A stalker and a smorgasbord.

I didn't go to work yesterday because I was feeling sick -- my stomach was doing funny cramping things, and I didn't really sleep at night. I slept all afternoon instead. The people in the motel are really wonderful though -- Bruno (the motel owner) and Diane were both at the motel in the evening, and when I said I was going back up to my room after I had cereal for dinner, Bruno insisted that I not spend the whole day alone, and that I come back downstairs. I agreed, and it turned out to be a good call. His father and two of his brothers came by to visit, and we all spent time together at reception. His brothers are both my age: I think Diane said one is 23 and one is 26. We somehow ended up talking about South Africa, and Bruno's father asked me what I loved about it so much. I told them about how South Africans are so proud of their country and want visitors to love it as much as they do. Depressingly, all the Ugandans in the room agreed that there is nothing to be proud of in Uganda, and no reason to love their country. I guess that's what happens when you have the same leader for 25 years -- it's new and exciting and revolutionary at first, and then it stagnates and everyone becomes discontent.

The conversation turned to South African languages, and they were all fascinated by the three "clicks" from isiXhosa that I can do. They laughed at it and said that it sounded like monkeys talking. They really seemed to get a kick out of it -- even today, Bruno told me he's still laughing about it. As Bruno's father and brothers were leaving, the older one stuck his head in and said, "Katie, I have just one last question. Can they actually talk to monkeys?" and left laughing.

Random observation from last night: Ugandans appear to drink whiskey mixed with soda or tonic water here, instead of drinking it neat. I thought that was very strange, and Bruno has offered to have me try it twice now, but I'm a bit wary. It seems like it would taste really gross. Maybe I'll find out in the next few days.

Anyway, I woke up feeling fine, so I went to work today. My boss was very sweet and came in to check on me and give me advice about some of the adjustments foreign bodies have to make when they come to Uganda -- new bacteria, etc. She told me I still look a bit wan, but I've had people telling me that since I got here. I don't know how I'm supposed to look healthy! Anyway, she seemed satisfied that I'm not going to drop dead and gave me advice for questions to ask when I go see a doctor tomorrow. I already had the appointment to get my INR checked (for the Coumadin), but I figure I'll also have the doctor look at my burn and ask some questions about what I can do when I'm feeling nauseous in these first few weeks.

I successfully navigated the taxi back to the motel again. I'm trying to also identify landmarks near where I'll need to get out when I move into my flat, but I was sitting in the middle of the back row in the taxi today so I couldn't really see much. I was really hungry when I got home, but I was just going to wait until later to eat cereal. As I was going into my room, though, Christine (the woman from Monday who showed me the shortcut around the road block) saw me and shouted a "hello." She's known around the motel as my stalker, since she's called me at least four times since Monday. I decided to go say hello to her, though, and see if she could help me get a snack from the vendors on the street near the motel. The joke about her being my stalker got a little too real when she told me that she saw me through my room's window last night on my computer -- I guess that's what I get for sitting in my room with the light on and the curtains open, but it was still really creepy. Still, she helped me get food.

I had a veritable smorgasbord of food this evening. I wanted to try something called a Rolex, but the first thing I saw was a gonja -- a fried sweet yellow plantain. I decided to get one, but then she pointed out that the guy right next to the gonja woman was making Rolexes. A Rolex is a chapati (apparently the same thing as a roti, in India -- an unleavened flat bread of sorts) filled with fried egg, and the egg can be mixed with a number of things. Mine was mixed with slices of tomato. You put the egg and the tomatoes onto a hot surface, and it fries into what looks a bit like an omelet, then you put the chapati on top and roll it up like a burrito. I was told later that there's one called an "Obama" filled with meat and cabbage and lots of other things.

Christine came back to the motel with me, and she acted like she wanted to go upstairs, but Bruno saw what was happening and came out to subtly stop her. I told her I was going to take a shower, so she left (but said she'd come back -- seriously???). I went up to talk to Bruno about all of the food I had brought back, and he ended up inviting me to drink tea with him and some of his friends in the dining room. They have this really good ginger tea that isn't too strong, and it's lovely. I ate my gonja and Rolex while I was talking to him. The Rolex was SO GOOD. I mean, seriously, it was delicious. It might be my new favorite food here, which is a problem because it is not healthy. But worth it.

I sat and chatted with Bruno and his two friends for a while... and there was more food. Brian brought up corn that had been roasted or something, and it tasted just like popcorn, but it was still on the cob. It was rather delicious. We all sat around, eating the corn and drinking tea. The friend of Bruno's who I hadn't met before, Andrew, lived in London for 6 years and hates England and the English, so we sparred a bit on that topic. I also made the grave error of telling Bruno that the older brother, Emmanuel, is good-looking. He started teasing me about being my in-law, and when his brother called him later in the conversation, he actually told his brother that I "was missing him so much." He told me to say hello, and I shouted very loudly that I hate him and am not paying him to stay in his motel anymore. Because I am 12 years old. It was so embarrassing. All I said was that he's good-looking. And I might have mentioned that he's funny. But now I can obviously never see him again. Thanks a lot, Bruno.

I had the opportunity to take a picture of one of the guards outside the National Resistance Movement headquarters today. I find the guards really photograph-able, in their blue fatigues with their big guns. They seem to be always reading the newspaper. This guy wasn't actively reading the paper, but it was sitting right next to him. I guess guarding the headquarters of the ruling party doesn't keep them very busy.

I mostly think the yellow balloon-like things are very silly.