I’m finally at this brilliant point where I’m starting to understand what people say to me. It’s a fabulous feeling, even if I can’t say much back at the moment besides a whole host of random words and phrases (such as “sir, can I have 10 dumplings?” which is very useful I’ll have you know).

It also helps with the paranoia that comes when you keep thinking that everyone is talking about you. Well. They aren’t always talking about you. Most of the time though. Like when they’re whispering and staring at you, they are talking about you. The good news is that it is often good things.

“Mommy, her hair!” said a little girl the other day. “Pretty.”

Teenage boys on the other hand make fun of me. But that’s cool. Teenage boys make fun of every single person in every country around the whole world. It’s  a universal truth. Teenage boys = strange awkward mutants.

I got off the subway the other day in an area where I never see foreigners and I saw a blonde girl.

And she scared me.

So basically, I scare myself? I see my reflection in the mirror sometimes and I swear to god, I almost jump.

It has certainly chilled me out though. If I’m startled when I see blonde people, I figure it’s cool for everyone else to be as well.

Yes folks, that’s her. Just look up. In the past month, I’ve discovered something about how Africans perceive the way I look. Apparently, I am a hideous human being in their eyes. It’s all rather hilarious actually and started about a month ago when somebody at work slipped me an ad from the newspaper and told me it was something I should consider.

Here is the text of the ad:

Don’t be ugly! Be fat. Look good and presentable. Weight gain powder. Results guaranteed in just one month. Natural food supplement. Don’t look skinny!

Ugandans hate hate hate skinny people. If you don’t have a shelf on your backside and more than a dozen rolls, you’re not doing well here. Most of it, I think, comes from the fact that for a long time, many Ugandans simply didn’t have enough to eat. Being fat is a sign of wealth here.

Another problem is my hair. According to another woman I work with, it’s far too thin. She wanted me to go with her for a special “thickening treatment.” I respectably declined terrified of what might happen if I actually set foot in a Ugandan salon.

Ugandans are also seemingly fond of facial hair on women and warts and moles are seen as goodluck markers. My eyes, which are blue, are seen as being particularly scary. Consider this conversation I had a few weeks ago with a particularly strange fellow in a bar.

“Eiiiiii, woman! Your eyes are scary.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes… they are eyes of the devil.”

“Um… okay.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Um… no, not exactly.”

“See!!! That is why you have eyes like that. Devil eyes. Terrible.”

Not only that, the way I speak is also a problem. The Ugandan accent, was at first, extremely difficult for me to understand in English. There are have been jokes lately (I’m hoping they’re jokes, and not serious) about the problems with my “speech” on radio. Apparently, I should consider going to speech therapy lessons. Still working on a way around that.

I was out recently with a few people, including the President of Uganda’s son. I was compared to a cow. However, I was later told this is in fact a compliment and that I should take it as such. I have now been invited to the President’s family farm about three hours away to see the cows.

Well, that’s it on me being ugly. Have a good one folks.

(P.S. All of this is said in jest, naturally)