Olupot

Every MZUNGU comes to Africa wanting an African name. It's not just about having one to have one. The person who gives it to you turns out to be pretty special. So when I began my search for an African name, my friend Peter from the business seminar decided to bestow one upon me.

OLUPOT.

I asked Peter what this name meant, thinking it sounded pretty cool and therefore had some significant meaning. He said it meant, "soil."

Great. My African name is "dirt." Who in this world hates dirt more than I do? Seriously.

But, I admit, this name has really grown on me, and I'd like to tell you why. Here in Uganda, dirt tends to stick to you. You have to scrub and scrub to get it off because it coats your skin, gets in your hair, and stains your clothes. This may not sound like a good reason to like dirt, but keep reading...

As I've lived here, I realize there are some things I would like to immediately scrub away. Let me give some examples:

African Grammar. Here are some oft-repeated phrases: "You first come." Meaning, come over here first. Ending a sentence with a 'yes?' to make it a question. And finally, "Nice time!" at the end of a visit.

You see where I'm going with this. Yes? (There's my point.)

I was also annoyed by how many Africans kneeled on the ground when shaking my hand. I hate it when people bow down to me. It made me all sorts of uncomfortable.

Finally, it kind of bothered me how accepting people were of us. There was no skepticism when we presented a program for development. They just took it as we offered it, and there were no questions asked. We're MZUNGUS afterall. We have money and we do everything right. Yes?!

Well. I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to do away with this and many other things. Completely.

But now I am asking, "What dirt do I want to take home with me?" And not just the stuff that is caked on my shoes and clothes. What lessons and mannerisms would I bring home?

And as I've thought about this, I've remembered that soil is not just dirt. It is a life-giving resource, required especially by Ugandans who largely subsist on crops and agriculture. These little things are the life-giving soils that help Ugandans grow. And I think they can help me too.

Already, I find myself laughing and smiling and wondering at this people. But more than that, these little Africanisms are causing me to think, and believe, and bond with others. And I think they will continue to bless my life even as I return to America.

And the whole kneeling thing has offered me a different perspective, a new lesson in humility. It's not about dirt that stains the knees of my pants. It's about the fertile soils of love and respect that change minds and hearts. THAT is the soil, the dirt, that I want to take home with me.

And in the end, I guess there is only one more thing to say about my name and how much I love it, and how much I want to take these small tokens of Africa home with me.

NICE TIME.