This may be one post of many parts to come because even though I’ve only (or already, depending on how you look at it!) been here for six weeks, least one thing surprises me here everyday—so many in fact that it’s often hard to keep track of them. As with all places, people, and things, there is much good, and bad to be found in Uganda, and Kampala in particular. I will try to share just a few of my specific impressions on some of the issues that keep resurfacing constantly. Let’s start with the good:
THE GOOD
1) Friendly People
I was told the Ugandan people were friendly and this have certainly been true. I haven’t experienced other African countries, but I’ve had my share of interactions in European countries, and there are definitely cultures that make one feel more or less welcome. The Ugandans I’ve encountered have been helpful, smiling, kind, inquisitive, and interested for the vast majority of experiences. In fact, a simple “hello” will not due here—it is always followed by a “how are you?” no matter if it’s your coworker or a stranger on the street.
2) Pearl of Africa
Uganda really is breathtaking. I spoke to a friend of mine who is working in Gabarone, Botswana, last week. We were comparing our present locations and I was trying to describe Uganda and asked if Botswana was as green as Uganda. “Green?! Nope, it’s essentially a desert,” my friend replied. Oh. Aside from feeling the need to look at a map and brush up on my geography, I thought, gosh I’m spoiled by the green landscape to which I’ve become accustomed. The palm trees, banana plants, endless varieties of flowers that perfume the night air, it can really just be mesmerizing. The land here is so fertile that just about anything can grow, which brings me to…
3) The fruit
It is good, really good. Ah, the tropics!The avocados are huge. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but really they are—the size of a nerf football (my brother should understand this comparison). And then there are mangoes, watermelon, pineapple, and of course more bananas than one can stomach. And it’s so plentiful and cheap. It’s just glorious to go a whole pineapple for 60 cents and gorge J
But now of course, here’s a dose of THE BAD:
1) Traffic
The traffic and the roads are, for the most part, horrendous. There is just no way around it. Today, on my way to my second running hash, the school driver kindly agreed to take me to the starting location which was just north of the city center. But, well, maps here are really just a testing ground, and so while I dutifully tried to guide the driver in the right direction we were waylaid by blocked roads (for the president, they’re ALWAYS blocked for the president) standstill traffic, matatus and bodas reaking havoc, and also roads that appeared to simply not exist or at least where they were supposed to. I was dropped off a good 2 km from my destination after an hour long journey of anxiety, but just relieved to be out of the truck! I’ve also started driving Amy’s friend’s car that I have access to. It’s quite an experience to drive on those roads, so I definitely give all the drivers credit, but it’s near insanity.
2) White Food
Unfortunately, I find the traditional Ugandan food to be slightly lacking. I’ve sung the praises of the fruit, so clearly it’s not all bad. But seriously, all the food on my lunch plate is usually one fairly consistent color—white. (Isn’t that what Oprah says is the death of you?) Rice, posha (stiff maize porridge), potato, and matoke (thick mashed bananas—okay, this is dark yellow). The food is certainly filling, satisfying on some level, and I’ll admit that I've found myself craving it from time to time, but it is also very repetitive and often quite bland. It's just the kind that makes me want to whisper to those around me, "you know, there's so much more out there!" But everyone around me really loves what they're eating! Unfortunately, despite pre-Africa good intentions, my African diet is possibly having the reverse effect—hence the need for the weekly runs!
THE UGLY:
1) Corruption City
You can see it everywhere, especially if you start to look. Police stand at checkpoints along highways less to secure safety procedures as to secure some extra pocket money. Muzungus play a bizarre role in all of this as well as the general held belief is that if you’re white you can get away with anything as long as you’re willing to pay enough—1, 2, 3 million Ush and up. And well, the truth is here, they usually can. The potholes are another huge symbol of the corruption that plagues the country. Money meant to repair the enormous craters that plague 2/3 of the streets here never reaches its final purpose, or at least not for years. I’ve heard numerous Ugandans express their frustration over this embarrassment on behalf of the government, as the state of the roads are a daily reality that add to the chaos of city traffic.
2) The value of life
This of course is very difficult to write about fairly from my perspective. I come from a comfortable western upbringing, so I really can’t begin to comprehend some of the practices that go on here, but some of them really are confusing coming from a western perspective. The mortality rate is much higher, and you can see this in how children are treated with less permanency, as there may be 15 children in a family (with several fathers or mothers) and not close to as many will survive. Still, to see children who are 5, 4, even 2 or 3 years old wandering around the dirt streets near Meeting Point is very unsettling. It is also quite common for children to be beat in families, or in school even (although it is technically illegal) because parents go so far as to request they be “well disciplined” in school as they are at home. This is very hard for me to wrap my head around, as child services would be on such a case before the stick was out of the hand.
So there are just a few observations for now. But I know there will be many more to come.
It’s only Monday and it feels like it’s been a long week (I know all of you at your desks are rolling your eyes right about now!), but really those kids are TIRING. I have total respect for all my “real” teacher friends! I had really nice weekend in Jinja, complete with some cute kids trick o’ treating from palm tree studded banda to banda (decorated with whatever skeletons, ghosts, and pumpkins we could scare up—actually they use watermelons more here to carve. How’s that for a tropical Halloween?!) and plenty of lounge time by the pool that overlooked lake Victoria in the distance. Then today it was my first day of the rest of my life. Not quite, but I had the children working with “clay,” more specifically pink saltdough, which is really the kind of work I’d like to do later in life: art programs, specifically ceramics related, for underprivileged kids. The kids loved it, and actually really impressed me with their creativity. So not everyone made pink pigs—there were plenty of cell phones, snakes, bugs mixed in with the pigs, but I think they all really enjoyed having the freedom to make whatever they wanted.
But these were the oldest kids, P-3. Tomorrow, it’s on to P-1. Wish me luck, I will need it.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Feeling Good
You know, there are those moments here when I feel completely hopeless about the work I'm doing, and then there are times when I feel like things are really coming together. I finally feel like I have some grasp on the art projects that I’m trying to do here and the way to present them to the children, and I’m really looking forward to the coming weeks. This week we (Veronika, the new volunteer is helping me with the classes) helped the children do “self-portraits”—and I use this term loosely because I was pleased if and when all of the boys understood that they should draw boys, and likewise for the girls. Next week we are going to use saltdough that I am going to make at the office. It’s homemade playdough that can be baked to harden it. It’s made from flour, salt, oil, and water. I can’t wait for this project. We are going to make little pink pigs. It’s no ceramics, but I’m really excited to give these children a chance to do something different. Not that drawing isn’t wonderful and the children certainly love it, but here they will have a chance to mold and shape something three dimensional. Let’s hope at least! ;)
So today is just absolutely beautiful, sunny and breezy, and that always makes me a little mindless, I just can’t focus. But after a morning of some art prep work (for 200 some kids even the smallest idea takes a lot of time!) and a delicious rolex (omlette wrapped in a chipati--pancake) for lunch, I came up to see my cousin and now buy ingredient for the saltdough. I’m also trying to make all my travel plans for the coming months. My parents will be here in December for 2 weeks which I’m really looking forward to. We are going to go to Queen Elizabeth Park and also the Serengeti, but first we need to book everything, which always gives me a headache. Then I have to secure a gorilla trekking permit so I make sure to get a slot before I plan to leave Uganda. There are only 16 permits given out for each day and they book up often months in advance. Then I also have to book my flight to Australia to meet up with my old roommate and her brother there around the end of January, not to mention my plans for traveling down to South Africa overland which is where I would like to fly out from. All of this requires far more time and money than I can ever seem to muster, but for all of it’s overwhelmingness (I’m coining that term!) it’s also very fun to think about all the possibilities. And then really what I’m supposed to be doing right now is finishing up my business school applications—the first of which is due in 10 days—yikes!
This weekend I’m off to a Halloween party of sorts in Jinja. A handful of ex-pat families have started the tradition of booking a hotel and creating a Halloween party and trick o’ treating event for their kids so they don’t miss out on the holiday. I’m going with Kim and Ben (who will be quite a cute spiderman) for Saturday night. I must say, something the US does some things really well—and Halloween and Thanksgiving are two of them! I will be sad to miss them both this fall, but hopefully this weekend will give me a little dose of home! Happy early Halloween!!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
KH3--Hashing Kampala Style
That stands for Kampala Hash House Harriers. After I attended a Hash in DC in August with my old college roommate and runner extraordinare, Alli, she tracked down and sent me the link to the Kampala chapter of Hash House Harriers International, the self-proclaimed “drinking club with a running problem.” I’ve been meaning to check it out since I got here, but something always came up, so I was determined to make it to the practice this week—which happens every Monday at different locations all over town depending on the week. This week, it happened to be just up the street from my house in Bugulobi.
I had the school driver drop me off at the office building where the Hash sign-in was being hosted. Yes, I not have a driver!!!! So amazingly exciting. It makes my life SO much easier getting to and from work, and not having to wake up every morning in fear of my pending boda ride! So, I arrived at the Hash, changed into my running clothes, signed in and paid the 6000 Ush fee ($3-4) and took off after the group down Lithuli Ave. I stopped to walk (yes, okay, I’m out of shape!) with a girl named Rachel, a student at Makere University here in Kampala, and ran with her for much of the time. We ran out into the swamp and slum area—over 120 runners, hashers (joggers in Hash speak), and walkers. I managed to stick my left foot into what appeared to be a ditch filled with black tar water, but apparently was more likely to be fermented sheep feces. Awesome.
