Thursday, December 30, 2010

Taking a Trip in Kampala

I have a very real and very embarrassing habit. It is potentially dangerous to others and certainly dangerous to myself. I have a tendency to fall over in public, often spectacularly and with alarming frequency. I can manage to fall over from standing still; sadly, this is not an exaggeration. The main reason that I cannot roller-skate and the primary cause of both my sister and I falling off our bikes when we were young (she would stop to help me and subsequently also fall off) is my complete and utter inability to balance. Therefore 2010 has had its fair share of slip, trips and falls on my part. However the story below I have picked as my ‘best’ (read: dramatic, painful and embarrassing) fall of 2010, I hope you’ll consider it a worthy winner…

Recently, the boyfriend and I went to meet up with a friend, Laurie, in Kampala, I had only just returned to Uganda and so I had not seen her for some time. Unfortunately around the time we had arranged to get together a storm broke and the heavens opened. Now Ugandans hate the rain, it is to be avoided at all costs. Just the mere hint of drizzle sends people scurrying and pavements are cleared in seconds. Therefore seeing the approach of rain we decided to take shelter and agreed that when the rain stopped we would get a boda boda (motorbike taxi) to meet her.

After around 40 minutes and an encouraging text from Laurie saying that the storm was over her end we decided to flag down a boda and continue our journey. Unfortunately it had just been a brief hiatus in the storm, and almost immediately the heavens opened again. By the time we had arrived at our destination we were drenched much to Denes’ despair, after all Ugandans seriously hate rain. 

Laurie & I on a day when I managed to remain upright.. excellent

 To avoid getting even wetter, although in reality this was a lost cause by this point, we decided to seek refuge on the veranda of some shops. In order to reach these shops we had to cross a makeshift bridge. However due to the rain the banks had become very muddy. As I stepped onto one of the logs to cross the bridge, the muddy bank gave way and the log just slipped into the water below. This meant that my leg was plunged straight into the gap and I was left half sitting/half squatting on the floor, one leg hidden from view, a family leaning out of the window to gawp at the view and Denes telling me to hurry up and get out the rain! Enormously embarrassed I picked myself up and hurriedly hobbled over to a veranda, one I should have sought refuge under in the first place as no bridges were involved, whilst trying to hide my muddy bum from view of all the very interested locals.

When Laurie arrived to meet us she was greeted by this scene, a very embarrassed and muddy me, a wet and slightly grumpy Denes and a semi destroyed bridge – well, there’s nothing like making an entrance is there!

Friday, December 24, 2010

'Twas the Night before Christmas


..when all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse". This line pretty much sums up the Christmas Eves of my childhood. In our house we had a collection of Christmas books including The Laughing Snowman, Christmas in Puddle Lane and Where’s Rudolph?, an excellent book in which an elf’s hat, a car light and Christmas decorations are mistaken for Rudolph’s nose, but ‘Twas the Night before Christmas was easily our favourite. Snuggled under duvets and fidgety with excitement my mother would read the book in her very best story telling voice and as soon as she had read the opening line I knew Christmas was upon us. As the years have gone by, the reading of bed time stories has inevitably been left along the wayside and has been replaced instead by the annual visit to the Creigiau Inn. Not, in fact, my nearest pub but the one with the highest number of friends frequenting it. It’s the one night of the year where you are pretty much guaranteed to see people you haven’t seen for the past twelve months, there’s always someone to buy a drink for and always someone to buy you one back.

This year however, I have had to forsake the traditional visit to the pub, after all it’s a bit tricky to nip out for a Christmas drink when the pub in question is several thousand miles away. Still, there are some elements of my traditional Christmas that have survived the move to Uganda. Firstly, the advent candle. There is only one other person I know whose family also burns an advent candle throughout December. I mean other people must, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to buy them, but where these people are, I don’t know. I have the feeling that my ma does quite a considerable bit of hunting each year for it but she always comes up with the goods.

