I will soon be going home because of my brother’s wedding and I have just heard that a friend at home has finally found a good boyfriend. On facebook, friends’ pictures are colliding together as two become one both in and out of matrimony. On this side of the Atlantic, love is also in the air. I’m not just talking about Peace Corps, where most of the single males were paired up before the plane from New York hit Entebbe airport; or the females, while outnumbering pc guys, still manage to find significant others in significant numbers. I am also talking about the girls at my school, who, surrounded by walls, fences security guards, and nuns, still manage to get pregnant while fetching water or while visiting home, or in other mysterious ways (i.e. eluding the nuns at night to jump fences and climb walls). I am also talking about the guys on taxis or in Kampala who say things like “I love you, I want to marry you!” or “You’re my size, I want to marry you” when they don’t know my name.
I understand the love between my brother and his fiancé a bit. They finally found the one they wanted to spend their lives with; their best friend, and they want to be with each other. I get that. I don’t, however, always understand the thing called “love” in Uganda.
Love in Uganda, I have learned, is not always exclusive. A man loves you, me, and all the other women in the world at the same time and it means absolutely nothing. When a guy proposes marriage to me, he is probably serious. He would marry me, and continue marrying others. Many women, however, believe this crap. (yes, I wrote the word, because there is no other word for it). They jump the fence. They become pregnant or get AIDS from these men that care nothing for them.
Love in Uganda, furthermore, is also not necessarily affectionate. Married people do not really associate with each other or show any public affection. A man and woman can hold hands, sit together, travel together, etc. as long as they are not married. If they are married, they don’t get within ten feet of each other or even seem to look at each other in public. When I think of women in Uganda, I don’t just feel bad that they have to carry water on their heads or do so much manual labor. I just think of how they are not held, caressed, wooed.
Love in Uganda is also unequal. Men, for example, are not looking for weak women to take care of. They know women are strong and can earn more than themselves in some cases---- and they like it. Many men, in fact, do not support their wives; they only demand work and money (you have to give your husband all your earnings)
The worst part about love in Uganda is not the Ugandans; it is the bazungu (whites). It is not uncommon to see an old, white haired white guy with some young Ugandan girl that has tight clothes, high heels, and too much to drink. Most of the time, these same guys are the ones getting your money when you contribute to campaigns trying to “end world hunger” or “empower women.” Well, at least the girl in heels gets a good meal, and if she’s drunk enough, she might feel a little powerful—who knows?
With all of this craziness, I have to ask; where is love in Uganda? Love is for the community, the society. Love is what makes men support nieces and nephews and distant cousins through school. Love makes the local council leaders work hard to keep their communities stable and peaceful. It makes people stop the middle of their work to chat with a neighbor or just an acquaintance. Love is also what makes the responsible fathers support their girls through school, even though such girls, at times, run away with boyfriends. Love is what keeps my neighbor from marrying, because she knows she has to support her dying sister’s children.
As you may have guessed, I have not found romance in Uganda, nor do I plan to. I have, however, found love; in the responsible, hard working people why try to move their families forward.
I understand the love between my brother and his fiancé a bit. They finally found the one they wanted to spend their lives with; their best friend, and they want to be with each other. I get that. I don’t, however, always understand the thing called “love” in Uganda.
Love in Uganda, I have learned, is not always exclusive. A man loves you, me, and all the other women in the world at the same time and it means absolutely nothing. When a guy proposes marriage to me, he is probably serious. He would marry me, and continue marrying others. Many women, however, believe this crap. (yes, I wrote the word, because there is no other word for it). They jump the fence. They become pregnant or get AIDS from these men that care nothing for them.
Love in Uganda, furthermore, is also not necessarily affectionate. Married people do not really associate with each other or show any public affection. A man and woman can hold hands, sit together, travel together, etc. as long as they are not married. If they are married, they don’t get within ten feet of each other or even seem to look at each other in public. When I think of women in Uganda, I don’t just feel bad that they have to carry water on their heads or do so much manual labor. I just think of how they are not held, caressed, wooed.
Love in Uganda is also unequal. Men, for example, are not looking for weak women to take care of. They know women are strong and can earn more than themselves in some cases---- and they like it. Many men, in fact, do not support their wives; they only demand work and money (you have to give your husband all your earnings)
The worst part about love in Uganda is not the Ugandans; it is the bazungu (whites). It is not uncommon to see an old, white haired white guy with some young Ugandan girl that has tight clothes, high heels, and too much to drink. Most of the time, these same guys are the ones getting your money when you contribute to campaigns trying to “end world hunger” or “empower women.” Well, at least the girl in heels gets a good meal, and if she’s drunk enough, she might feel a little powerful—who knows?
With all of this craziness, I have to ask; where is love in Uganda? Love is for the community, the society. Love is what makes men support nieces and nephews and distant cousins through school. Love makes the local council leaders work hard to keep their communities stable and peaceful. It makes people stop the middle of their work to chat with a neighbor or just an acquaintance. Love is also what makes the responsible fathers support their girls through school, even though such girls, at times, run away with boyfriends. Love is what keeps my neighbor from marrying, because she knows she has to support her dying sister’s children.
As you may have guessed, I have not found romance in Uganda, nor do I plan to. I have, however, found love; in the responsible, hard working people why try to move their families forward.
