookshelf in search of our medical handbook.  As I was looking through all of her medical information sheets, I saw something crawling on my leg from the corner of my eye.  I could not tell what it was at first because it was blending in with my pants.  I then realized it was a giant cockroach; it was probably 3-4 inches long!  Willysha was skyping with her friend, and I didn’t want to make a scene.  So, I calmly flicked it off my leg and continued to read the medical handbook – a true testament to the fact that I have been in this country far too long. 

            We could not find anything about jiggers, so I decided to call our medical office.  The PCMO told me that I could either dig it out or come in the next day and get it removed.  I opted for the latter option because I wasn’t sure if I could trust Willysha with a needle in my foot.  We spent the next fifteen minutes googling images of “jigger feet” and were horrified by some of the pictures.  We then decided that if we didn’t try and dig out the jigger ourselves, then we weren’t true Peace Corps Volunteers.  Thus, I let Willysha perform surgery on my foot, while I filmed and my dad watched via Skype.  I was expecting something big to squeeze out, sort of like the mango fly, but there was only a lot of pus and blood.  A little anticlimactic, but we decided I should go to medical just to make sure my toe was okay.  Medical told me that I definitely had a jigger, but we got it all out.  Oh, and that pus, was not actually pus.  It was an egg sack and the white stuff was all of the eggs.  Cool. 

            I do have the video of us getting out the jigger, but I am not sure when I will have fast enough Internet to upload.  Don’t get too excited because it is not nearly as good as the mango fly video.  You cannot see anything because I’m far away – it’s basically Willysha and I joking the whole time.  I know, however, some of you are still curious, so I will upload next time I go to Mbale. 

            Willysha, Maggie, Elizabeth, and I went to the pool on Saturday and met some guys in the US Military.  After we told them we were Peace Corps Volunteers, they informed us they call us “dirty feet.”  I have to say…they were pretty spot on with that one.  Naturally, I showed them my toe. 

            Well, I think I have sufficiently grossed most of you out, now.  My family is getting really excited to visit – my sister says she is wrapping herself in saran wrap :) 

Jigger!

People are always asking how I bucket bathe - so I thought I would take a picture.  I stand in the kiddie pool and the red basin has my bathing water (I fill it about 3/4 of the way).  I use the cup to pour water on myself.  And that purple shelf has my shampoo, conditioner, and all that. 

Halloween Weekend

            I have mentioned before that being an mzungu in Uganda means being a bit of a celebrity.  A Ugandan will inevitably strike up a conversation with me whether I am enjoying a meal at a restaurant, walking on the road, or sitting on a taxi.  Ugandans will usually ask to be my friend, and then ask if they can have my “contact” (phone number).  The main difference between a celebrity like George Clooney and me is that I actually give out my phone number.  Unfortunately, this means I get constant calls from strangers at all hours of the day.  If I don’t pick up, then they will continue to call five or six more times.   I don’t blame them - when my friends and I got a hold of Aaron Carter’s phone number, we called him so much he changed his number.  I know the consequences of freely handing out my digits, but I am too nice to say no.  Plus, I sometimes receive amazing texts like these:

“flower’s die, songs fade, memoriz 4get, bt precious friends l’ke u wil neves be 4goten and da worst part ov mi l’fe iz missing a friend. Great morning.”

            This past weekend a few us who live out east made the trek north to Gulu for Halloween weekend.  Chelsea, Audrey, Ryan, Erica and I took the eight-hour bus ride together and I think all we did was eat.  Every stop one of us would decide to buy chapatti, maize, popcorn, bananas, chicken on a stick, samosas, chips, or ground nuts.  I am sure I am missing a few snack items in that list, but you all get the gist.  We would complain that we were so full, and then someone would buy a snack from another vendor. 

            Halloween weekend in Gulu was a lot of fun.  I have never seen so many mzungus at one time (excluding Peace Corps).  Gulu has a ton of NGOs, which explains all the foreigners.  Friday night we went out and it was great to have everyone around to celebrate my birthday.  At one point I had a dance off with a Ugandan and then did the worm.  (My cousins Heather and Jane taught me how to do the worm in the 7^th grade, and all of a sudden it has become my signature dance move here!)  Caroline got me the best birthday gift ever…a chocolate croissant!! I have been craving one for two months, and she found one in Kampala. Invisible Children, one of the NGOs, threw a Halloween Party Saturday night and it felt like I was back in college.  The party was at one of their houses, which was huge, and I felt like I was in a frat house.  All the party needed was a beer bong and some flip cup.  Everyone was dressed up in costumes and it felt like we were back in America.  Halloween isn’t celebrated in Uganda, so I felt a tad ridiculous walking to this party in my blonde wig and outrageous get up. 

