Gulu Guacamole

Do you know that feeling from when you make a certain food and it instantly takes you somewhere? Last night I made guacamole for the first time since moving back to the States and it made me think a lot about Gulu. Guac was one of our real luxuries in Gulu. We had huge fresh avocados almost year round and they cost between 25-50cents each. We did not have tortilla chips, but some clever expat invented the baked chapatti, which was a reasonable alternative: take greasy roadside chapattis, place in oven at high temp (no need to add oil since they were completely saturated) and bake until crispy. Every party had guacamole, because it was western food that could be done well in Gulu all of the time. I even put it on the café’s menu. Scott’s was the best; his secret ingredient of Worchester sauce gave it that extra kick.

Yesterday I found out that there was violence in Gulu. In fact, I was skyping with Jeanne and could hear the gunshots in the background. My heart sank as I imagined the poor war-weary women clutching their babies who were the first born in twenty years that did not know war. From what I hear so far there was rioting over fuel costs and the Ugandan Army (still prevalent in Gulu from the war days) were called in to settle the matter.

I heard from Josh who described the fear he saw on people’s faces as he ran home from the Bomah for safety. I heard from Amanda who was pinned down because of gunfire across town from her home. And I heard from Mollie, who of course somehow managed to locate all of our Acholis and confirm they were safe. Valiant Tonny closed down Café Larem, the apparent epi-center of the gunshots and tear gas, and huddled inside protecting himself and I imagine the cappuccino machine like the dedicated barista he has become. Facebook, which I so whimsically dismissed as a catalyst for the uprisings in the Middle East, played a central role, along with skype in plugging me instantly into the situation in Gulu. Where the mobile phone failed, the internet was uninterrupted. I will never doubt the power (and importance) of social media again.

As I sat whisking up my basic guacamole, a recipe I can now do with my eyes closed, I thought how easy it was to make. I didn’t have to stress about stretching the limes and cilantro (always imported from Kampala for moy authentica guacamole) weeks beyond their due date. I would squeeze the old limes with all my might for a drop of juice and pick through the rotting bunch of salvage the still usable sprigs of cilantro. Perhaps the most exciting part, I just reached above the fridge and opened up a bag of tortilla chips and started scooping. No schlepping to the boda/chapatti stand, baking and then settling for an alternative.

But I also thought about my friends and my home. Hayden said he was glad not to be in Gulu for something like this, not because of the violence, but because of the sadness of seeing the recovery damaged. I see his point, but it’s killing me not to be there. My heart is there, but it doesn’t feel like enough.