I’ve also ensured that we have a tree in the house and that it has been appropriately decorated, even if this has meant making a (slightly sinister) angel out of a water bottle, black bags, kitenge (African cloth) and a bit of shiny wrapping paper, to grace the top of our tree. I’ve made some Christmas crackers too that I intend to take to Christmas lunch with me. Unfortunately they don’t bang as I didn’t think about it early enough to get cracker snaps off the internet, but they’re still Blue Peter worthy. There will also be the traditional watching (and subsequent crying) of The Snowman. Ever since I can remember I have watched The Snowman. In years gone by it used to be played alongside Grandpa on Channel 4. However after rather a lot of research I have discovered that whilst you can get the Grandpa soundtrack it has never been released on DVD, probably because it was too darn sad. It has now been replaced by the far more festive, and upbeat, The Bear, a pity in my opinion.

Despite a lot of badgering I have also not allowed present opening to commence until December 25th. This may sound obvious but apparently not. People here sound genuinely amazed that I was given presents in September to bring with me to open for Christmas, why not just open them right away? I certainly won’t be telling the boyfriend that our village’s former reverend used to say that Christmas began at 6pm Christmas eve or he’ll be tearing open that paper before I can finish my sentence.

As for tomorrow I will miss the bacon sandwiches and bucks fizz and playing the role of ‘elf’ i.e scrabbling under the tree and getting stabbed by pine needles in attempts to fetch the presents out from underneath it. Not to mention my mother’s roast dinner, particularly the roast potatoes and the Yorkshire puddings, and of course the company of my family. However I am really rather excited for my first Ugandan Christmas. I can't wait to see how tomorrow unfolds, me bringing a little touch of Wales to proceedings and learning all about how they do things here. So to all of you, wherever you may be celebrating the festive season, "Merry Christmas".

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Gift of Giving

I find gift giving stressful. It’s not the physical act; I have no trouble handing over the goods. Now, that’s not to say that as a child that I never uttered the words “but I paid for it so it must be mine”, demanding presents I had already given my sister back. That’s a habit I have, largely, grown out of. It’s not the wrapping, or the sentiment, in fact that bit I like rather a lot. However, it’s the sentiment that’s the problem really, I want to find, if not the perfect gift, then a jolly good one.

The problem is made worse by the fact that I am often told that I am a good gift giver. I believe that this runs in the family. Before coming to Uganda my mother managed to find not one but two advent calendar cards. (I know, I never knew they existed either.) I’ve not opened my gifts yet, after all it is not yet the 25th but I can be pretty sure that they’ll be things I want. Anyway I digress; the fact that I am considered a person who gives good presents just increases the pressure to find as good, or perhaps even a better, gift the next time Christmas or a birthday comes around. I should never have moved on from my ritualistic giving of a box of Milk Tray as a gift for any occasion.

Officially the cutest advent card ever, despite lack of chocolate

Somehow though I left the Milk Tray behind, probably due to protests from a sister who had grown somewhat weary of a gift that she only liked 50 % of. These days I’ve been known to make lists and diagrams to get inspiration and as long as I have enough time I can generally find something suitable. Put me in a pressure situation though and the results are variable, I can stagger blindly through shops with “shit shit shit, I don’t know what the hecky peck to get” running on loop through my mind, or trawl all manner of websites for inspiration. When it gets to the point that I’m looking at websites which claim to list unusual gift ideas (ie. over-priced, gimmicky tat) I know I’m on a slippery slope. The truth is, at times I have got it completely wrong...

Perhaps it’s not entirely my fault though, some people are just bloody hard to buy for. The most irritating thing about people like this is that they all too often claim to be easy to buy for. People accept it, you’re not. It is also a little unfair to claim you don’t really want anything and then in the run up to your birthday/Christmas to go out and buy things for yourself, are you purposely trying to break my spirit?

