“Jo-cu-cu-ba” means spanking and boy-oh-boy, jo-cu-cu-ba’ing is quite the fad in this place. The Mamas have no problem smacking babies with a wooden spoon, stick, or whatever’s in closest reach. And none of this “three strikes and you’re out” bit…if you disobey, you’re gonna get smacked. Other modes of rearing are pretty different, too. Rarely will a Mama pick-up a baby here ‘just’ because they’re crying. They think it’s important to make sure a child can be alone and to train him/her not to cry unless they’re actually in need/hunger. Average African babies don’t have “blankies, passies, or dolls.” This has made me think about our early tendencies toward depending on “things” to make us feel identified, or confident, whereas children here are raised to depend on themselves, or a god (explains why ‘some’ religion is followed by everyone here…Atheism isn’t in their vocabulary). You can’t help but wonder if our early suggestions of security associate with more “grown-up ones,” that hide us behind a job, relationship, image, or status. If a baby needs to stop sucking his/her thumb, they’ll rubber band a sock over it, or band-aid the finger with aloe vera, or hot sauce. This is all I can think of right now, but there are definitely loads more. Overall, I’ve found the babies to be a lot better behaved and have a lot more calm and “readable” demeanors. When a baby is crying here, it’s usually for a reason. Rarely will kids just cry for attention, or out of boredom. The older ones know Muzungoos have quite the habit of picking-up babies when they’re crying, or just cute, and Ugandans don’t do that. As Mama Lois explained to me, “We don’t have time and freedom to play like you guys do.” Interesting point, and I just realized this is one big run-on paragraph, so I’m gonna stop.

***

Women.

There was a post some weeks back called, “Man Hatred.” And after a few more weeks being here, I can no longer let the women get by unscathed—though I will say the male side is still far more challenging to me. For the most part, Mamas I interact with are from the north and either widowed, or just have different views due to faith and/or the affects of living through a war. Having now spent time with a broader range, however, I've seen some different and less tasteful sides of the feminine mystique.
<Women here are often grossly driven my materialism, in a different and somehow even more distinct manner than back home. If a woman is married to a man here and another comes along who can offer more luxury, they’ll split without a thought—and often leave their children along the way (for the more fortunate, they’ll be left in a Baby Home, but for most, they’re left on their own).
<A lot of stealing, killing, cheating and deceit goes on here. And I mean a lot. Again, it happens in the west, too, but I think we’ve got a lot more props and masks to hide behind.
<Any war-torn territory, which includes most of Africa, will typically have fewer men than women, so that certainly here, polygamy is a norm. Three, or four women and their kids, will live with the same man. The idea has very little to do with love, and more to do with sex, convenience and an option to proliferate if desired.

***

Random.

*I got a massage. It was quite the luxurious $6 investment. (I’ve not talked too much about the economy here, but you can see that cost of living is significantly lower. An average meal out costs between $1-3 and if you go to a really nice place, and spoil yourself, you might spend the equivalent of $7 or $8, but that’s with appetizer, drinks and probably dessert, too.) I’m most comfortable with the more “natural approaches,” so after a couple weeks of mad medicine intake, I figured the least I could do was move around muscles and clear some toxins from my system. I’d passed the crooked, hand-written sign a number of times and figured if it was a female misuse, I was in. I’ll spare you the details, but between a table, sheet, olive oil and an hour under hands that could break a rock, it might’ve been the best 10,000 shillings I’ve ever spent.

*Mama Claire’s sister died yesterday. She was twenty-one and “had been feeling ill, but was never sick.” There was no explanation, just a text, and no extreme shock, which was shocking to have to witness. Mama Claire was very sad, don’t get me wrong, and she made every immediate effort to collect money and head north for the funeral. But no one is surprised when such a tragedy happens. It’s as thought they’d be surprised if it didn’t. Elongating life here isn’t the attempt; survival is—and they often fail.