Sciurus carolinensis

america.

i ate pretzels and apple pie. it was store bought, but so what. i'm prepping my palate for the home made version next week. tonight its my job to make lasagna. should i consult a cookbook or just go freestyle?

sending away for a 6 month multi-entry visa. maybe i won't have to play up the tourist card so much. a tourist visa only lasts 90 days and then you have to get a new one. ugandan visas are only single entry, so when you have to get a new one if you leave the country. this means that the best times for me to leave uganda are each time my visa expires.

this is me at border 4 times per year. its usually the middle of the night after 6 hours of bumpy road on a bus or a few transfers on small planes. i've got my crisp $50 bill and yellow fever card in hand:

immigration officer: i see you've been in uganda for some time.

me: i love uganda so much!

io: what are you doing in uganda?

me: rafting, traveling around. meeting people. ugandans are so friendly!

io: where do you stay in uganda?

me: oh here and there. i really like jinja. the river is awesome!

io: you've got $50? ok. (stamp, stamp)

i'm in.

counting necklaces. so many necklaces. they're hung airing in the garage. they're on the futon in the basement. they like to fall out of their velcro groupings, so i'll be counting them all again. we count them when we buy them at the meeting. twice, actually. first what we receive from each suubi lady. then, again into bundles of 10 or 25. at epoh, they're washed and counted again before being put into fedex boxes or fiber bags to be taken back to magwa. the ones that come to magwa are counted again when they're packed into suitcases to come to america. if we're lucky, the bags only have to be packed once. if things get confusing, we'll take the necklaces out and do it all over again. now i have the bags in america. i took them out to air. i'll count them again and pack them again to take to the Holiday Booth in NYC.

FICTION

A day in the life of three Suubi women…

With a single shot from a single drop on the tin roof, Christine wakes up. It’s still dark. She sits up on the foam mat she shares with the baby. A strong gust rattles the windows’ wooden shutters. The rain sounds like war on her roof. She reaches for the matchbox and lights the paraffin lamp on the floor. The baby moves behind her. She turns around. His mouth is open and she can see his small sharp teeth. The combat on the roof increases and noise fills the room around her. Its so loud she can’t hear him cry.

Florence tightens the kitenge around her waist and feels for the coins and notes tied in the corner of the top skirt. She hopes she has left for the market early enough to make it back with time to cook for and feed her children lunch at mid-day. She waves and calls out Good Morning to the neighbor unlocking the door of the shop. She reminds herself to stop here on the way home to buy an onion, three tomatoes, and two peppers to mix with the beans that are already on the charcoal stove. She hurries and turns the corner onto the main road. She steps off the curb to avoid the grass flung by the slasher cutting the grass in the drainage ditch. She steps back up as a boda carrying two men and a driver swerves toward her around a pothole. The motorcycle follows the same path worn smooth by every two-wheeled vehicle that has come before. At the market she buys three packets of gold seed beads and one bundle of lightweight fishing line. If she hurries she’ll make it back home in time.

Elizabeth sits on a fiber mat under the jackfruit tree. She can hear her grandchildren playing on the other side of the house. She picks up a string of varnished beads and cuts them with a razor. She pushes the beads from the line into a plastic container. She calls to her youngest daughter to bring the rest of her supplies from inside the house. The oldest child runs toward her with a knob of sugar cane in each hand. The next born runs close behind and shoves the older child. She calls both of their names and scolds them for fighting. She picks up another string of beads, cuts the line, and pushes them into the container. She calls for her daughter again to bring her supplies.