This year though, being in Uganda I’ve had a bit of a ‘get out of jail free’ card. Yes of course I’ll miss the family, the roast potatoes and the bread sauce. But the stress of last minute Christmas shopping, trying to think of something new for stocking fillings and desperately thinking of a gift for one of those ‘harder to buy for’ people? No chance.

Merry Christmas one and all ^_^

Friday, December 17, 2010

Crafty Sew and Sew


Since coming to Uganda I’ve become more crafty, not in the sly, backhanded way… at least I hope not, but rather in the fact that I’ve taken to making things. I’ve always been a fan of arts and crafty type things, a trait I’m pretty sure I have inherited from my mother. During my university years while other people were busy nursing hangovers on a Sunday, I tended to engage myself, and others, in ‘Sunday make and do’. More often than not this took the form of baking, after all the benefits are more conducive to a hangover cure than an oven baked key ring or little alien creatures made from glittery pom poms. However, at home I generally don’t have the time or the motivation to get artsy but with more time on my hands here I’ve found myself once more surrounded by card, glue, scissors and material. I’ve even started sewing up torn pockets and darning socks, which makes me feel if not a little bit virtuous, slightly Victorian!

The basics
Despite the sunny weather, lack of Christmas street lights and chocolate advent calendar I have fully embraced the festive spirit this year. I am generally not all that fussed about Christmas, or perhaps it’s just that my level of Christmas spirit pales in comparison to that of my sister who would become a Christmas elf if she embraced the spirit of Christmas any more. However, come December 1st as I opened my advent cards (yes, my mother somehow found cards which double as advent calendars!) and set alight to my advent candle the spirit was ignited. Therefore my artistic attentions have recently been firmly focused on making festive treats.

Firstly, I made some Christmas decorations from twigs and raffia. This involved me going around the local market trying to describe raffia to local people in the hope that they had any idea of what I was talking about. They didn’t. Luckily, my friend Martin came to the rescue and within 2 minutes of meeting him he had secured the required raffia for me. He’s a good chap and even helped me collect the twigs I needed. This is made more heroic by the fact he accidentally stood in a puddle of urine in his quest to help me.

After getting the necessary goods I took the twigs, made a vague star shape and began binding the twigs together with raffia. This is actually a bit harder than you think. I thought it would be easy, alas no. Several twigs snapped because I was bending them in directions they didn’t want to go. Then the winding of raffia when the star is almost finished is a particularly fiddly process, one made worse by the fact my neck felt like it was on fire after doing the first couple of stars. Still, all’s well that ends well and the finished products actually look kind of ok.



In the taking of this photograph exactly one star was hurt. After extensive surgery we are now all hopeful that it will make it through until new year.
Not content with stars, I then moved on to Christmas cards. I’m not sure if it’s customary to send cards here, I’ve seen a couple of greetings cards in Kampala but even these looked like they were aimed at tourists sending them home. Besides, I was in a crafty mood. So armed with some card, scissors, a pen, paper glue and some scraps of kitenge that I had bartered with local tailors for, I began. The cards were much more fun to make than the stars. Firstly, I made different designs and colour was involved. I would like to make a note here that whilst I did have several, albeit basic, materials at my disposal, I did not have an eraser. Therefore some of the cards have some pencil sketchings that are visible. I like to think that this adds to their rustic charm.. hopefully those receiving them will think so too! 
 

Snowman -check, present - check, Santa -check, it's officially Christmas





The name of this entry was pilfered from a craft shop in Cardiff, Wales. I'm sure they won't mind ^_^

Friday, December 10, 2010

"Your boldness stands alone among the wreck..."

This evening I heard Mumford and Sons on the radio. This might not be so remarkable if I wasn't currently living in Uganda. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Mumford and Sons, they are a British folk band who have reached new heights of popularity and fame over the last 12 months. Their album ‘Sigh No More’ did extremely well and produced several hits in Britain. It also happens to have been one of my favourite albums of 2010. So imagine my delight, and quite frankly, my astonishment when I heard them here on the radio.  