Mud-flecked (it had poured earlier), sweaty, and exhausted we wound back into the neighborhood and to the office complex. And I must say the set up was quite impressive (and I’m told every week is like this if not even better). There were two big tents set up and water, bananas, watermelon and pineapple upon arrival. After some stretching, the “ceremony” began. For those of you who have never hashed, it’s a bit hard to explain, but basically it’s a grownup running fraternity. On the trails, the hares are the people who make the course and try to trick all the runners by misleading them with marks until they find their way finally—like a treasure hunt for beer.
At the ceremony, they usually get berated by the disgruntled runners and forced to drink copious amounts of beer, along with those who are accused of other violations of sorts—talking too much, walking when they shouldn’t, general misbehaving. Oh, and everyone has inappropriate official nicknames (I will leave these to the imagination) if they are repeat runners, so it really is like a frat! Also at the ceremony, newcomers get introduced—including me of course! So I had to stand up on a crate, say my name, where I’m from, what I do in Uganda, if I’m single, and what my cell number is (um, I did NOT answer that one). Then I said who had made me come to the run—that would be Tim, a friend of Amy’s who she put me in touch with about the hash. Together, each newcomer and our sponsers chugged a beer as they chanted some song that was probably inappropriate song though I couldn’t quite make out the words.
Then we were treated to a small catered dinner of kebabs, roasted potatoes, veggies, as well as liquor, beer, and coke—I stuck to the nonalcoholic beverages post chugging of beer. I sat with some Ugandans for a while who were very nice and said I’d see them next week, and promised to be back next week. At this point it was now pouring and it was time to figure out a way home—ah, the perennial dilemma. Boda time! So I walked to the gas station (yes, sadly the landmark of my neighborhood is the Shell station—everyone in town knows where Shell Bugulobi is), and bargained for a ride down the avenue for 1500 Ush. Perched on the back, bracing my legs and bag, clutching my bag, and with my small black umbrella raised in one hand we skidded down the wet road in what felt like torrential downpour as we were driving directly into the rain with speed. I arrived back at my house grateful to be alive (this emotion seems to happen quite a bit here!) and after a gloriously hot and much needed shower, I was asleep before my head it the pillow I’m quite sure.
I had the school driver drop me off at the office building where the Hash sign-in was being hosted. Yes, I not have a driver!!!! So amazingly exciting. It makes my life SO much easier getting to and from work, and not having to wake up every morning in fear of my pending boda ride! So, I arrived at the Hash, changed into my running clothes, signed in and paid the 6000 Ush fee ($3-4) and took off after the group down Lithuli Ave. I stopped to walk (yes, okay, I’m out of shape!) with a girl named Rachel, a student at Makere University here in Kampala, and ran with her for much of the time. We ran out into the swamp and slum area—over 120 runners, hashers (joggers in Hash speak), and walkers. I managed to stick my left foot into what appeared to be a ditch filled with black tar water, but apparently was more likely to be fermented sheep feces. Awesome.
Mud-flecked (it had poured earlier), sweaty, and exhausted we wound back into the neighborhood and to the office complex. And I must say the set up was quite impressive (and I’m told every week is like this if not even better). There were two big tents set up and water, bananas, watermelon and pineapple upon arrival. After some stretching, the “ceremony” began. For those of you who have never hashed, it’s a bit hard to explain, but basically it’s a grownup running fraternity. On the trails, the hares are the people who make the course and try to trick all the runners by misleading them with marks until they find their way finally—like a treasure hunt for beer.
At the ceremony, they usually get berated by the disgruntled runners and forced to drink copious amounts of beer, along with those who are accused of other violations of sorts—talking too much, walking when they shouldn’t, general misbehaving. Oh, and everyone has inappropriate official nicknames (I will leave these to the imagination) if they are repeat runners, so it really is like a frat! Also at the ceremony, newcomers get introduced—including me of course! So I had to stand up on a crate, say my name, where I’m from, what I do in Uganda, if I’m single, and what my cell number is (um, I did NOT answer that one). Then I said who had made me come to the run—that would be Tim, a friend of Amy’s who she put me in touch with about the hash. Together, each newcomer and our sponsers chugged a beer as they chanted some song that was probably inappropriate song though I couldn’t quite make out the words.
Then we were treated to a small catered dinner of kebabs, roasted potatoes, veggies, as well as liquor, beer, and coke—I stuck to the nonalcoholic beverages post chugging of beer. I sat with some Ugandans for a while who were very nice and said I’d see them next week, and promised to be back next week. At this point it was now pouring and it was time to figure out a way home—ah, the perennial dilemma. Boda time! So I walked to the gas station (yes, sadly the landmark of my neighborhood is the Shell station—everyone in town knows where Shell Bugulobi is), and bargained for a ride down the avenue for 1500 Ush. Perched on the back, bracing my legs and bag, clutching my bag, and with my small black umbrella raised in one hand we skidded down the wet road in what felt like torrential downpour as we were driving directly into the rain with speed. I arrived back at my house grateful to be alive (this emotion seems to happen quite a bit here!) and after a gloriously hot and much needed shower, I was asleep before my head it the pillow I’m quite sure.
Monday, October 22, 2007
De Nile
Excuse my cheesy title, but sometimes I have these moments when I’m here where I have to pinch myself and remind myself where I am. I will literally say audibly to myself, “Oh my gosh, I am in Africa.” There are times when I feel like I’ve stepped out of a Save the Children documentary and then there are times when I feel like I’ve stepped into paradise, because Uganda is most often breathtakingly beautiful. Then land is so green, with lush forests and banana trees that grow wildly, rolling hills and views of Lake Victoria, or in the case of Jinja—also the famed Nile. Jinja is, in fact, the home to the “Source of the Nile” or so it claims. The Nile flows out of Lake Victoria and north towards Egypt at the junction that makes up Jinja, and thanks to that there is some spectacular water and therefore, spectacular water sports—namely, rafting and kayaking. I had a chance to experience these this past weekend in Jinja.
I drove to Jinja with Amy on Saturday late morning which is about an hour and a half from Kampala. It would be far less if not for some pretty horrendous roads, or “roads” as I prefer to refer to them usually. Amy drove us to Bujugali Falls when we arrived near town. It is a beautiful overlook of falls on the Nile, as well as the site of Nile River Rafting, one of four rafting companies in Jinja. Amy used to work for a rafting company there, so she knows many of the rafting guides, and she was there to visit them. After a Tusker beer overlooking the Nile, we grabbed lunch in town on the main street. Jinja is much smaller than Kampala. Perhaps a Charlottesville to Washington, DC—though not really at all of course! Jinja lacks many services but is quieter and has less traffic and more fresh air, so it’s a great, quick getaway. Then we headed to Nile River Resort to use the pool—and the swim-up bar. It was a beautiful day and we met up with some of her friends to lounge on the cushioned chairs, swim in the pool on a terrace overlooking the Nile with thatched roof huts and palm trees. Not bad!
After a few hours there, we took a walk to the Source of the Nile and had a drink there, sitting right on the bank as the sun went down. We showered and got ready (not too ready—apparently water supply is just as precarious in Jinja as Kampala if not more so) at Amy’s friend’s house where we were crashing, and headed back to the NRE campsite and bar to watch the big World Cup Rugby Final—England vs. South Africa that was being projected on a big screen—and feast on barbeque. South Africa pulled out the win, leaving the Brits (I was for them) in a sad state, but you would know from the atmosphere. It was just an awesome, lively spot.
The next morning we relaxed and Amy and I tried to convince ourselves that whitewater kayaking was a reasonable decision, because that is what we had made a plan to do the previous day. So a group of 8 of us went to pick up a few kayaks, tandem kayaks (for Amy and I and our respective guides) and a raft. We rented a truck and loaded all the supplies in with the raft on top and all climbed in for a bumpy ride to the take off point on the River. We arrived and I clambered into the front seat of my tandem kayak with one of the guys (my guide) in the back seat. I was strapped in with a lifejacket, helmet, and rubber wetsuit-like waist jacket that snapped over hole I was sitting in in the hopes of keeping water out. Yeah, that didn’t really happen. The first rapid and I “swam,” basically a term for messing up. The rapids look quite scary from outside, but when you’re in them—wow, I am just in awe of the power of masses of water. It was simply terrifying. We rolled under, and after a few seconds of water pounding my head, I pulled the safety strap and freed myself from my kayak cage (as did my guide) only to rise above the water and be pummeled by rapids. After swallowing lots of water, I finally emerged from the rapid and was picked up by the others in the big red raft. We caught our breath and got back in the kayak to try again. After some paddling, and meeting up with some other kayakers out on the river (one who is apparently the #4 kayaker in the world!), we headed for the next rapid. And yep, I swam again. This time I thought I might die. Just for a split second, but boy, is that enough. We were about a third of the way through the rapid and rolled, and I just panic and pulled my safety strap just a second before my guide was about to roll us back upright. Too late. Those waves were massive. I sputtered and tried to catch my breath and was pummeled by another one crashing mercilessly down on me. I finally emerged at the other end sputtering, and was hoisted into the raft once more.
