Iyolwa

On Saturday morning, I was shaken from my dreams by the sounds of crowing roosters and mooing cows, eager for milking. Women’s voices and clattering pans drifted in from an open window. I looked around to find myself lying next to Rachel, Roe, and Hazel with a mosquito net haphazardly draped over our giant bed. As we awoke and made our way to the pit latrine near our house, we discovered a hen roosting in our hallway. It was clear that the bustling city life of Kampala was far behind us.We had arrived in the town of Iyolwa, in the district of Tororo, Eastern Uganda late the night before. Our friend Paul had taken us to visit his family for the weekend and learn about the culture and daily life of rural areas. Our GoED class was split up into smaller groups and hosted by our Cornerstone Assistants for the weekend.

We spent the weekend being shown the farms and crops by Paul and his sister, discussing perceptions of the U.S. and Africa with Paul’s brothers, and learning how to kill chickens. My favorite of these executions was when we were awoken Sunday morning by Paul’s sister, Winnie, who ordered, “Wake up girls! Wash your faces, and then Roe will slaughter.” She was not joking. Before we had eaten breakfast, Roe already had lunch on its way.
A highlight of the weekend was sitting on the family’s front porch Saturday night after returning from exploring the town. As dusk settled, I watched Roe and Rachel chasing fireflies in the front yard while I chatted with the family herdsman. Though neither of us knew the other’s language, we managed to carry on a full conversation that lasted for nearly an hour. Most of it involved him excitedly pointing to things in the yard and acting out explanations and translations. I learned all about trees and insects surrounding us, and even about certain flowers women use to paint their nails with. I didn’t master much of the Swahili lesson, but I did learn that “maua” means flower.

Later that night we ate an enormous and delicious dinner, lit by lantern light, that included millet bread, noodles, eggplant, rice, chicken stew, cabbage, and fresh avocado. After our meal, Winnie, Paul’s visiting sister, made sure the whole family was gathered for evening songs and prayers. We stumbled through the words and laughed and danced with the family in the crowded sitting room as the lantern flickered our shadows across the walls.
Throughout the weekend we learned about the dynamics and history of the society from Paul and his family. They are from a people group called the Japadora. Paul’s father, an elder in the society, told us about their history, culture, and descendents. He told us of the importance of the ‘bride price.” The bride price is paid to the family of the bride, by the groom, as a sign of respect and appreciation, and a validation of the marriage. This custom is practiced in many other Ugandan communities as well as in many parts of Africa. Though it has largely been viewed by the west as a custom degrading to women because they are being “bought,” many defend the importance of the custom because it is a sign of reverence. For many, a girl is not purchased; rather families are honored in the process of marriage. In situations of poverty, however, this customs has been exploited at times, and misused as a way to gain greater financial standing. Paul’s father expressed his distress at the urbanization of towns such as his and the loss of culture and customs, such as the bride price, in the process. “Without culture, what do you have to stand on?” he added.

It was interesting to talk with Paul and his sister Winnie, about their home because though they had both been raised there, both had moved away to more urban settings and seldom returned. They were also both Christians, while the rest of their family was not. I could not help but notice that for Paul and Winnie, their acceptance of Christianity also came with the embrace of modernity, a distance from their past, and in many ways, a rejection of many of the traditional ways of their culture. How does Christianity, traditional culture, and westernization intertwine in the African setting? What does an embrace of Christianity and traditional culture look like? These are questions I am left pondering.Another aspect of our visit I am still contemplating is the ways in which gender roles are viewed and have changed in the community. A custom widely practiced in the Iyolwa is the making and drinking of local brew. While this practice has existed for generations, Paul explained how drinking has increased throughout the years and become a problem. Since women are not allowed to drink the local brew, this has resulted in many situations where the women raise the children, cook the food, work in the gardens and fields, and care for the livestock, while the men drink all day. One town elder we visited was visibly drunk at 10 am. When we returned from our visits, we debriefed our experiences with Grace, the director of academics for GoED. She is Ugandan and has lived in both Uganda and Kenya throughout her life. She told of how the consumption level of alcohol in Uganda is one of the highest in the world. One reason for this is the amount of war and instability Uganda has faced in its history, both because of the war in the north and because of Idi Amin’s rule. Living through Amin’s rule, she told us how in certain places, people could not safely leave their homes past early evening. Being trapped inside and under enormous amounts of stress, many people took to drinking and it is a practice that has continued and is having enormous effects on societies.

Our rural visit ended in a sobering way. Early Sunday morning Paul awoke to the sounds of mourning and wailing coming from a distance. They soon learned that the wife of one of their relatives had died in childbirth. Before driving back to Kampala, we visited the family with Paul and Winnie. The woman had given birth late the night before and died from complications after the birth. The family was not able to get her to a hospital because she was not well enough to sit on a bicycle (the main form of transportation in Iyolwa) and they did not have a car available. Upon arriving, we were ushered into the hut where the women were morning over the body. Women paced in and out of the hut with babies bouncing on their hips as they wailed and ululated melodies and cries intertwined. An older woman sat by the young mother, patting her face and cradling her head as she rocked back and forth to the rhythm of the cries. It was both sobering and eerily beautiful to see grief expressed in a way unfamiliar to me. Reflecting afterward, Rachel brought up the feelings of guilt and shame we all felt pulling up to the house in our hired taxi because we wanted to have a “cultural experience,” while a body lay cold nearby because she had no access to a vehicle. Talking with Grace, she related to us some of the same concerns she faces everyday. She told us, “You come to Africa to find the answers to poverty and you find an upper-class African with all the same questions.” The more I learn, the more questions I have.

This entry has become a bit of a novel, so I think I’ll end it here. I miss you all! Send updates - I would love to hear how you're doing and what you're up to. I hope all is well wherever you may be and that you keep questioning your role and the world around you as well.

Much Love,
Elizabeth