It’s not just that they are a fairly new British band (Ugandans are seriously stuck in the past with their music taste – Backstreet boys, Westlife and Celine Dion are still common features of nearly every radio show) but they are a folk band. To be frank I’m pretty sure that 90% of Ugandans living outside of Kampala probably have no idea about folk music. It’s not their fault, it’s just that radio stations insist on playing a severely limited repertoire, comprising largely of ballads, cheesy pop, rap and Lugo-flow.. and of course a wholesome slice of gospel on Sundays.  The music situation has become so dire that even 66 year old president Museveni is contributing to the radio play lists. Sadly this is not a joke, his song "You want another rap?" must be heard to believed. If you so desire you can listen here.

Maybe the introduction of Mumford and Sons marks a turning point for radio in Uganda, but I won't hold my breath. Instead for now I'll just sing along to Little Lion Man and when Westlife and Dolly Parton continue to dominate the airwaves I'll find sanctuary in my ipod.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Lost and Found

It’s funny how things turn out, yes, sometimes funny ha ha, but more often than not just odd funny. Around a fortnight ago an old school friend who I had lost touch with, contacted me via the medium of social networking. There is a lot to be said against social networks and I too at times find them highly irritating – no, I do not want to join your pirate gang/ learn which dinosaur I would be / find out my friend’s inner secrets by their underwear colour. However, they have their uses. After all, without facebook it seems unlikely that this friend and I would have been able to reconnect.

Facebook, for all its faults, and please excuse the cliché, is making the world a smaller place, and it definitely makes keeping in touch with old friends, colleagues and acquaintances a lot easier. But there are still people who are not on it and there will inevitably be those who slip through the cracks and you still, despite best intentions, lose touch with. Unfortunately this was the case with a friend whom I learnt a couple of days ago had died. Although I had not seen this gent in over a year (being on separate continents certainly helps with losing touch) it feels very odd to think that there is no chance that we will one day bump into each other as we did the last time we met. In fact that was a pretty good night, which involved rather a lot of dancing, the consumption of copious amounts of waragie (potent Ugandan gin) and bitter lemon and inevitably, quite a bit of sweating. He was only a young man in his twenties and his death still feels quite unreal.

Once more life proves that it is all just swings and roundabouts, an old friend found and another lost. What does this teach us? Well depending on who you are I’m sure you can draw your own numerous and varying conclusions. For me it’s a simple reminder of the unpredictability of life and death…and if it really is all swings and roundabouts you might as well just go and play in the park.



This entry is in memory of Willy Musinguzi.

Monday, December 6, 2010

A Little Wee Time

One of things I was most excited about when I moved into my current house in Uganda is that it has a flushing toilet. I know this sounds like a pretty basic requirement, but I have previously lived in a mud hut with a long drop toilet situated (thankfully) a short distance away. Believe me that when you are feeling ill a long drop does absolute nothing to make you feel any better, especially when you have malaria and your insides are churning away.  Of course there are benefits, if you live somewhere that doesn’t have running water a flush toilet is about as much use as a chocolate teapot. Even living in the town like we do, cut offs in water are pretty frequent and there are some days when you think that a back up long drop might not be quite such a bad idea after all.

There’s also the fact that our toilet is outside. It’s not situated at the bottom of the garden, before you start imagining a British house circa 1940, but it does require leaving the warmth of inside and padding across the veranda. Thankfully the veranda is covered so even during storms you only get a little bit wet, but your feet do feel jolly chilly when you jump back into bed again at night.

Picture courtesy of Crystal Luxmore
 Still despite the little foibles that come with having an outdoor flush toilet there are several plus points. Firstly, the odour issue. Having your toilet outside essentially eliminates lingering whiffs and pongs. As soon as you have flushed, no trace remains, even for those with the strongest of olfactory senses. Secondly, noise. Gone is the need to make polite conversation while great uncle Wilfred is destroying the bowl. Inside the house you’re safely cocooned from overhearing noises you’d perhaps rather not and inside the toilet there’s no fear of ‘stage fright’. Perhaps most persuasive though is the view. OK, so in the day the view is pretty bland, a wall with some trees behind it. But at night it’s a whole other story. At night I can sit on the toilet and see the Milky Way, while I wee I can watch pink streaks of forked lightning highlighting the storm clouds or if I'm lucky catch a shooting star as it streaks across the sky.