After that one, I decided to take a go at rafting for a bit. I was with my guide and two Americans (one from Washington State and one from Lousiana) who work for a travel rafting company and have rafted trips all over, including Chile, and have two coming up in India and New Zealand (hmmm, maybe I should become a rafting guide…don’t worry, Mom, I’m clearly not really cut out for that!). We chatted, drank some beers, and hit the next two rapids, which were excellent, and I did not swim—hooray!! Amy meanwhile was doing much better than myself and she and her guide had not swam once. But her nerves had had enough all the same, so she swapped with me and I took one more go at whitewater kayaking. And on this last rapid of the day, The Nile Special, we made it! I only remember a few moments of terror, and actually it really is such a rush of adrenaline that in retrospect the whole day was a lot of fun. But let’s just say I’m glad I lived to tell about it. We climbed out of the kayak onto the rocky bank to watch the single kayakers “surf” the Nile Special. And were they impressive! Each would tow themselves out into the middle of the rapid waves with a towrope and then spend up to a minute or two riding the waves and maneuvering turns and riding the crest before dropping back. I wish I were brave enough to want to do that, but I just don’t think I really am! It does look like an amazing thrill though.
At the end of our journey, we landed at a small island called the Hairy Lemon. This lodge is a legend in Jinja and it really is such a beautiful serene spot—a tiny green gem with banda, a bar area, and flowered landscaping. We had a drink and then headed back to meet our truck that carried us and all the equipment back to Jinja in the moonlight. I was exhausted and bruised but very content, and happy to head back for some pizza, Jinja style (the restaurant had shut down their ovens as it was late and cooked them over a charcoal flame—not bad considering!) and sleep so that we could drive back at the crack of dawn this morning for work. And now I have a case of the Mundays—I want the weekend back!
I drove to Jinja with Amy on Saturday late morning which is about an hour and a half from Kampala. It would be far less if not for some pretty horrendous roads, or “roads” as I prefer to refer to them usually. Amy drove us to Bujugali Falls when we arrived near town. It is a beautiful overlook of falls on the Nile, as well as the site of Nile River Rafting, one of four rafting companies in Jinja. Amy used to work for a rafting company there, so she knows many of the rafting guides, and she was there to visit them. After a Tusker beer overlooking the Nile, we grabbed lunch in town on the main street. Jinja is much smaller than Kampala. Perhaps a Charlottesville to Washington, DC—though not really at all of course! Jinja lacks many services but is quieter and has less traffic and more fresh air, so it’s a great, quick getaway. Then we headed to Nile River Resort to use the pool—and the swim-up bar. It was a beautiful day and we met up with some of her friends to lounge on the cushioned chairs, swim in the pool on a terrace overlooking the Nile with thatched roof huts and palm trees. Not bad!
After a few hours there, we took a walk to the Source of the Nile and had a drink there, sitting right on the bank as the sun went down. We showered and got ready (not too ready—apparently water supply is just as precarious in Jinja as Kampala if not more so) at Amy’s friend’s house where we were crashing, and headed back to the NRE campsite and bar to watch the big World Cup Rugby Final—England vs. South Africa that was being projected on a big screen—and feast on barbeque. South Africa pulled out the win, leaving the Brits (I was for them) in a sad state, but you would know from the atmosphere. It was just an awesome, lively spot.
The next morning we relaxed and Amy and I tried to convince ourselves that whitewater kayaking was a reasonable decision, because that is what we had made a plan to do the previous day. So a group of 8 of us went to pick up a few kayaks, tandem kayaks (for Amy and I and our respective guides) and a raft. We rented a truck and loaded all the supplies in with the raft on top and all climbed in for a bumpy ride to the take off point on the River. We arrived and I clambered into the front seat of my tandem kayak with one of the guys (my guide) in the back seat. I was strapped in with a lifejacket, helmet, and rubber wetsuit-like waist jacket that snapped over hole I was sitting in in the hopes of keeping water out. Yeah, that didn’t really happen. The first rapid and I “swam,” basically a term for messing up. The rapids look quite scary from outside, but when you’re in them—wow, I am just in awe of the power of masses of water. It was simply terrifying. We rolled under, and after a few seconds of water pounding my head, I pulled the safety strap and freed myself from my kayak cage (as did my guide) only to rise above the water and be pummeled by rapids. After swallowing lots of water, I finally emerged from the rapid and was picked up by the others in the big red raft. We caught our breath and got back in the kayak to try again. After some paddling, and meeting up with some other kayakers out on the river (one who is apparently the #4 kayaker in the world!), we headed for the next rapid. And yep, I swam again. This time I thought I might die. Just for a split second, but boy, is that enough. We were about a third of the way through the rapid and rolled, and I just panic and pulled my safety strap just a second before my guide was about to roll us back upright. Too late. Those waves were massive. I sputtered and tried to catch my breath and was pummeled by another one crashing mercilessly down on me. I finally emerged at the other end sputtering, and was hoisted into the raft once more.
After that one, I decided to take a go at rafting for a bit. I was with my guide and two Americans (one from Washington State and one from Lousiana) who work for a travel rafting company and have rafted trips all over, including Chile, and have two coming up in India and New Zealand (hmmm, maybe I should become a rafting guide…don’t worry, Mom, I’m clearly not really cut out for that!). We chatted, drank some beers, and hit the next two rapids, which were excellent, and I did not swim—hooray!! Amy meanwhile was doing much better than myself and she and her guide had not swam once. But her nerves had had enough all the same, so she swapped with me and I took one more go at whitewater kayaking. And on this last rapid of the day, The Nile Special, we made it! I only remember a few moments of terror, and actually it really is such a rush of adrenaline that in retrospect the whole day was a lot of fun. But let’s just say I’m glad I lived to tell about it. We climbed out of the kayak onto the rocky bank to watch the single kayakers “surf” the Nile Special. And were they impressive! Each would tow themselves out into the middle of the rapid waves with a towrope and then spend up to a minute or two riding the waves and maneuvering turns and riding the crest before dropping back. I wish I were brave enough to want to do that, but I just don’t think I really am! It does look like an amazing thrill though.
At the end of our journey, we landed at a small island called the Hairy Lemon. This lodge is a legend in Jinja and it really is such a beautiful serene spot—a tiny green gem with banda, a bar area, and flowered landscaping. We had a drink and then headed back to meet our truck that carried us and all the equipment back to Jinja in the moonlight. I was exhausted and bruised but very content, and happy to head back for some pizza, Jinja style (the restaurant had shut down their ovens as it was late and cooked them over a charcoal flame—not bad considering!) and sleep so that we could drive back at the crack of dawn this morning for work. And now I have a case of the Mundays—I want the weekend back!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Loooooonely, I’m Miss Lonelyyyyyyyyyyyy
This, of course, is absolutely not true. I’m definitely more of a people person, and after too much time alone I start to go a bit crazy. But to be honest, I’m quite content usually that I came here alone. There are pros and cons to traveling with someone else versus solo, but I’m grateful for man of the pros: mainly, be able to do whatever I want, when I want to without asking permission. It’s pretty great. That, and there is priceless satisfaction that comes when you successfully maneuver a complicated new situation all one your own (although one dare not get cocky as someone is probably lurking around the corner ready to steal your wallet!).
The downside of course, is that you’re very much alone. And you have to make friends, seriously—like, middle school cafeteria-style. Well, geez, nothing could be that bad. But you really do need to put yourself out there if you want to get anywhere. So I’ve been forcing myself to make that little bit of extra effort, even when I really don’t feel like it. I essentially invited myself on Pia and Mette’s chimp vacation, which they were actually totally happy about (I think it mixed up their doubles monotony!) and ended up having such a great time.
And, I’ve now been on not one, but two “blind dates” with someone who knows someone. And they’ve been pretty fun actually. When you just give yourself over to the fact that any muzungu here is a bit isolated in some sense just because they stand out, then it’s really pretty easy to connect with people. And you soon realize that everyone here knows everyone else—especially in the ex-pat community. I had dinner with a friend of a publishing friend of mine two weeks ago (thanks, Katherine!). She is living here with her husband who works for a foundation here and writing. We talked about New York and the food we missed there—there’s a lot! In the small world department, a woman who works for the ambassador who I had contacted about Yom Kippur services in Kampala also recommended that I get in touch with her when she heard I had been working in publishing in NY. Yep, already done that I said! Then last night, I had no plans, so I just texted this American girl who is volunteering through the same organization that Judy and Lew, the American couple who just left MPK, volunteered through. She has only been here one week, and so frankly, just being new to Kampala gives you plenty of material to talk about (and reminisce about the US ;) )
So, I’m getting the hang of this. It’s not easy at times, but it’s good practice for life really. And now, my housemate, Amy, has invited me along for a trip to Jinja—so of course I said yes! Have a great weekend!
The downside of course, is that you’re very much alone. And you have to make friends, seriously—like, middle school cafeteria-style. Well, geez, nothing could be that bad. But you really do need to put yourself out there if you want to get anywhere. So I’ve been forcing myself to make that little bit of extra effort, even when I really don’t feel like it. I essentially invited myself on Pia and Mette’s chimp vacation, which they were actually totally happy about (I think it mixed up their doubles monotony!) and ended up having such a great time.
And, I’ve now been on not one, but two “blind dates” with someone who knows someone. And they’ve been pretty fun actually. When you just give yourself over to the fact that any muzungu here is a bit isolated in some sense just because they stand out, then it’s really pretty easy to connect with people. And you soon realize that everyone here knows everyone else—especially in the ex-pat community. I had dinner with a friend of a publishing friend of mine two weeks ago (thanks, Katherine!). She is living here with her husband who works for a foundation here and writing. We talked about New York and the food we missed there—there’s a lot! In the small world department, a woman who works for the ambassador who I had contacted about Yom Kippur services in Kampala also recommended that I get in touch with her when she heard I had been working in publishing in NY. Yep, already done that I said! Then last night, I had no plans, so I just texted this American girl who is volunteering through the same organization that Judy and Lew, the American couple who just left MPK, volunteered through. She has only been here one week, and so frankly, just being new to Kampala gives you plenty of material to talk about (and reminisce about the US ;) )
So, I’m getting the hang of this. It’s not easy at times, but it’s good practice for life really. And now, my housemate, Amy, has invited me along for a trip to Jinja—so of course I said yes! Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A Matatu and A Movie
Ah, yes, where was I?
