A coworker/ friend of mine wants to introduce me to her cousin so we can hang out. Apparently she thinks we’ll get along. All I know is this woman is a Ugandan woman about 20 years older than me, who does Buddhist meditation, and once—back in Idi Amin’s era when he banned miniskirts--got arrested for wearing one anyway. I like her already.
There are so many people with good stories here—wish some days I had a video camera. I’d help make the film about Africa that actually depicts something useful. (I’m still perplexed about Uma Thurman starring in a new film about Northern Uganda.) First, I’d choose a protagonist who was actually African (imagine?) . . .then I’d let her/ him tell their story, preferably while sitting in front of one of the beautiful, turquoise or pink or green or yellow walls--with peeling paint, but full of life. Perhaps there would be hard stories in there to hear, because that is life. There would also be stories of joy, because that is one of the major impressions I get of the places I have seen in Africa—people who are not afraid, even when all is not perfect, to be joyful. The laughter that comes in the middle of the long bank line on a Saturday morning is pure, not ironic or sarcastic or mean—just people enjoying themselves, where they are.
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