On Ugandan Courtship and Avocados

After a week’s worth of eating out, this past Saturday I ventured alone into a Ugandan outdoor market. Not surprisingly, fruits and vegetables are much less expensive when purchased in markets than in grocery stores, and are significant fresher.

As I started making my way from vendor to vendor, viewing the vast array of fruits (mainly mangos, pineapple, limes, etc) and vegetables (greens, beans, cucumber, eggplant, tomatoes—yes, I know that tomatoes are technically a fruit but I am choosing to categorize them here as veggies), calls came from many of the women manning stands. “Muzungo! Muzungo!” Now, “muzungo” is simply slang for “white person”. From what I can discern, it bears no derogatory connotation but is simply a factual statement. Not fooled by my recent sunburn, which admittedly makes me look more like Rudolph than any native Ugandan, these women were merely stating the obvious in an attempt to get my attention.

After walking the market for a little while—the muzungo title tattooed on my peeling forehead—I came upon a woman who was selling avocados. As most of you know, avocados are a luxury in the States, and as fewer of you know, I love avocados. Pointing to an avocado perched atop a heaping plate of similarly sized fruits, I asked how much it cost. “1,000 shillings” was the response, a quantity equal to approximately $0.50. Thinking I’d found a decent deal for an item that would have cost me upward of $1.75 in the U.S., I acquiesced. Seeing my nod, smile, and the reach for my wallet, the woman mobilized, took a plastic bag, and before I could stop her dumped the entire plateful of avocados into said bag. Shocked, I didn’t really know what to do, other than fork over my 1,000 shillings, smile, thank her, and limp away with my bag full of an extraordinary number of avocados. To be precise, there were eleven avocados (I counted once at home), so the price of an avocado was just under 5 U.S. cents! Perhaps I should start an importation business? After buying an assortment of items, I exited the market and began my avocado-laden journey home.

Now, Ugandan division of labor seems to dictate that women work predominantly in selling produce and men are responsible for providing transport to customers. This transport service most regularly comes in the form of “boda bodas”, which are essentially small motorcycles on which two (or sometimes more) people can ride. Thus, as I left the market, I passed a swarm of young Ugandan men, many of whom were hoping to offer me a ride on their “boda”. I should mention that I was not in the market for a boda. I live a mere fifteen minute walk from the market, and even my bushel of avocados was not weighing me down sufficiently to necessitate public transport.

Without professing to know much about Ugandan courtship, I can say that it is very different than courtship in the United States. It is, shall we say, less discriminatory, and far less covert. In the States, when a man decides that he is interested in a woman therein begins a (sometimes lengthy) process during which he may flirt with her, tease her, befriend her, or ignore her, thereby employing a number of tactics in an attempt to assess her level of reciprocating interest. No such assessment seems to exist in Uganda. Men here appear to be much more forthcoming with their emotions than their American counterparts, to the point that it may take a Ugandan man minutes, no, seconds to say what it takes American men months, if not years to get out. The highlight of my journey home: I was told by a boda driver that, even as I politely declined a ride, he “loved me very very much.” Though I can easily see this treatment getting old quickly, for now I shall add it to the ways in which I feel welcome in Uganda, the “pearl of Africa.”