The experience was made only more hilarious by what happened about a couple hours down the road. The driver and conductor of the matatu clearly go wind that there were traffic controllers up ahead. They stopped the taxi, made 5 people get out and take a boda past the traffic controllers. The conductor paid the boda drivers and those 5 people loaded back into the taxi. Ah, the sweet smell of corruption. “So why do those traffic controllers even stand there if people just find a way around it?” I asked to no one in particular. “So they can have a job,” the woman next to me responded. Yes, that makes sense I guess.
Then it was time for the halfway “meat skewer in the face” which was made even more special because we were in a lower vehicle where the vendors could actually reach into the van and place the food practically in your lap. Aside from these incidences, the trip was consumed by some iPod listening and Harry Potter reading, as we braced ourselves against seats and each other as the matatu drove like a bat out of hell. But the ride was quick and we arrived in Kampala just after 4. I went home, took one of the dogs, Chiara, out for a run in my neighborhood (a very active weekend for a change!) and then crashed.
That’s right, the matatu ride from hell. Well, not exactly that bad, but I think I could die happy never doing that again—especially because more than once I thought I would maybe not make it back to Kampala alive. Pia, Mette, and I took a special hire taxi back into the town of Fort Portal after our lovely morning of money watching only to see the Kalita bus driving back to Kampala fully loaded. We could either wait for the next bus, which could take hours to load, or take a chance on a matatu. Our drive flagged one down, which was practically empty, so we decided to go for it. Big mistake! Just one short trip down the road and we were loading up to capacity—strike that: beyond capacity. Matatus are licensed to hold 14 passangers in its four rows, plus one up front with the driver. We had 24 (19 adults and 5 children). Just lovely! Pia, Mette, and I just gave each other weary looks as we crammed into the back row, sharing it with a rather large woman and her young son on her lap. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but there was not other option at this point, so we readied ourselves for a hot, sticky (plastic covered seats do NOT make for an enjoyable ride) long drive back to Kampala.
The experience was made only more hilarious by what happened about a couple hours down the road. The driver and conductor of the matatu clearly go wind that there were traffic controllers up ahead. They stopped the taxi, made 5 people get out and take a boda past the traffic controllers. The conductor paid the boda drivers and those 5 people loaded back into the taxi. Ah, the sweet smell of corruption. “So why do those traffic controllers even stand there if people just find a way around it?” I asked to no one in particular. “So they can have a job,” the woman next to me responded. Yes, that makes sense I guess.
Then it was time for the halfway “meat skewer in the face” which was made even more special because we were in a lower vehicle where the vendors could actually reach into the van and place the food practically in your lap. Aside from these incidences, the trip was consumed by some iPod listening and Harry Potter reading, as we braced ourselves against seats and each other as the matatu drove like a bat out of hell. But the ride was quick and we arrived in Kampala just after 4. I went home, took one of the dogs, Chiara, out for a run in my neighborhood (a very active weekend for a change!) and then crashed.
After such an outback weekend, I was more than happy to join Mette for a first-world evening on Tuesday at Garden City, an open-air mall in Kampala central that is about as close to first-world as you can get here. It’s a very muzungu place, and that’s just what I needed for a change! We grabbed some Lebanese food at the food court that overlooks the golf course that is right in the center of the city. Then we did a little shopping at Banana Boat, a craft store, where I bought a woven basket shoulder bag, scarf, and earrings, and then went to see a movie, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. Not necessarily a movie I would go see in the States, but here, it was just what I needed. A silly, stupid, funny Adam Sandler flick. Not much thinking required, cheap popcorn, and some gummy candy. Then we grabbed some ice cream (soft serve! Oh, Tasti D I, miss you!) and then visited a café called New York Kitchen where they sell bagels, potato pancakes, etc! Mette got a cinnabun to top off our gluttonous evening, and I settled on a bag of bagel chips, thereby complete undoing the healthy weekend, but sometimes you just need a break! But then it was back to reality with a matatu and boda ride home!
Monday, October 15, 2007
A Day with the Chimps!
On Friday morning, after a rather frantic rush to the bus park in Kampala to meet up with Pia and Mette with plenty of money and cell phone issues to boot, I was not prepared for the journey ahead of us. We boarded the Kalita bus (i.e. Greyhound) for Fort Portal, the largest town in proximity to Kibale National Forest where we were planning on going on a chimp trek the following morning at 8am. First of all, the bus waits until it fills up, so while in theory it leaves on the hour, it doesn’t really. So we waited while the 11am bus waited until nearly 12 to be full of passengers (some even squeezing on to stand) seated in narrow plastic covered seats, no seatbelts or reclining, mind you. We took off, or should I say, stalled in the heavy Kampala traffic (it is truly a sight to behold) and finally climbed out of the city on narrow dirt roads. About two hours later, we reached the halfway point. Little did I know what this held in store. Men and women came hurtling over with shallow women baskets filled with meat skewers, chipati, bottles of water and soda, fried bananas, and more, shoving them up literally in my face, at the windows were the sole source of “air conditioning.” Later along the journey, two men came running over at a short stop to trying and selling live chickens—I’m not even kidding. It was unreal.We finally arrived around 5pm and hired a special hire in the pouring rain to take us to Primate Lodge, our accommodation in Kibale National Forest where we had made a reservation. Pia, Mette, and I shared a small banda hut with two single beds that we pushed together to from a luxurious sleeping arrangement ;) After a warm, well-deserved dinner, we played some Yahtzee (patiently taught to me by the Danes) and passed out before 10, exhausted from the journey and all of those meat skewer assaults.
We woke up at 6am the next day to a nice hot breakfast and walked down the visitors center that was just a few steps outside of our lodge, incredibly convenient! Luckily, they were not all booked for the morning chimp trek, so we signed up for one, coughed up the $95 fee each that included a guide and the park fee and went back to our lodge for a cup of tea. At 8am, we received a short briefing from the park guides and then set off with our guide into the dense forest. There was plenty of beautiful thick foliage, dank black mud, and paths of red ants which we were careful to avoid. After about 15 minutes of edging past muddy ruts and over mild
ewed wood slab bridges, our guide motioned for us to follow and pointed up and listen. First we heard the chimp calls, low shrieks, then loud rustling of trees. Then there was the sight of a large hairy black lump dangling in the tree. From then, three hours passed quickly with plenty of squeals (yes, I definitely squealed with glee a few times) as we watched the chimps swing, climb, and gorge on leaves. Then there were the chimp babies which were just adorable. I’ll let the pictures do the talking (when they’re all load that is—soon I hope!)
ewed wood slab bridges, our guide motioned for us to follow and pointed up and listen. First we heard the chimp calls, low shrieks, then loud rustling of trees. Then there was the sight of a large hairy black lump dangling in the tree. From then, three hours passed quickly with plenty of squeals (yes, I definitely squealed with glee a few times) as we watched the chimps swing, climb, and gorge on leaves. Then there were the chimp babies which were just adorable. I’ll let the pictures do the talking (when they’re all load that is—soon I hope!) 
Later that afternoon, I hiked along the Crater Lakes with a couple locals. I met this guy Benjamin on the bus to Kibale (Pia and Mette were sitting behind me) and seeing as he was the only other muzungu on the bus, we struck up conversation. Turns out he was French, had come to Uganda about 5 years ago to do logistics (nice and vague) for Doctors Without Borders, and then bought land on one of the crater lakes in the west of the country and moved out there. So after our early morning chimp trek, we had bummed a ride out of the National Park with these two other tourists and stopped at place called Chimpanzee Lodge for lunch (Great avocado salads and chipatis! The avocados here are incredible—probably three times the size of the ones you can find in the States) when who should we run into: Benjamin! He was having coffee with his friend, Victor, whose family owns the lodge. Small western Uganda! Pia and Mette were in need of an afternoon siesta, so I took Ben and Victor up on their offer to give a local tour of the nearby crater lakes, all of which are incredibly beautiful. The walk was up some serious steep hills (boy am I out of shape!) and afforded some spectacular views over up to three crater lakes in a row, surrounded by lush green landscape, reminiscent to me of Tuscany—nothing wrong with that! At one point torrential rains arrived (it’s the rainy season) so we pulled over and stoped in this thatched roof hut to wait out the heaviest rain, and helped the women inside who were shucking beans.
Ben lives in this one room brick house, but owns a large plot of land that runs down to the edge of one of the lakes. But boy, I think I would just go crazy if I lived out there—it is really quite remote. ThenBen and Victor escorted me to my campsite, this one on Lake Nkurbura, where I joined Pia and Mette. After some dinner and Yahtzee crashed early so we could get up for an early morning walk and to see all the monkeys that were jumping and playing in the trees above our banda. We watched them over breakfast of Nutella pancakes. Sweet life :)
Then there was the long trip back via matatu. Um, this needs full explanation, but my internet café is closing for the evening, so I will be sure to fill in the gaps later. Goodnight!!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Shake It
Boy, do these kids know how to shake it. Today was the last day for Lew and Judy, an older volunteer couple who has been working at MPK for nearly three months. Lew has been working on the strategic plan for the organization, while Judy has been creating a curriculum proposal. In honor of their departure, the school put on quite a show to thank them for their hard work. The celebration was set to start at 2pm, but did not get underway until almost 4 (Did I mention they operate on “Ugandan time” here? Slightly worse than Jewish time, and often only slight better than “Old Laura” time!) and when until just after 6pm. There were speeches, comedic dramatizations (inside jokes which I was definitely on the outside of), and most impressively, lots of dance! There were several choreographed dances, and then even a little freestyle dance time for the children up on stage. One group of dancers was older women, all of whom are HIV+. It’s amazing that they can still maintain such strength and stamina and joy on their faces and dance with such power. I made a goodbye banner for Judy and Lew (along with Veronika, a new volunteer who has joined MPK—a gap year student from Germany) and had all the students sign it. All in all, it’s sad to see them go, as they were surrogate parents of sorts for my first three weeks here. But I’m sure I will be seeing them around Friendship Heights soon enough.
