My family has a long standing tradition of going to the
state fair every fall, where we gawk at the giant pumpkins and the giant pigs and
we eat giant Navajo tacos and giant funnel cakes covered in powdered sugar. I
love the fair, so I jumped at the chance to visit the Jinja Agriculture and
Trade Show this weekend.
I’ve never seen nylons for sale here in Uganda, but they were one of the many things being peddled on the streets lining the path to the fair. The big, twisted piles of beige sat on a small tarp next to lollipops on one side and winter hats on the other. I’ve also never seen people forming a line in Uganda, but there was one at the fair! A man wearing thick, black winter gloves and carrying a giant stick helped prod people into the queue and move women to one side and men to the other to be searched before entering.
The place was packed, and the first greeting we got upon entering was a man saying, “I want to paint your kids.” I love it here.
They even had carnival games! People threw blue rings at sodas, money attached to blocks of wood, or small packages of crackers, trying to win them.
The rides were limited to swings of different sizes and something kind of like a carousel, with crudely painted, squat wooden horses in black, white, or yellow. The children all sat gripping their horses in utter terror. It was hilarious. I nearly did the same on the swings when I glanced over and saw a tangled web of exposed wires, some leading toward a big tub of water.
Everything was so...uniquely Uganda that I couldn’t stop smiling, though the heat was oppressive and the crowds were massive. I cursed myself for not bringing a camera or a notepad. Desperate to remember the details of the place, I scribbled notes on the only thing I could find—the back of a band aid wrapper.
I’ve never seen nylons for sale here in Uganda, but they were one of the many things being peddled on the streets lining the path to the fair. The big, twisted piles of beige sat on a small tarp next to lollipops on one side and winter hats on the other. I’ve also never seen people forming a line in Uganda, but there was one at the fair! A man wearing thick, black winter gloves and carrying a giant stick helped prod people into the queue and move women to one side and men to the other to be searched before entering.
The place was packed, and the first greeting we got upon entering was a man saying, “I want to paint your kids.” I love it here.
The fair had things for sale, but instead of hot tubs and
ugly jewelry, it sold fertilizer and ugly jewelry. Instead of prize winning
squash and brownies being displayed on small foam trays, blue ribbons attached,
they had sugar cane plants and tomatoes on the vine and a ground nuts still in
the ground.
I wasn’t expecting to see cows and goats and chickens, since
I see them every day in every village in Uganda, but they were there…at least a
few of them. Prisoners wearing bright yellow t-shirts and bright yellow shorts
with thin, black, vertical lines on them stood in the pig pens and poked at pigs
with sticks. (I really hope they were in only imprisoned for loitering, a
common cause of arrest here.) They even had carnival games! People threw blue rings at sodas, money attached to blocks of wood, or small packages of crackers, trying to win them.
The rides were limited to swings of different sizes and something kind of like a carousel, with crudely painted, squat wooden horses in black, white, or yellow. The children all sat gripping their horses in utter terror. It was hilarious. I nearly did the same on the swings when I glanced over and saw a tangled web of exposed wires, some leading toward a big tub of water.
Everything was so...uniquely Uganda that I couldn’t stop smiling, though the heat was oppressive and the crowds were massive. I cursed myself for not bringing a camera or a notepad. Desperate to remember the details of the place, I scribbled notes on the only thing I could find—the back of a band aid wrapper.
Most days these days, I love this place. I’m proud to live
in a place that doesn’t feel the need to instruct you not to stand up while you’re
riding the swings, or require health permits to feed you fried donuts. I like
walking up the stairs to a ride and wondering if the boards are going to break
or if I’m going to fall through the wide openings in between the slats. I love
that a man here can wear overalls with a pink elephant on the center pocket and
elastic at the ankles. I love that they inexplicably sell wool sweaters in 90
degree heat. I like seeing exposed wires and wondering just how much jerry
rigging was needed to get that ride up and running. I love those ridiculous
piles of nylons. Everything about this place is just seeping with character. So I scribble notes on a band
aid wrapper and I watch the enormous marabou storks circle overhead and I pray
I’ll remember.
