Dancing in the Moonlight

Last night was interesting…

At about 10:30 PM, I heard a knock on my door.  Wondering who in the world would want to talk at such a late hour, I reluctantly got up from the comfortable chair in my bedroom and made my way into the front room.  Opening the door, I found that the person responsible for disturbing me from my relaxation was a woman who helps to run the guest house next to our compound.  She is also a friend of my landlady, and she had been sent to invite me to a graduation party for my landlady’s daughter.  The party was scheduled to take place at…10:30 PM last night.  (Actually, it was probably scheduled for like 8 or 9 PM but was actually just getting started.)  After overcoming my surprise surrounding, first, the fact that my landlady has a daughter old enough to be graduating from college (I’m assuming it is college…it was never explicitly stated), and, second, the fact that I was being invited to a party that was starting at 10:30 on a Thursday night, I found out that the party was happening at the guest house next door, and that they were hoping I could come “just for 30 minutes or an hour.”  (I’ve learned enough in the past year and a half to know that this timeframe would be a significant underestimate.)  I paused and looked down at my outfit, which consisted of the dirty t-shirt and shorts I only wear before bed when I’m alone in my house, and my friend at the door quickly realized that this ensemble simply would not do.  So, she told me that she would wait for me at the guest house.  I agreed, shut the door, and put on some pants and a slightly less dirty shirt with buttons.

It was a really beautiful night.  The stars were out, and the yellowish moon, just past full, was shining brightly down onto the courtyard of the guest house.  I paused at the entrance to the courtyard and took a breath, knowing that, as soon as I stepped through the doorway, I would become the center of attention for at least a few minutes.  I generally need to take a second to prepare myself for something like that.  If you ever want to experience service, be a muzungu guest at one of these Ugandan functions.  Once I finally did make my way to the section of the courtyard where the party was getting started, chairs and tables suddenly moved to provide me with a place to sit where I could easily see everything.  In his haste, one guy, trying to move a small table, only grabbed the top part (the legs were left sitting where the table had previously made its home) and, without even realizing his error, tried to place the table in a new location.  As he let go of the table top, it promptly dropped to the ground.  A second guy discreetly passed him the forgotten legs, but not before everyone had a good laugh.

A few speeches were made congratulating Maria (who I had never met before last night), Maria said a prayer, and then food was served.  Now, it was past 10:30 PM, and I had obviously already eaten dinner.  Actually, Griffin had been in Masaka yesterday and had brought me a huge cheeseburger and fries from an amazing restaurant there, because she’s just an awesome person.  As you might expect, I had really enjoyed dinner and was feeling completely satisfied.  I would have been quite content with not eating anything else last night.  Instead, suddenly, sitting in front of me was a huge platter that on which you might serve a small turkey.  (Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit here…It was probably only big enough for a whole rotisserie chicken.)  Every square inch of this thing was piled with matooke, rice, and some sort of meat…I’m guessing beef.   I was not hungry at all, but, thinking that it would be impolite to refuse, I slowly shoveled as much as I could into my mouth for the next half an hour or so.  I made it about three-quarters of the way through the stuff, and I think I impressed Rita, the girl who had served me.  After picking up my nearly-cleared plate, she said something along the lines of “You didn’t give your food to someone else, did you?”

After 'second-dinner,' a few friends gave Maria some gifts, and then the dancing started (and the title of the blog starts to make sense).  Ugandans can dance.  These people have rhythm.  Even the little kids have solid skills.  On the other hand, if you know anything about me, you probably know that dancing is not one of my favorite activities, and I am not very good.  Sometimes, I think that the reason I like playing music so much is because, when I play music, I don’t have to dance to it.  Well, as you might imagine, a muzungu standing up and dancing would be quite a spectacle, and quite a few people were trying to persuade me.  I remained steadfast for a few minutes, but then my neighbors in my compound started to work on me.  I like them a lot and found it much more difficult to say no.  So, it happened.  I stood up and found myself dancing in the moonlight with my neighbors.  Actually calling it “dancing” might be a bit of a stretch, though, seeing as my only move consists of rhythmic swaying, incorporating very subtle knee bends on the beat.  Granted, the long hair adds an entirely new dimension, forcing me to include a few quick head movements to keep the hair out of my eyes.  Needless to say, the company enjoyed this sight quite a bit, and I suppose I’m glad that I could add to their evening.  Sometimes, I guess, you just have to accept that you’re going to be a spectacle and go with the flow.  Obviously, though, to an impartial observer, I was put to shame by the others dancing around me.  Sarah, who I described in my last post as the woman who cooks, cleans, and takes care of some of the kids in our compound, had some especially impressive moves.

Finally, around 12:30 AM (didn’t I say that 30 minutes would be an underestimate?), things started to wind down, and I told my landlady that I needed to get to bed after thanking her for inviting me.  As I left the guest house and walked the short distance to my door, I thought a little bit about the experience.  What I found most striking was the sense of accomplishment that permeated the entire group.  It was not just felt by the graduate herself, but by her friends and family as well, as if it was a team effort.  Truly, I’m sure it was.  Personally, I know from my own experience that I would not have been nearly as successful as I was in school if I did not have a wonderful, loving family, a great group of friends, and supportive teachers standing with me through it all.  It seems that Maria has these things, and I think that the children of several other families I have met here have them, too.  This is the kind of realization that brings me joy and that allows me to truly enjoy my time here.

So, our compound's saga of interesting and amusing events continues.  Who knows what next week has in store…