Now I’m off for the weekend to go chimpanzee trekking out west in Kibale National Forest! Full report on Monday :)
Now I’m off for the weekend to go chimpanzee trekking out west in Kibale National Forest! Full report on Monday :)
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
A No Good, Horrible, Very Bad (Couple of) Day(s)
So, I’m there--I've hit the travel wall: I want to go home.
This is a doosy of a post, so stop now if you’re in a good mood. At the moment, I’m pretty much ready to pack of my bags—um, bag—and go home, or at least head to Australia or someplace first-world, where I can drink the water. I’m just feeling SO OVER IT. How did I get to this point? A top ten list of sorts, but in chronological order:
1) I woke up with a stomach/body ache and bathroom issues early Sunday morning
2) After a long drive to the town of Budaka (to see a girls’ boarding school with my cousin—this was a highlight in an unfortunate 72 hours) I tried to eat some rice and potatoes and half a banana after eating nothing all day due to nausea and threw up violently
3) After another long drive home on Monday, I actually had quite a nice meeting at Femwrite (an organization that works to foster writing in Uganda, especially among women) and dinner at Judy and Lew’s, but then had a find a way home. I boda-ed it, which was fine. Although after I’m sure the boda driver tried to swindle me with a price of 4000 Ush (a little over $2), he was then quite upset with how far away I live and I think HE felt cheated and tried to ask for more.
4) Woke up again feeling not so great, pulled myself together and walked the half-an-hour to an bar with internet. Only to find my laptop battery power dying and I had brought all the pieces but the converter. UUUGGGH.
5) So I checked what little I could, then went to meet Pia and Medde (the two other young volunteers at Meeting Point) and one of the teachers, Joseph, to go to an international trade show. I didn’t have any money left, and tried to go to an ATM, which was broken of course. I walked to the show grounds, got out some money, and by that time Pia, Medde, and Joseph had already gone into the show.
6) So I waited in a mercilessly long line where the security guards only purpose seemed to be coming around to sell tickets to anyone who was willing to pay a heightened price—which it was hard not to be after standing in one place for over an hour. So that just meant that anyone who waited in line would be there practically forever, while people butt in front of you and the line inched forward into a mob ahead. So, I was bad—and this probably accounted for bad karma and thus #7, but I went up to the gate and said my friends had gone in with my ticket, and begged to have them let me buy one right then. It worked. So an hour and a half of waiting in line and I was into the show grounds and met up with Pia, Medde, and Joe.
7) Then here’s real downfall of the days: I had walked over to buy some mango juice with Medde who was on my left, and as I reached down to unzip my messenger bag and take out my wallet, I saw it was open—with no wallet and no camera inside as they had been moments earlier. Panic set it, but there were just THOUSANDS of people, and there was no way I was going to recover them. AAAAGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHH!!! There were no words. Or actually, there are many, but none appropriate to type here. Someone must have been tracking me, which is not hard to do has I was one of about 10 white people in a sea of thousands of black faces—blending in is not easy.
So I called my cousin, Kim, and asked her to call my mother in the US and tell her all of my credit cards needed to be cancelled. I lost the equivalent of about $20 in cash, so that could have been a lot worse. But my US driver’s license and international youth travel card were stolen, as were my lovely pink wallet that was a birthday gift from my good friend, Leslie (sorry, my dear—apparently you should stop buying presents for me!), and my great new Canon powershot camera. I had quite a few of pictures on it, but nothing to important, nor ones that I other people probably don’t have similar ones. But, boy, was I frustrated, raging angry, self loathing, despairing, just that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Alternating for feeling utterly foolish to outrage, thinking, “I came here to help this country, paying my own way to be here, and this is how I’m treated?!” I just kept begging people around me if they’d seen anything, replaying the situation over and over, but in the end, the only real choice left is to give in and force yourself to look at the brightside. I still have my life and my health, most importantly, as well as my passport, my cell phone, my international drivers license, and another larger digital camera that has better zoom (now I’m very glad I thought to bring two!).
8) Pia, Medde, and Joe were so nice, and just comforted me—I don’t know what I would have done without them. My mother called and said she had cancelled all the cards, so that was good. But I was trying to explain everything, and the call kept breaking up. Geez, give me a break! So we gave up and agreed to talk later. I went out for some pizza with the others, and they paid for me which was so nice, and lent me some money to take a special hire taxi home. “Go to sleep,” my mother said, and put this very bad day to rest,” which I did…
9) Until I woke up early this morning to pounding rain. After finishing Harry Potter, Book 2, I got dressed quickly so I could get an early ride with Amy halfway to the school. We got in the car and it wouldn’t start. Oy vey. She called the mechanic, who said he was on his way. Half an hour later, he was still not there. Amy phoned and he was still 30 min away.
10) So I decided I better just walk. With my big tan poncho over myself, my shoulder bag, and my umbrella, I started on the hour long walk, along the muddy sides of the streets, with cars and bodas swerving by me, trying to narrowly avoid sprays of red muddy water. I finally arrived at the school for a good sob in the bathroom. Good morning, Kampala!
I want to go home, boy do I, but of course I’m not going to (I don't have a plane ticket for one ;) ). Nope, now’s the time to pull out all those cliches: when the going gets tough, the tough get going, etc., and try to convince myself that I’m TOUGH even though I’m downright positive I’m an utter weakling and fool and just push on through; I must give myself pep talks (or make my mother give me some) about how this kind of thing is character building, makes you a better person, blah, blah, blahhhhhhhhhh.
But then, a funny thing just happened. Lew brought two children from P-1, Cynthia and Innocent (a boy), up to the volunteer office where I am typing this up to blow off some steam before I begin to prepare an art class on making Ugandan flags. He had to go get some extra materials for his lesson, and they just sat there staring at my laptop so I beckoned them over. They were mesmerized, and so I showed them some pictures I had saved on the desktop—an elephant, a picture of baby Kenzie, etc. they smiled broadly and giggled. “They’re wonderful,” said Cynthia. “Where is your mother?” So I found one and showed them a picture I had taken of my mother just before I left. And then one of my father. “Wonderful,” Cynthia said again softly with her rolling Luganda accent. Now how’s that for some immediate perspective. Here are these kids who return to leaking mudhuts or shanty tin shacks every evening, or the orphanage, to one or two sick parents, or possibly none at all, just a sister or aunt. I am sitting typing on my laptop, and in the background of the pictures of my smiling parents (who are endlessly supportive and loving and believe in me--even when I mess up time and time again), a warm and lovely home filled with reminders of a happy, comfortable childhood. I may have been really “unlucky” yesterday, but in the game of life, I have really lucked out so much more than one can hope. It's good to be reminded of all that you have, and it will be what keeps me here to try to impart some benefit from the great luck I've had to these children, no matter how small.
This is a doosy of a post, so stop now if you’re in a good mood. At the moment, I’m pretty much ready to pack of my bags—um, bag—and go home, or at least head to Australia or someplace first-world, where I can drink the water. I’m just feeling SO OVER IT. How did I get to this point? A top ten list of sorts, but in chronological order:
1) I woke up with a stomach/body ache and bathroom issues early Sunday morning
2) After a long drive to the town of Budaka (to see a girls’ boarding school with my cousin—this was a highlight in an unfortunate 72 hours) I tried to eat some rice and potatoes and half a banana after eating nothing all day due to nausea and threw up violently
3) After another long drive home on Monday, I actually had quite a nice meeting at Femwrite (an organization that works to foster writing in Uganda, especially among women) and dinner at Judy and Lew’s, but then had a find a way home. I boda-ed it, which was fine. Although after I’m sure the boda driver tried to swindle me with a price of 4000 Ush (a little over $2), he was then quite upset with how far away I live and I think HE felt cheated and tried to ask for more.
4) Woke up again feeling not so great, pulled myself together and walked the half-an-hour to an bar with internet. Only to find my laptop battery power dying and I had brought all the pieces but the converter. UUUGGGH.
5) So I checked what little I could, then went to meet Pia and Medde (the two other young volunteers at Meeting Point) and one of the teachers, Joseph, to go to an international trade show. I didn’t have any money left, and tried to go to an ATM, which was broken of course. I walked to the show grounds, got out some money, and by that time Pia, Medde, and Joseph had already gone into the show.
6) So I waited in a mercilessly long line where the security guards only purpose seemed to be coming around to sell tickets to anyone who was willing to pay a heightened price—which it was hard not to be after standing in one place for over an hour. So that just meant that anyone who waited in line would be there practically forever, while people butt in front of you and the line inched forward into a mob ahead. So, I was bad—and this probably accounted for bad karma and thus #7, but I went up to the gate and said my friends had gone in with my ticket, and begged to have them let me buy one right then. It worked. So an hour and a half of waiting in line and I was into the show grounds and met up with Pia, Medde, and Joe.
