Ugly American: God has a Plan?

One of my closest friends here, let's call her Jane, has decided to get back together with her ex-boyfriend.

We were all nervous about the decision, "we" being the flock of hens that describe a group of us comprised of Ugandans, Americans and French women that watch over each other's every move. We were nervous because Jane and Sam had broken up so many times in five years that it just didn't seem like the best decision to give it another go but, hey, that's what she decided to do so we eventually just shut up when she brought him here to Uganda.

I met Sam three weekends ago. He is almost absurdly handsome. He is also very smart. I was tricked for a few hours until I saw it. The "freak out" factor.

I watched, in a very beautiful and posh Kampala restaurant, as Sam descended into chaos. He was nervous, of course...who wouldn't be in front of this many hens?...and started criticizing everything and everyone. He spoke to the Ugandan servers in a manner that you would have thought appropriate in colonial times (p.s. Ugandans speak perfect English). He enunciated every word, jumped when the waiter put the dinner cloth on his lap, and sniffed his food like a dog about to be poisoned.

I said nothing because I remember tormenting my own ex-boyfriend, Ed, fifteen years ago when I first moved to Hungary. Granted, I didn't insult my hosts but I know the feeling of being scared and out-of-place. I know how it feels to have culture shock. I watched Sam for a few minutes and thought, "There before the Grace of God..."

But this weekend I just had to speak up.

I saw Jane and Sam again in Gulu, Northern Uganda. We were in one of the best restaurants in the city. And this "city" is a former war zone. A REAL war zone where at least one of three people have been seriously affected by war. You can pretty much be guaranteed that the person who is serving you or speaking to you at any given minute has lost a family member--or his or her entire family, been abducted, raped, tortured, or otherwise devastated by the 23-year long war that ran in this part of the country until three years ago. The war in northern Uganda did not get big headlines like the genocide in Rwanda or the American disaster in Somalia but I can promise you that it was just as devastating in so many ways...

So we were meeting with a bunch of Ugandan friends from Gulu for dinner and I made the mistake of recommending a dish to Sam that didn't meet his expectations. When it was put in front of him, same as Kampala, he sniffed it like a dog and then proceeded to deconstruct it at the table, cursing the entire time. I saw Jane go pale across the table and try to start a new conversation. We all tried to start a new conversation.

I knew it wasn't going to work.

When Sam stood up and marched in a rage over to the waiter that had served us and started screaming, I finally found, as my friend Liz says, "my pair."

I walked over to Sam and said, "Stop. Now."

He looked at me incredulously.

"What the hell are you talking about? This shit is inedible. There are bones in my chicken! I can't believe they serve this crap. I am not paying for this!" he screamed at me.

"Sam, stop. Now. This is not the time or the place. Please stop...the person who is serving you and the person who you are now screaming at is a former LRA abductee...he can no more control what the chef did than you or I can. Just stop it, this is not America," I pleaded.

Sam wasn't having any of it. He continued screaming.

I went back to the table where we all sat in a sort of stunned silence for another twenty minutes.

When Sam returned everyone ignored him. Jane passed him her dinner, apparently edible, and he quieted a little as he ate all of her food. Then the waiter brought him an entirely new dish, bones-free, which he refused. He said, audibly, "I hate this fucking place!!"

I closed my eyes and prayed. I was humiliated by this person. I was humiliated to be an American. I knew, to a level, his frustration, but this was way beyond anything I ever pulled when I was 22 and living in Hungary. This man is 34 and in "Africa-lite," as I have come to refer to Uganda.

He eventually realized no one was speaking to him and turned to me with apologies.

"I have a bad temper," he said, "I apologize...but THAT was ridiculous. I can't wait to get to Ethiopia in two months! I am sure they know how to cook food there!"

I wanted to continue ignoring him, I was humiliated. I frequent this restaurant all the time and most of the service staff are friends whose phone numbers are all in my mobile phone. In Gulu, as in most former war zones, people rely on person-to-person relationships since there is nothing else left. The fact that I had gotten two of the best rooms for me and Liz, arranged a huge dinner at the last minute, and gotten the best waiter in the restaurant (the one Sam screamed at) is because I have been there at least seven times in the past six months and we all talk on the phone regularly.

I wanted to ignore him...

But I decided not to.

"Sam, I used to be a little like you. I know how frustrating it can be, trust me. But this is Uganda. Uganda is probably, other than Ghana and South Africa, the most friendly country in Africa for Westerners. You are going to Ethiopia next, right? Well, I have been there too and if you do what you did tonight, they are going to kill you. And I am not joking. They WILL kill you," I said.

He scoffed at me and went and got Jane.

"She's telling me Ethiopia is dangerous. Listen to the world traveler!" he joked.

Jane looked at me like a dog who had been kicked too many times. I wanted to hug her but didn't dare.

As they left, the server who Sam had screamed at sat down with me, Liz, and two of our other companions. He brought a bottle of wine with him...that he paid for.

"I'm so sorry..." I started.

"It's OK. It's not your fault. He says he's going to Ethiopia next?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Well, what happened to you in Ethiopia?" he asked.

I smiled.

"I got the worst food poisoning of my life," I declared. "I was so sick that my hair hurt."

The server looked at me and raised his glass. "Yep, exactly! And he thought the chicken was bad here! God has a plan!!"

We all laughed.

Ugly Americans...but maybe God...or someone...does have a plan.