Yeah, an indoor flushing toilet is a luxury, but my outdoor one is an experience.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

The Survivor's Guide to Volunteering Abroad

Today is the 25th International Volunteer Day, a day organised by the UN to recognise the work done by, you guessed it, international volunteers. As I consider myself to fit into this category I thought I would share with you some titbits of knowledge that I have amassed along the way. You’ve had the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, this is not as humorous and neither does it have the very reassuring 'don't panic' feature, but ultimately it might be a bit more useful...

Rule Number One: Do not get ripped off.
I’ve learned this valuable lesson the hard way. The first time that I volunteered in East Africa I was young, I was nervous. I was a girl in my early 20s heading to Africa for the first time… alone. For peace of mind, as much for my family as me, I went through an organisation that shall remain nameless. However let it be known that last year their turn over was over a £1million.  As a result I ended up paying what I can only assume were huge administration fees whilst the organisation for whom I volunteered for saw only a small percentage of the money.
If you see a project that you’re interested in via  one of these companies I would strongly recommend trying to find out more details and contacting the project directly. This way any fees that you do incur are likely to go back into the project and you could save yourself a lot of money.

Teaching children to Swim in Uganda
 Rule Number Two: Pack wisely
This seems obvious, but wise packing is perhaps not obvious packing. I strongly urge everyone to take a jumper with them, regardless of where in the world they are going. You may be surprised by freak storms, cold nights, or just have need for a make shift pillow. The most useful packing advice is probably to take layers, this way you can adapt to all kinds of weathers and if the layers are thin/cotton when you wash them they’ll dry quickly too.
If you are going for a long time, take a few little treats as home comforts. Maybe a packet of your favourite biscuits or sweets, a face mask, just a little something. You’ll be surprised how much of a pick me up small items can be if you’ve been away from home for a while or have had a particularly tough day.

Rule Number Two (a): A sarong might become your best friend
Men, forget your pride, if David Beckham can get away with a sarong so can you. You don’t even have to wear yours to make it a valuable asset. Some of the most useful ways to utilise your sarong are: as a towel, a scarf/shawl, a sheet, a rug for sitting on, something to protect you from the sun, a pillow, a bag, a hat, privacy barrier (provided it’s not too see through) and of course, as a sarong.

Rule Number Three: Make contact
Before you go to your project ask if you can have the contacts of one or two former or current volunteers. These people will know the lay of the land. They will be able to give you invaluable advice and insider knowledge that guidebooks and official information fail to. They will be the ones to let you know that traveller’s cheques are pointless in a small town, that whilst there is power, it is incredibly intermittent and a wind up torch might be wise and that despite what the guide book says, there is in fact an ATM. In short, you can learn from their mistakes.

Rule Number Four:  Be flexible.
Not physically, although it may help in getting on and off local transport, but in terms of what you are required to do. It is often surprising the wide variety of things you may be asked to do as a volunteer. During my time volunteering for a non-profit in Uganda I went from teaching children in a rural primary school to setting up a radio show for young east Africans and eventually ended up as the director’s assistant. Generally people have all kinds of tools in their skill base and organisations like to take full advantage if possible (and if it’s ok with said volunteer).

Rule Number Five: It’s not all dig, dig, dig.
When most people think of volunteering abroad they think of teaching children, digging wells and building schools. However, it is surprising how many organisations need help with the administrative side of things. It may not seem as glamorous or heroic but helping a small organisation with human resources, accounting, volunteer co-ordination or legal issues can really make a difference. Many organisations and projects, especially in the developing world simply can’t afford to employ everyone they would ideally like to, especially those with clerical knowledge. By setting up a system that you can then teach locals you could improve life for local staff and make the whole organisation run a lot smoother.