7) Then here’s real downfall of the days: I had walked over to buy some mango juice with Medde who was on my left, and as I reached down to unzip my messenger bag and take out my wallet, I saw it was open—with no wallet and no camera inside as they had been moments earlier. Panic set it, but there were just THOUSANDS of people, and there was no way I was going to recover them. AAAAGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHH!!! There were no words. Or actually, there are many, but none appropriate to type here. Someone must have been tracking me, which is not hard to do has I was one of about 10 white people in a sea of thousands of black faces—blending in is not easy.
So I called my cousin, Kim, and asked her to call my mother in the US and tell her all of my credit cards needed to be cancelled. I lost the equivalent of about $20 in cash, so that could have been a lot worse. But my US driver’s license and international youth travel card were stolen, as were my lovely pink wallet that was a birthday gift from my good friend, Leslie (sorry, my dear—apparently you should stop buying presents for me!), and my great new Canon powershot camera. I had quite a few of pictures on it, but nothing to important, nor ones that I other people probably don’t have similar ones. But, boy, was I frustrated, raging angry, self loathing, despairing, just that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Alternating for feeling utterly foolish to outrage, thinking, “I came here to help this country, paying my own way to be here, and this is how I’m treated?!” I just kept begging people around me if they’d seen anything, replaying the situation over and over, but in the end, the only real choice left is to give in and force yourself to look at the brightside. I still have my life and my health, most importantly, as well as my passport, my cell phone, my international drivers license, and another larger digital camera that has better zoom (now I’m very glad I thought to bring two!).
8) Pia, Medde, and Joe were so nice, and just comforted me—I don’t know what I would have done without them. My mother called and said she had cancelled all the cards, so that was good. But I was trying to explain everything, and the call kept breaking up. Geez, give me a break! So we gave up and agreed to talk later. I went out for some pizza with the others, and they paid for me which was so nice, and lent me some money to take a special hire taxi home. “Go to sleep,” my mother said, and put this very bad day to rest,” which I did…
9) Until I woke up early this morning to pounding rain. After finishing Harry Potter, Book 2, I got dressed quickly so I could get an early ride with Amy halfway to the school. We got in the car and it wouldn’t start. Oy vey. She called the mechanic, who said he was on his way. Half an hour later, he was still not there. Amy phoned and he was still 30 min away.
10) So I decided I better just walk. With my big tan poncho over myself, my shoulder bag, and my umbrella, I started on the hour long walk, along the muddy sides of the streets, with cars and bodas swerving by me, trying to narrowly avoid sprays of red muddy water. I finally arrived at the school for a good sob in the bathroom. Good morning, Kampala!
I want to go home, boy do I, but of course I’m not going to (I don't have a plane ticket for one ;) ). Nope, now’s the time to pull out all those cliches: when the going gets tough, the tough get going, etc., and try to convince myself that I’m TOUGH even though I’m downright positive I’m an utter weakling and fool and just push on through; I must give myself pep talks (or make my mother give me some) about how this kind of thing is character building, makes you a better person, blah, blah, blahhhhhhhhhh.
But then, a funny thing just happened. Lew brought two children from P-1, Cynthia and Innocent (a boy), up to the volunteer office where I am typing this up to blow off some steam before I begin to prepare an art class on making Ugandan flags. He had to go get some extra materials for his lesson, and they just sat there staring at my laptop so I beckoned them over. They were mesmerized, and so I showed them some pictures I had saved on the desktop—an elephant, a picture of baby Kenzie, etc. they smiled broadly and giggled. “They’re wonderful,” said Cynthia. “Where is your mother?” So I found one and showed them a picture I had taken of my mother just before I left. And then one of my father. “Wonderful,” Cynthia said again softly with her rolling Luganda accent. Now how’s that for some immediate perspective. Here are these kids who return to leaking mudhuts or shanty tin shacks every evening, or the orphanage, to one or two sick parents, or possibly none at all, just a sister or aunt. I am sitting typing on my laptop, and in the background of the pictures of my smiling parents (who are endlessly supportive and loving and believe in me--even when I mess up time and time again), a warm and lovely home filled with reminders of a happy, comfortable childhood. I may have been really “unlucky” yesterday, but in the game of life, I have really lucked out so much more than one can hope. It's good to be reminded of all that you have, and it will be what keeps me here to try to impart some benefit from the great luck I've had to these children, no matter how small.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Weekend #3
Pia and Medde are the two Danish volunteers who are also working at Meeting Point. They are also 25 and have been friends since grade school. I like them a lot, but was a bit intimidated because they were always together. However, On Friday I invited them to join me at a corporate function that my cousin’s husband has been invited to through work and didn’t have time/want to attend. They said they’d love to go, and invited me to join them for lunch and some by and see their house. We went and got rolexes, and some waters and then I went back to the home they are staying in that is just 5 minutes walk from school. They are living with a single mom who is 24 and her 7 year old daughter (the father apparently left them and lives in the UK), and three cousins age 16, 19, and 21. The apartment has a small living room where all four of the “adults” sleep. Pia and Medde share the bedroom in the back with the little girl. There is a dank bathroom that never has hot water, if it has water at all which it usually does not. There is also a tiny kitchen with a sink and fridge that has cockroaches scurrying around. The stove is a small charcoal cooker that is kept out in the cement courtyard where clothes are strung. I was so awed at their courage to live there in those conditions. I’m not sure I would. But they have come to really know and like the family and so they have dealt with the circumstances as best they can, while longing I’m sure for the one bedroom apartments they each have in Copenhagen.
So they were certainly looking forward to the event Friday evening, and it didn’t disappoint. There was an open bar (although the fresh mango and watermelon juice was the most exciting part!), passed hor d’oueves, and Blu 3, a top female pop group in Uganda, and a sax player which was all to promote a new luxury housing development in Kampala. It was strange to go from the school to this housing promotion selling top homes to wealthy Ugandans and expats, but we lived it up all the same. We gorged ourselves, took in the music, and enjoyed a bit of luxury until the big white, lit tent. Then Medde went off to meet a friend, and Pia and I took off to meet Amy at Just Kicking, a sports bar in Kisimenti. And….I took my first boda with a driver named Pasco!! Boy, what a thrill. But it was also scary at times. It just fluctuated back and forth from “oh boy!” to “eeek!” but we told them to go slow and we arrived safely.
After a couple drinks there, we headed to another nearby bar, Bubbles O’Leary, a bit of a strange name for a wellknown Irish bar that is popular mainly with the expat crowd—in fact, I didn’t feel like I was in Kampala anymore. Pia crashed at my house, so she could get a hot shower the next morning. Today, I’m cooking with Kim for cookclub, tonight—the theme is Ocktoberfest—so we made pretzels and sausages from scratch!
So they were certainly looking forward to the event Friday evening, and it didn’t disappoint. There was an open bar (although the fresh mango and watermelon juice was the most exciting part!), passed hor d’oueves, and Blu 3, a top female pop group in Uganda, and a sax player which was all to promote a new luxury housing development in Kampala. It was strange to go from the school to this housing promotion selling top homes to wealthy Ugandans and expats, but we lived it up all the same. We gorged ourselves, took in the music, and enjoyed a bit of luxury until the big white, lit tent. Then Medde went off to meet a friend, and Pia and I took off to meet Amy at Just Kicking, a sports bar in Kisimenti. And….I took my first boda with a driver named Pasco!! Boy, what a thrill. But it was also scary at times. It just fluctuated back and forth from “oh boy!” to “eeek!” but we told them to go slow and we arrived safely.
After a couple drinks there, we headed to another nearby bar, Bubbles O’Leary, a bit of a strange name for a wellknown Irish bar that is popular mainly with the expat crowd—in fact, I didn’t feel like I was in Kampala anymore. Pia crashed at my house, so she could get a hot shower the next morning. Today, I’m cooking with Kim for cookclub, tonight—the theme is Ocktoberfest—so we made pretzels and sausages from scratch!
Friday, October 5, 2007
Ups & Downs
So, now I’m having a strange time warp of sorts: part of me feels like I’ve been here in Kampala for ages, and the other part of me feels daily, as though I’ve just arrived last night! But I’m already having trouble keeping all the days straight—thank goodness for this blog! Monday, Monday, what did I do that day?...let’s see….I began making a big brightly colored poster of the alphabet in the morning and in the afternoon I made bugs with P-3. They each got to make a small bug in groups of four—but with almost 60 kids in the class, that was still 15 bugs. That’s the problem really, with so many students in the school (well over 200), there is simply not enough individual attention or supplies to be doled out. I’m trying to conserve supplies so they last, but it is so hard when the children just reach out for one more crayon or one specific color, calling “Madam, please, madam!” The poster—it’s a large cloth hanging really—is meant to bring some color and decoration to the school.
I just moved into my permanent apartment (well, as permanent as any will be this year!) and I will be there into December. It’s in a very nice, quieter section to the east of the city center, called Bugolobi. We have a nice big kitchen, living room and veranda, and I have a nice room with a window, all-important mosquito net, and far too much closet space for the approximately 10 items of clothing that I brought with me. Where was this space when I needed it (NYC)!!! My roommate, Amy, is a Brit expat who moved to Kampala about a year and a half ago and just recently started her on travel agency. She is very lively and has been really sweet helping me get settled. So that’s an up, and here comes a down: I am a bit stuck on transportation. The walk from the new place is about an hour to the school (some of this is passing hairwhipping traffice a mere inches away mind you!) so I’m trying to assess my options between, bicycle (currently needs a repair), bodaboda-ing (safety in question), hitching rides with various people part of the way (this is what I’ve been resorting to the past few days), taking a change driving Amy’s friend’s car that is available for use (I don’t really trust myself), and walking, walking, walking (I’m getting quite good at this!). So there we have it. There is much to sort out still. I had finally gotten my routine down (sort of) after a couple weeks, and now I feel like I’m back to the proverbial drawing board. But such is life, and it always turns out to be a worthwhile experience.
