I was completely enamored by my life in Budondo. The scenery, the family, the work, the constant recognition of my own expanding knowledge. Mukisa told stories that captured me and connected me to his vision. We were doing something incredible in Budondo, work that only a person with such audacity could dream of. Two weeks in and I was hooked.
I had been to East Africa before. I had some insights on cultural views and practices from experience, literature and Kiswahili courses. So it wasn't a shock when certain topics arose. In Kenya a conversation I had with a fellow beer drinker, a local, had gone something like this
Him: I love your country. I love Obama. Can I come back with you?
Me: Only if you can fit in my suitcase!
Him: Yes, take me back to America. But one thing is the homosexuals. Obama is pushing a gay agenda! I cannot support that.
Me: Even in America we have conflicting views on the matter.
Him: It will not come to Africa!
Me: (silent acceptance of our differences)
Part of traveling to a new region on the globe is embracing the culture of your host. You are, in a way, a guest who must obey the house rules. Navigating these conversations with tact and respect is a learned skill, but a very necessary one. I practice biting my tongue, taking discussions to a point that still allowed wiggle room, diplomacy. It's an acquired taste, the bending of your personal morals in order to maintain peace. I tried not to let these differences get in the way of my full and complete acceptance--tolerance is a two way street.
It was because of my earlier exposure to anti-LGBTQ perspectives that helped me shrug off the reports coming from Uganda before my four month volunteer trip there. Rumors of legally banning any acts of homosexuality had been running through the news for years but the trigger had not yet been pulled. I figured, why worry about an issue when nothing has been signed, why dig too deep into my own thoughts when I was going to Uganda, law or not?
In my first two wonderful weeks in the rural village of Budondo, Uganda, the topic never came up. I was too busy bonding with my host family, learning about my project (building a health clinic), and eating jackfruit to my heart's content. But then, the bomb dropped. The law was signed. Suddenly, I found myself in a country with one of the strictest anti-homosexuality laws in the world. It went against every profound fiber of my being. Suddenly, my views and beliefs and opinions were not only illegal, but dangerous. I was told by my dearest Ugandan friend and host in a solemn tone, "we can't guarantee your safety if you speak loudly about this".
I felt immediately disconnected, unmistakably unwelcome. Their world did not include me. I cried for those marginalized and oppressed, for my friends fighting for their rights in the US, for my future in Budondo which now seemed blurry and estranged. But what about the relationships I was forming? The love for the village that was growing inside me? Did I have to discount that now? I landed on a resounding no. Acceptance is not an a la carte, pick and choose system. Respect is not partial but complete. Togetherness is a collaboration despite the odds. I decided to invest harder and love fuller.
And from that moment, I felt myself break through. I realized that I had built up walls around ideas rarely challenged, I had barricaded boundaries that limited my own expansion. Instead of burrowing deeper into my western values, I opened them up to endless and meaningful conversation. Discovery, openness, mutual growth. That's what I got from the controversial law in Uganda. I felt freer, somehow.
Now I'm back in California, surrounded by like-minded people, immersed comfortably back into a reaffirming culture. I watch the news, read the articles, and listen to the way America publicizes Ugandans as extreme and intolerant and inhumane. An entire country tainted. An entire nation stripped of funds. An entire population affected.
I watched the documentary, God Loves Uganda. A look at evangelists from the International House of Prayer sending their "soldiers" to Uganda to spread the word of God--the God who strictly prohibits LGBTQ lifestyles. The story reveals how Uganda is really just the victim of Christian extremists, how Uganda never held these beliefs until western influence. How there are only a few LGBTQ activists in Uganda. By the end of the film these activists have been murdered and there is no hope. Uganda, once again, left with a single story, a victim's tale, unable to help themselves. What's left out of the documentary, just like most, is the voice of the everyday Ugandan. Not the activist, not the politician, but the person. My neighbors. My dear friends. My family. Where were they? No discussion, just crystallized opposition. Once again, stifled under the weight of an agenda.
I'll never forget the day my friend and I were riding together on the back of the Boda Boda (motorbike). We were discussing the law and the severe backlash Uganda would face. On my side, Uganda had made a mistake that would damage the lives of innocent people. On his side, the West was blackmailing Uganda into accepting a part of culture that they did not believe. Museveni was backed into a corner, Obama had a point to prove, and neither would waver. That's when he told me a proverb:
"when elephants fight, it is the grass that gets trampled."
Today I woke up and the law had been overturned. Westerners rejoiced. I rejoiced. I so deeply wanted to hop back on that motorbike and continue our conversation. Readjust to the new reality together. But all I can do is share with you what I learned on those long boda boda rides:
Remember the people. See the people. The people who wake up everyday to live, who laugh with their friends and struggle at work, who become mothers and fathers, who want happiness and fairness, who are doing the best they can to make meaning out of the world they are given.
They are you and they are me.
And we are the grass.
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