The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Part 2

We’ll start with "The Ugly" today, I think:
So, I think I’m done here. Not really of course! But I had a moment that evoked one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite episodes of Sex and the City—I’m sorry if you don’t know the reference but I will try to explain. At Charlotte’s second wedding to the awkward but loveable Harry, Miranda gives the toast and then lights her speech on fire with the candle. She tells Carries, “I’ve showed emotion in public, I’ve lit myself on fire—I think I’m ready to go home.” Just then, Charlotte tosses the bouquet and it smacks Miranda on the head as she turns to leave. “Now you’re ready to go home!” Carrie deadpans. Forgive me for that pop culture reference, but it can be so entertaining (It didn’t help that I went over to a friend’s house the other night and watched pirated Sex in the City episodes one after another)!

But I actually felt like stating a similar line, yet so different yesterday: “I been robbed, I’ve been burned by a boda, I’ve been tested for malaria—I think I’m done here.” I think I’ve covered the theft (too much perhaps?), but the boda burn and malaria test are new. On Friday I was riding up one of the many steep hills surrounding the city of Kampala, on my way to Diplomat Hotel with Pia and Medde (sharing a boda behind me) to toast their last day at the school. As my boda-man tried to make a valiant attempt to conquer the final 55-degree angled slope nearing the hotel, our boda lost steam and began to slip backwards. In a panic, I slammed my feet to the ground to keep us from sliding backwards. And there it was—my searing flesh against the hot, silver exhaust pipe. For a moment I was in shock, but I put my hand to the burn and saw my skin crinkle and blister. I pushed at the puckering skin and immediately my tanned skin on the inside of my calf gave way to a silver dollar sized splotch the color of a baby’s bottom. I still paid the guy mind you (hmm, out of shock) and hobbled into the hotel with Pia and Medde calling behind me. After some icing and it felt a little better, and we were able to enjoy the view over the whole city—even a spectacular thunderstorm to boot. But these days, the burn is looking pretty flat-out disgusting. I’ll spare you details (okay, Al, I’ll send you a separate email filled with all the gory goods) but I’m currently walking around with a gauze bandage wrapped around my leg, and getting lots of varying advice from all the many “experts” around town—meaning, everyone who sees my bandage—that is after they find out it’s a boda-burn and nod knowingly. All I can really say is the burn is currently the definition of ugly.

Then a merging of The Ugly and The Very Very Good is the departure of Pia and Medde from Meeting Point. They are off to trek gorillas, hike Mount Kilaminjaro, safari in Tanzania, and lounge on the beach in Zanzibar (jealous, anyone?) before returning to Copenhagen to rejoin the "real world" of midwifery school for Medde and nutritional counseling for Pia. They are truly incredible girls and completely deserve this extended vacation. I'm so happy I got a chance to know them and I'll miss them dearly! But I'll see them soon in Copenhagen or NYC I'm sure!!





Pia with Joan








Medde with Steven





On to "The Good":
Yesterday I was feeling sick with a sore throat and stiff neck, and being newly Ugandan, I immediately assumed that I had malaria. So during a run with a friend here in preparation for the MTN Kampala Half-Marathon on December 9th (I signed up just last week!), I mentioned this and he suggested we drop by the 24-hour clinic in Bugolobi center. We stopped into the clinic, asked the price (3000 Ush—so about $1.70), I went in the back, the doctor (wearing no gloves mind you—that would never happen back home!) pricked my finger and slid my blood on a piece of glass, and we left for the rest of our run, promising to return for the results and to pay in 20 minutes. After finishing up the 7K run, we stopped for some water and then my friend gave me a lift back to the clinic where I was declared malaria-free!!

Not only that, but had I had malaria, I could have gone next door, purchased some treatment medication for a few thousand shillings and been on my way—no prescription, no nothing. Medicine here is cheap and easy to get. It’s really quite amazing. After living in New York where I walked from doctor office to pharmacy to doctor office and pharmacy to pharmacy getting prescriptions, filling prescriptions, trying to renew or extend prescriptions, the lack of red tape can be quite refreshing!