And then of course it is made okay by the fact that this place is still so fascinating to me (not sure if that will ever really change) and there are so many bright spots for all the daily challenges. I was walking back up the hill from school on Tuesday, and a little boy from P-3, Richard, joined me as he was walking in the same direction. He explained to me the games they like to play in the schoolyard: football and a variation on dodgeball for which he didn’t seem to have a good translation. Then he said, quite out of the blue, “You know, my dream is to be a doctor. People in my country are sick and I would like to become a doctor so that I can help them.” Oh my, I had a huge lump in throught! Well, I asked, when did you decide this. “When my father got sick,” he said. “I want to study science and math, so that I can become a doctor.” Oh goodness, if only I could export him to the U.S. so that some students there could see the competition that they are up against! These children here have so little (Richard lives with his aunt and cousins after he left his village a few years ago and was taken into the school by the director) but they still have such an unshakeable spirit that is just awe-inspiring at times.
I just moved into my permanent apartment (well, as permanent as any will be this year!) and I will be there into December. It’s in a very nice, quieter section to the east of the city center, called Bugolobi. We have a nice big kitchen, living room and veranda, and I have a nice room with a window, all-important mosquito net, and far too much closet space for the approximately 10 items of clothing that I brought with me. Where was this space when I needed it (NYC)!!! My roommate, Amy, is a Brit expat who moved to Kampala about a year and a half ago and just recently started her on travel agency. She is very lively and has been really sweet helping me get settled. So that’s an up, and here comes a down: I am a bit stuck on transportation. The walk from the new place is about an hour to the school (some of this is passing hairwhipping traffice a mere inches away mind you!) so I’m trying to assess my options between, bicycle (currently needs a repair), bodaboda-ing (safety in question), hitching rides with various people part of the way (this is what I’ve been resorting to the past few days), taking a change driving Amy’s friend’s car that is available for use (I don’t really trust myself), and walking, walking, walking (I’m getting quite good at this!). So there we have it. There is much to sort out still. I had finally gotten my routine down (sort of) after a couple weeks, and now I feel like I’m back to the proverbial drawing board. But such is life, and it always turns out to be a worthwhile experience.
And then of course it is made okay by the fact that this place is still so fascinating to me (not sure if that will ever really change) and there are so many bright spots for all the daily challenges. I was walking back up the hill from school on Tuesday, and a little boy from P-3, Richard, joined me as he was walking in the same direction. He explained to me the games they like to play in the schoolyard: football and a variation on dodgeball for which he didn’t seem to have a good translation. Then he said, quite out of the blue, “You know, my dream is to be a doctor. People in my country are sick and I would like to become a doctor so that I can help them.” Oh my, I had a huge lump in throught! Well, I asked, when did you decide this. “When my father got sick,” he said. “I want to study science and math, so that I can become a doctor.” Oh goodness, if only I could export him to the U.S. so that some students there could see the competition that they are up against! These children here have so little (Richard lives with his aunt and cousins after he left his village a few years ago and was taken into the school by the director) but they still have such an unshakeable spirit that is just awe-inspiring at times.
Monday, October 1, 2007
An Elephant! A Hippo! A Duck?
On Thursday evening as Kim was tucking Ben into bed, she asked him what animals he was excited about seeing on our safari weekend. A hippo or elephant, she mentioned, to which he agreed, but then also exclaimed excitedly, “A duck?!” What a child of Africa! I’ll take his country’s animals any day over our common place ducks! So while we didn’t quite see any ducks, though there were birds a plenty, our trip up to Murchison Falls proved to be quite enchanting, especially for a safari freshman like myself!
On Friday morning, Kim, David, Ben and I packed up the car and then drove around town a bit stocking up on some essential supplies: food and drinks for the long car ride (it turned out to be very long!) and more importantly, malaria medication! I had not been taking any malaria meds because my doctor in New York told me that I would be there too long for taking the pills to be particularly safe, effective, and practical, not to mention pricey. However, this view is quite controversial, and definitely not common in the US, where they tend to overmedicate rather than undermedicate! I have a treatment pack that I can use should I start to feel the symptoms: high fever, night sweats, generally flu-like condition, which usually appear 10-12 days after one has been infected.
The problem with malaria I am beginning to realize more and more is that there is currently no “right” answer. There are many conflicting viewpoints, research, instructions, etc. Stories range from teachers saying they are staying home because they are sick with malaria (although they most likely just have the flu) to a college student from the UK who returned home after spending a semester in Uganda and began to feel very sick. She dragged herself to several doctors requesting to be tested for and treated for malaria, but all the doctors (less familiar with its symptoms) shrugged off her concerns. She died days later, too weak to insist on proper treatment. But I writing this not to instill panic (Mom, that means you!), but to demonstrate how it really is a case of many unknowns about the best way protect oneself. Malaria is usually spread by mosquitoes from dawn to dusk, and mainly ones that live inside (hence the need for mosquito nets), but as we were venturing to a more risky area, we were in search of some prophylactics. Kim made five phone calls to four different pharmacies and to her friend who is a world renowned malaria expert and received five different answers—not to mention the advice she had received days earlier from her colleague that Murchison Falls was no more risky any area than Kampala (I believe the malaria expert confirmed this to be false). In any case, we spent much of the day stopping at various pharmacies, both in Kampala and en route to Murchison to make sure the meds and dosage were correct and that they were okay for little Ben, etc. It was all slightly unnerving. And there were more nerves to come…
I will admit to a rather weak driving stomach, although by the time I leave here, it will certainly have been toughened up—there’s really no choice in that mater. The roads were bumpy, and the taxis and boda bodas chase each other. When we made it out of the city around midday to the outskirts and country roads, we hit some uneven dirt road, but also many nicely new paved ones. We passed some of the Rwenzori mountain range, and through the towns of Hoima and Masindi, and by 6pm, we were nearing Murchison Falls National Park, and that’s where things got rough. We stopped to pay the entrance fee, and then sped off in search of our lodge. And there we passed my first encounter with African wildlife (aside from the street goats, sheep and cows!), there were baboons and monkeys crossing our dirt road as we bumped along. I let out squeals of glee (really) to the amusement of Kim and David. But soon the sun had set, and the sky was a quickly deepening blue black, and we were driving down a single lane road with 6 foot grasses on either side. And that’s when the roads got bad. There has been much flooding, and the soft clay soil has little hold, and so the road had a huge ridge and then a sunken ditch with lots of variations and divots and huge potholes thrown in. As we drove past small huddles of mud huts and shacks, as people continued to point us on towards our Nile Safari Lodge, I felt my heart start to sink and my distrusting New Yorker self emerge—these people were leading us astray. But luckily, I was in the wrong, and we finally emerged out of the tall grasses at the entrance to the lodge just around 8pm. After a nice dinner with the other car full of friends who had arrived only a couple of hours earlier, we headed to our cabins and mosquito nets to crash for the evening—especially seeing as the lights went out at the camp at 10:30.
We had planned to awake at 5:30 to leave for an extra early game drive the following morning, but mother nature had other plans for us. There was a torrential downpour throughout the night, and a terrific crash of thunder that work me at 4am. I thought, oh this will pass and it will be fine by morning, which in one sense turned out to be true (the rain tapered off) but in another sense was very wrong. Four of us took off with a driver in a 4-wheel drive Prado at 6:30am in hopes of catching a 7am ferry to the north bank of the Nile and then driving around seeing game for a few hours before returning for an afternoon boat ride that had already been scheduled. Unfortunately, the roads were a complete disaster. There were two roads out of the camp, and the one we took was quite insane—it was in fact the same one we had driven in on (the cause of my previous terror) but now like a giant, heaving slip-n-slide, although that makes it sound run and I wasn’t really. Fifteen minutes later, just as one girl, Cecil was telling a story of how her family drove a 2-wheel drive Chrysler and how it got stuck, when exactly at that moment we got, yep, STUCK. It was not pretty. It was still drizzling, and we leapt out of the car and tried pushing, no luck, then we shoved rotting sugar cane stumps from the neighboring fields under the tires for an attempt at traction—still nothing. Don’t panic yet. Some local villagers were asked to come help, and soon we had nearly 20 observers marveling, chuckling, and trying to alleviate the mess that these muzungus had gotten themselves into. But it was no use—even with some 7 or 8 people pushing, that car would not budge. It was now essentially resting on the mound of thick, wet clay, and the wheels spun helplessly. Two hours later, after Dan and Paul had taught some local children a winning variation of ”Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” among other selections, men from our lodge finally appeared with a lifter (sorry, I’m not good on this technical stuff) and lifted the vehicle to freedom, but we were not making out game drive. Ah well, they’ll be others I hope. So we made the best of it, and headed back for a cup of tea and a swim in the lovely pool overlooking the Nile.