            The bus ride home, unfortunately, was not as great as the ride there.  That seems to always be the case when traveling.  The bus was packed – there were people standing in the aisle because all of the seats were full.  Ugandans do not like to have the windows open, so it felt like a sauna the whole way.  I could not get off of that bus fast enough when we reached Mbale.  As soon as I walked into my school compound, my neighbors’ kids ran to give me hugs and welcome me home.  However, then they asked me for paper and crayons, so I’m not really sure if they actually missed me – I just think they missed my treats!  Oh well, I guess I am okay with buying children’s love. 

            

The kids coloring outside my house

John's site - I mean...come on!  

We are really photogenic - Me, Caroline, Ryan

Caroline and Ryan

Hike near John's house

The river where we later went swimming (I probably have shisto now)

Bus ride to Gulu - Chelsea and Audrey

Caroline bought me this awesome birthday hat

Max and me

Mzungu dance party

Joey and me on Halloween.  

My Good Friend Ryan

           When my friend Kiera was in Uganda, she asked me, “Do you think your standards for friends have lowered in the Peace Corps?”  She was joking, but this question did have some validity.  I am sure you all remember my friend Ryan – the one who earned his brown badge because he wanted to finish making his tea.  Well, the more I hang out with Ryan, the more I realize that he deserves his own special blog post. 

            Ryan has taken to rarely bathing in this country.  As you may already know, the dirt roads and heat make it hard to keep yourself clean here in Uganda.  You will find yourself thinking that you have a tan, but really, it is just dirt.  I have to bathe every day because I always feel sweaty and gross.  Ryan, on the other hand, justifies not bathing because he says he is just going to get dirty again – so what’s the point?  I have to admit that I cannot be too hard on Ryan because I rarely bathed when I was living in Kenya.  I get it…sometimes it really is just too much work to bucket bathe.  Ryan, however, waited five months to finally wash his sheets.  That is correct, that is 5 months of unwashed sheets with a man who does not bathe.  This combination, I feel, cannot be justified.   Thankfully, he recently hired a house girl to do his laundry, so his sheets are now being washed on a regular basis. 

            On the rare occasion that Ryan chooses to bathe, he also decides to do his dishes.  In an effort to save water, Ryan uses his dirty bath water to wash his dishes.  He argues that it is easier because the water is already soapy and that it is okay because he rinses them off with clean water.  Since Ryan only bathes about two to three times a week, I can only imagine the color of his bath water.  It is safe to assume that I will not be enjoying a meal at Ryan’s in the near future. 

            In addition to not washing his sheets, Ryan has never wiped his stove clean.  He has the same stainless steel gas stove that I have, but his turned completely black from all of the grease.  When he told me this fun fact, I was horrified and I insisted that he let me come over and make it silver again.  I destroyed a sponge and the bucket of water was black when I was finished cleaning.  I even got the special bonus of being able to clean under the stove - complete with old food and rat poop.  

            Ryan may not be the cleanliest of people, but he is a good guy.  For one, he has a sense of humor and has allowed me to post about pooping his pants and his hygiene.  Secondly, Ryan also rescued a kitten from his latrine.   Last week, he discovered that a kitten had fallen into his latrine and he could hear it meowing.  Ryan consulted his neighbors about saving the kitten and they all laughed.  The latrine is brand new, and they said they could not get the kitten out since it is thirty feet deep.  Ryan figured that the kitten was most likely near death because there was no way it could survive a thirty-foot fall.  After three days, however, the kitten was still meowing and Ryan set out to rescue the kitten.  Ryan spent three frustrating hours trying to get the kitten out of the latrine until he was finally successful.  He says that his neighbors must think he is crazy because for three hours he was shining his flashlight and yelling, “You idiot!  Get on the stupid piece of wood.  Come on!!!”  Ryan also says that it was not compassion that made him spend so much time trying to rescue a kitten; it was his ego.  There was a problem, and he needed a solution – he was not going to be outsmarted by a kitten.  He finally lowered a rice sack with dried fish inside in order to lure the kitten.  After ten minutes, the cat entered the sack and Ryan was able to pull him to safety.  Ryan claims that he only decided to save the kitten because he wanted to poop in peace.  He, however, gave the kitten a bath, pulled out his tics with tweezers, gave him food, and then let him sleep in his house.  So Ryan may not be the most hygienic, but he has a good heart!  In the end, I am glad to call him my friend. 

            Plus, he is really photogenic…

           

Ryan with my neighbors