Of course I could have had malaria because I was in Jinja two weeks ago for Halloween festivities, and that’s about how long it takes for symptoms to show, about 10-14 days. But then of course I was in Jinja again on Monday so I’ll have to watch out for malaria again in a couple weeks I suppose. I was there for less than 24 hours. After spending some time in the morning teaching the nursery children a dance for the performance on Sunday, I went into town to catch a bus to Jinja to meet Amy and her friends for a croquet tournament (yes, you read that right, and yes it was on a Monday—Monday is the weekend for rafting folk). This is where The Bad comes in, but I’ll get to that in a bit. After arriving in Jinja, we made our way to the market to look for all white clothes—apparently a requirement for our afternoon croquet event. Any market in Uganda is quite an experience: a maze of rows of stands filled with second hand clothes, shoes, trinkets, fabric, mosquito nets, and hats give way to stands hawking dried anchovies, whole fish, meat carcasses, arrangements of colorful fruits and vegetables, in addition to lunchtime fare of posho, beans, matoke, and meat. We snagged some cheap white (if slightly dirty) clothes and headed back to change and make our way to the site of the tournament.

The site was spectacular—a house perched on one bank of the Nile with sweeping views out over the water and a few small scattered lush green islands. There was a short grass court set up for croquet in the front of the house and in the back, overlooking the river. The house belonged to the co-owner of one of the rafting companies in Jinja and he and his wife were hosting the event. Everyone was dressed in more of less ridiculous outfits and put into doubles teams representing countries or in my case, Bujagali Falls (a tourist attraction in Jinja). Sadly, my partner Jack and I lost both our matches (I was doing quite well until I hit the stake in the middle with one hoop left to go--I tried to argue that this was not a game-ending penalty in the US, though I have no idea), buy Amy (Team Iceland for no apparent reason) managed to walk away the overall champion, although her partner had had one to many Pimms to pull in the doubles victory. It was definitely a fun afternoon, and just nice to see a group of “grownups” dressed up and playing croquet on a Monday afternoon!

"The Bad":
Ugandan Time is officially driving me insane. I arrived at the bus stop (i.e. the petrol station on Kampala Road) at 10:30 and saw an empty bus that I found out was heading for Jinja. Perfect. What time was it leaving I asked. In 20 min the driver said. There was also a matatu (though not my favorite means of transportation post-Fort Portal trip) that was headed for Jinja. Two options that will be leaving soon I thought--perfect—I had time to go get out some money from the ATM. When I got back, both were still there and very much empty with the conductors trying to encourage passer-bys to hope on for the trip to Jinja. What time are you leaving I asked both. Soon, soon, they said. Hmmm, suuuuuure. No, this was properly Uganda: they were waiting for it to fill up before they left. This was no Vamoosebus from NY-DC, bless them, that would leave with 3 passengers on board—nope, every seat must be filled before it pulls out into traffic, whether it takes 30 seconds or 3 hours. Not a very good spread if you actually have somewhere to be at a certain time or people to meet, which of course I did. I decided to wait to see which one filled up faster, and then I would get on the one that was getting nearly full. Ah, the best laid plans….I stood back, and within 10 minutes or so the matatu began to fill—then all of a sudden, there was a mad rush for 4 remaining seats—I was out of luck. I raced up to the conductor. It’s full he told me, you’ll have to wait for the other one. But you knew I was waiting. I’m sorry he said, and the passengers onboard looked out the sliding windows chuckling (stupid, entitled muzungu). UGH. At this point I was seriously questioning making the trip, but I couldn’t give up, not now. It was nearly 11:15—after all this time spent, I would succeed, for better or worse.

The bus filled slowly, slowly. But I learned from my earlier mistake and climbed on and seated myself when it was just about half full—or so I thought. As one woman in a traditional Ugandan dress with puffed pointed sleeves climbed on and took the last seat, I breathed a sight of relief—until I realized there was a middle isle of fold-down seats, still 7 more to go! We finally pulled out at noon. And I was in Jinja by half past 1. Not the worst journey, but HONESTLY, how can anybody stand it. Not only do Ugandan stand this however, they actually seem really unbothered by it. When I asked those around me sitting on the bus (this was when there were only 2 people on the bus) they just shrugged, grinned faintly, and returned to reading the newspaper, as if all they had to do that day was take an hour-long bus ride to Jinja. And maybe it was, but didn’t they want to get there sooner?! I guess for all the late jokes about me, in the end I’m still quite time-obsessed and try to cram my day (hence why I’ve been late too much in my life). I’m really trying to adopt this whole go with the flow mentality, but it is really not easy. I guess you can take the girl out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the girl!