Nyege Nyege Fest 1.4//Uganda
What happened when I took a group of EMPOWERED Ugandan youth, to a music festival, to talk about periods.
Arriving on the plane I was greeted by the gentleman seated behind me, leaning over to shake my hand before returning to introduce himself to his neighbour, as she took her seat. There was music playing, the type of music that conjures up images of safari. Bold patterned textiles on the seats. The cabin crew were dressed with class; their bodies adorned in gowns that spoke to the regal, the beautiful, the African people.
I was flying to Uganda on Ethiopian airlines, via Addis Ababa - the same route I took when I moved there in 2016,
‘Welcome home’.
There was a confusion in me ever since I booked the flight only a few weeks earlier, an unease that remained in me as I left Reykjavik the night before, making my way to London for this flight. I didn’t have enough time to come around to the idea before take off. What on earth was I doing popping back to the equator for two weeks? I would be returning to snow. Fortunately, from years of experience popping off on random adventures to far off places, I trusted the process and knew that this trip would work out, it would be whatever it needed to be, and I would be different after it - I was just out of practice.
Back in 2016 I stayed with a host family whilst on placement, supporting a group of national and international volunteers to implement project work in communities. I find this sort of work questionable now but it is a significant part of my story. That time was one of the most peaceful times of my life.
Months before I had left; my partner of 9 years, the home we had renovated together and my job - to go in search of something else, another life I had always fantasised about. Living abroad. This was something I had thought would only ever be a dream. I was used to my regular conventional life - I didn’t have any examples of doing things differently, growing up. This dream became a reality for me and I quickly adjusted to long drops, bucket baths, cockroaches, red dusty roads, village life and being the only muzungu (white person), in the neighbourhood.
My Father set up and ran a charity when I was young, supporting children affected by the Rwandan genocide; the first flight I took was to Rwanda when I was 17. I had grown up with Rwandans, Ugandans, Kenyans (and even Filipinos at one time), staying with us. Dad would be gone for a few weeks of the year and general dislike everything about traveling. My sister and Mum each took a trip to learn more about his work. It was an unusual childhood for someone in a mostly Anglo-Saxon part of England, but I didn’t know any differently. It was normal for me to see Dad and his friends coming along to do school assemblies. And I had a significant awareness of genocide, and poverty in far away lands when I was really young.
My visits to Rwanda when I was aged 17 and 21, were spent in the actual Hotel Rwanda, which is actually a rather fancy hotel. Staying with a host family in Uganda, meant staying with and living like a local. Contrary to popular belief Africa isn’t just goats farmers, elephants and mud huts. The home I stayed in had a TV that the family would gather round of an evening much like anywhere else, to watch the news, some drama like Days of Our Lives and a local comedy sketch show. And always with the volume on full. Sometimes there were chickens, even a turkey at one time, living inside the house. The loo was outside, a long drop at the back end of the compound, shared with the tenants who rented rooms inside the compound from the family. Curtains replaced doors to bedrooms and we were 4 to a room. Raindrops on the metal roof brought much noise when it poured. The radio played through the night - a pastor preaches loudest at night. Always with the volume on full. Aunty would wake at 4am to pray, loudly of course.
My sense of peace grew most noticeably during that time in Uganda, despite all of the noise. It could have been the increased exposure to vitamin D, the heat, the fresh fruits, the slower pace of life, the reduced responsibility and intensity from my full time job back home, or the people and their way of life having an effect on me.
So keen to return to this land, I organised my own research trip and within two months of my placement ending I was back. I got to know a youth organisation who were leading the way locally with teaching how to make reusable pads and educating about menstruation through hiphop. It was refreshing.
Now I was back again 8 years later.
Sarah greeted me at the airport, the same Sarah I had first met all those years before as a young shy girl. Now she is a women, a mother, she’s grown. She came to meet me at the airport, traveling with the driver and one of the boxers I had organised to pick me up. We made the long journey back to the village from the airport through the night, all the while catching up and reminiscing about just how much time had passed since we last met, putting the world to rights.
And we spoke about what the plan was for Nyege Nyege, after all that was the reason for me being there.
We arrived to Medie’s place before the sun came up. I was grateful to have a friend like Medie who I could trust would receive me and have a bed for me to rest as the jet leg caught up with me.
‘Isukayo’, welcome home.