The day turned out to be beautiful and sunny, and after a three course lunch of fried tilapia, we packed our bags for our second –well, now first—adventure of the day. We had a private large motored canoe with seats for 14 people for our party of 9, similar to the one I had taken on Lake Victoria. The three hour journey was fabulous. We traveled up to Murchinson Falls and back. And oh my the animals we saw! First there were hippos, from afar, and then our driver sped us closer and closer, until they would sink under water and seem to be swimming, moving their hulking grey bodies towards our boat with impressive speed. There were clumps of 5-20 of them in the water along the grasses of the Nile, and a few sunbathing, including a mother and baby who wandered into the water. Next, and most thrilling for me, came the elephants—a whole herd of them, enormous yet so graceful, flapping their ears and rolling and unrolling their trunks. There were even two babies among the group that trudged to the water’s edge for a cool drink in the hot sun. Then there were wildebeast, warthogs (Pumba!), Ugandan cob (sort of deer/gazelle-like), lots of birds (finches, fisheagles, and brightly colored parrots of brilliant shades of orange, yellow, green and blue), and humongous crocodiles. There were half a dozen of them (each about 30-feet long!) shading themselves under a canopy of trees by the water’s edge, and then an equal number lounging in the shallow water. They did not look friendly.
Then we rounded a bend and the falls came into view—as did the thunderous sound. Our boat lodged on a rock at the closest permissible point and we posed for pictures and opened another beer, etc. The falls are beyond impressive: it is the single most powerful natural water body on Earth. Masses of water are hurled through a gap that is just 7m wide at its narrowest point. It is awe-inspiring. The journey back was filled with more animal spottings, although even I grew surprisingly snobby, and only hippos that were doing something our of the ordinary still elicited my oohs and aahs. We docks back at our lodge and headed to the pool again for a brief swim before another three-course meal. Exhausted from a loooong and eventful day, we all headed to bed early.
On Sunday morning, we packed up and drove up to Murchison Falls, to walk near the top of the Falls. This is no American Park—there are some railings, but not many, and with slippery rocks and crashing water, our group tread carefully. The powerful waterfall sent spray in every direction, soaking us as we posed for pictures and took in the spectacle. Then it was time to pile back in the car for another long, bumpy drive home to Kampala—one that was worth it without a doubt.
I took hundreds of photos that I'd love to share, but of course, have successfully loaded not one as of now. I'm working on this, and will make my blog much prettier as soon as possible! Goodnight!
On Friday morning, Kim, David, Ben and I packed up the car and then drove around town a bit stocking up on some essential supplies: food and drinks for the long car ride (it turned out to be very long!) and more importantly, malaria medication! I had not been taking any malaria meds because my doctor in New York told me that I would be there too long for taking the pills to be particularly safe, effective, and practical, not to mention pricey. However, this view is quite controversial, and definitely not common in the US, where they tend to overmedicate rather than undermedicate! I have a treatment pack that I can use should I start to feel the symptoms: high fever, night sweats, generally flu-like condition, which usually appear 10-12 days after one has been infected.
The problem with malaria I am beginning to realize more and more is that there is currently no “right” answer. There are many conflicting viewpoints, research, instructions, etc. Stories range from teachers saying they are staying home because they are sick with malaria (although they most likely just have the flu) to a college student from the UK who returned home after spending a semester in Uganda and began to feel very sick. She dragged herself to several doctors requesting to be tested for and treated for malaria, but all the doctors (less familiar with its symptoms) shrugged off her concerns. She died days later, too weak to insist on proper treatment. But I writing this not to instill panic (Mom, that means you!), but to demonstrate how it really is a case of many unknowns about the best way protect oneself. Malaria is usually spread by mosquitoes from dawn to dusk, and mainly ones that live inside (hence the need for mosquito nets), but as we were venturing to a more risky area, we were in search of some prophylactics. Kim made five phone calls to four different pharmacies and to her friend who is a world renowned malaria expert and received five different answers—not to mention the advice she had received days earlier from her colleague that Murchison Falls was no more risky any area than Kampala (I believe the malaria expert confirmed this to be false). In any case, we spent much of the day stopping at various pharmacies, both in Kampala and en route to Murchison to make sure the meds and dosage were correct and that they were okay for little Ben, etc. It was all slightly unnerving. And there were more nerves to come…
I will admit to a rather weak driving stomach, although by the time I leave here, it will certainly have been toughened up—there’s really no choice in that mater. The roads were bumpy, and the taxis and boda bodas chase each other. When we made it out of the city around midday to the outskirts and country roads, we hit some uneven dirt road, but also many nicely new paved ones. We passed some of the Rwenzori mountain range, and through the towns of Hoima and Masindi, and by 6pm, we were nearing Murchison Falls National Park, and that’s where things got rough. We stopped to pay the entrance fee, and then sped off in search of our lodge. And there we passed my first encounter with African wildlife (aside from the street goats, sheep and cows!), there were baboons and monkeys crossing our dirt road as we bumped along. I let out squeals of glee (really) to the amusement of Kim and David. But soon the sun had set, and the sky was a quickly deepening blue black, and we were driving down a single lane road with 6 foot grasses on either side. And that’s when the roads got bad. There has been much flooding, and the soft clay soil has little hold, and so the road had a huge ridge and then a sunken ditch with lots of variations and divots and huge potholes thrown in. As we drove past small huddles of mud huts and shacks, as people continued to point us on towards our Nile Safari Lodge, I felt my heart start to sink and my distrusting New Yorker self emerge—these people were leading us astray. But luckily, I was in the wrong, and we finally emerged out of the tall grasses at the entrance to the lodge just around 8pm. After a nice dinner with the other car full of friends who had arrived only a couple of hours earlier, we headed to our cabins and mosquito nets to crash for the evening—especially seeing as the lights went out at the camp at 10:30.
We had planned to awake at 5:30 to leave for an extra early game drive the following morning, but mother nature had other plans for us. There was a torrential downpour throughout the night, and a terrific crash of thunder that work me at 4am. I thought, oh this will pass and it will be fine by morning, which in one sense turned out to be true (the rain tapered off) but in another sense was very wrong. Four of us took off with a driver in a 4-wheel drive Prado at 6:30am in hopes of catching a 7am ferry to the north bank of the Nile and then driving around seeing game for a few hours before returning for an afternoon boat ride that had already been scheduled. Unfortunately, the roads were a complete disaster. There were two roads out of the camp, and the one we took was quite insane—it was in fact the same one we had driven in on (the cause of my previous terror) but now like a giant, heaving slip-n-slide, although that makes it sound run and I wasn’t really. Fifteen minutes later, just as one girl, Cecil was telling a story of how her family drove a 2-wheel drive Chrysler and how it got stuck, when exactly at that moment we got, yep, STUCK. It was not pretty. It was still drizzling, and we leapt out of the car and tried pushing, no luck, then we shoved rotting sugar cane stumps from the neighboring fields under the tires for an attempt at traction—still nothing. Don’t panic yet. Some local villagers were asked to come help, and soon we had nearly 20 observers marveling, chuckling, and trying to alleviate the mess that these muzungus had gotten themselves into. But it was no use—even with some 7 or 8 people pushing, that car would not budge. It was now essentially resting on the mound of thick, wet clay, and the wheels spun helplessly. Two hours later, after Dan and Paul had taught some local children a winning variation of ”Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” among other selections, men from our lodge finally appeared with a lifter (sorry, I’m not good on this technical stuff) and lifted the vehicle to freedom, but we were not making out game drive. Ah well, they’ll be others I hope. So we made the best of it, and headed back for a cup of tea and a swim in the lovely pool overlooking the Nile.
The day turned out to be beautiful and sunny, and after a three course lunch of fried tilapia, we packed our bags for our second –well, now first—adventure of the day. We had a private large motored canoe with seats for 14 people for our party of 9, similar to the one I had taken on Lake Victoria. The three hour journey was fabulous. We traveled up to Murchinson Falls and back. And oh my the animals we saw! First there were hippos, from afar, and then our driver sped us closer and closer, until they would sink under water and seem to be swimming, moving their hulking grey bodies towards our boat with impressive speed. There were clumps of 5-20 of them in the water along the grasses of the Nile, and a few sunbathing, including a mother and baby who wandered into the water. Next, and most thrilling for me, came the elephants—a whole herd of them, enormous yet so graceful, flapping their ears and rolling and unrolling their trunks. There were even two babies among the group that trudged to the water’s edge for a cool drink in the hot sun. Then there were wildebeast, warthogs (Pumba!), Ugandan cob (sort of deer/gazelle-like), lots of birds (finches, fisheagles, and brightly colored parrots of brilliant shades of orange, yellow, green and blue), and humongous crocodiles. There were half a dozen of them (each about 30-feet long!) shading themselves under a canopy of trees by the water’s edge, and then an equal number lounging in the shallow water. They did not look friendly.
Then we rounded a bend and the falls came into view—as did the thunderous sound. Our boat lodged on a rock at the closest permissible point and we posed for pictures and opened another beer, etc. The falls are beyond impressive: it is the single most powerful natural water body on Earth. Masses of water are hurled through a gap that is just 7m wide at its narrowest point. It is awe-inspiring. The journey back was filled with more animal spottings, although even I grew surprisingly snobby, and only hippos that were doing something our of the ordinary still elicited my oohs and aahs. We docks back at our lodge and headed to the pool again for a brief swim before another three-course meal. Exhausted from a loooong and eventful day, we all headed to bed early.
On Sunday morning, we packed up and drove up to Murchison Falls, to walk near the top of the Falls. This is no American Park—there are some railings, but not many, and with slippery rocks and crashing water, our group tread carefully. The powerful waterfall sent spray in every direction, soaking us as we posed for pictures and took in the spectacle. Then it was time to pile back in the car for another long, bumpy drive home to Kampala—one that was worth it without a doubt.
I took hundreds of photos that I'd love to share, but of course, have successfully loaded not one as of now. I'm working on this, and will make my blog much prettier as soon as possible! Goodnight!
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