Rule number Six: Rome wasn’t built in a day
Realise that in other countries things might not get done as quickly as they are back home, it is wise to adapt to this pace of life rather than getting frustrated. Be realistic about what you want to achieve from your time volunteering. Of course, have good intentions but if you’re intention is to volunteer and change the world.. forget it. I mean changing the world is pretty big stuff, especially for just one person. Goals like: I want to teach a child to write their name, I want to provide clean water for a village by the time I leave, are attainable and if you achieve more than this then you can feel doubly pleased about your efforts.

Rule Number Seven: Befriend the locals
When far away from home it is easy to stick to what you know, the comfort of someone who shares a same first language, knows your favourite band and is also missing the same home luxuries. Make friends with the other volunteers by all means, in fact in my personal experience you will become rather good friends with these people that you are in such close quarters, working side by side and sharing a great experience with. However, take the time to also get to know the locals. After all, it is people that really make a place. Forget language barriers and cultural differences by opening yourself up to people you will get a much better idea of how things really are. They will also be able to give you valuable local knowledge that might help keep you safe, or at least save you a bit of money at the local market!

Rule Number Eight: Enjoy
This is perhaps the most obvious pointer, but it’s also one of the most important. If you plan on volunteering for a long time you are bound to have a few ‘off days’, when was the last time you went several months feeling perky every moment? Feelings of frustration can be common when volunteering abroad especially if things are taking longer than expected or you’ve come up against unexpected barriers. However just remind yourself why you’ve decided to volunteer on this project in the first place.

Friday, December 3, 2010

On the Buses

This wasn't going to be my first real post, I know I have posted an introduction, but an intro isn't a chapter is it? It's merely just the prologue. So as I was saying, this wasn't going to be my 'chapter one' but then events happened and I simply couldn't not have it as my first post. This is the tale of my recent bus journey to Uganda's capital, Kampala.

Usually I'm not all that fussed about travelling to Kampala. Firstly it's a bloomin' long way away (about 10 hours by bus), secondly I am used to living in Kabale where admittedly it rains a lot but the air is fresh, the temperature generally very pleasant and where I don't have to cope with the 'wild west' traffic that the capital is infamous for. Also, for a large city, there actually isn't that much to do in Kampala. However, this time there was something to travel for - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and Chinese food.

Bellatrix after her night bus journey to Kampala - picture courtesy of mugglenet
I have learnt from experience that the best way to travel to Kampala is on the night bus. This way you can fall asleep as the bus hurtles towards the capital and as it is dark you don't even have to concern yourself with looking for potential dangers outside of the window. In true Ugandan style, the boyfriend and I drank some gin before getting on the bus to aid the sleeping process. So after a bit of pushing and shoving and some musical chairs we were seated, quite comfortably ready to being the journey. Shortly after setting off the gin worked its magic and both of us dozed off, if only we could have stayed in this blissful state.

After about 2 hours a mother and daughter duo got on the bus. In order to seat the pair the conductor decided it would be a great idea to shove a bag containing books (and other heavy items) in the aisle next to my seat. This not only woke me up but he also managed to crush my feet in the process, not to mention the fact that my right leg had previously been luxuriating in the aisle. So the daughter took a seat and the mother the makeshift one in the aisle. From this point I spent the majority of the journey with this lady's elbow embedded in my thigh, to make matters worse it quickly became apparent that the daughter had some mental issues. I should have read the warning signs when she kept grabbing at my wrist and hands... Instead I allowed myself to get drawn into the conversation she was trying to have with me. This did not go well. So I tried another tack, ignoring her, this was made considerably more difficult that at this point she had hold of my collar/hair. This fared a little better and after a while she stopped trying to converse with me and settled for sporadic stroking of my arm.

When she wasn't stroking people (another man was also her victim) she was singing religious songs very loudly and out of tune, thus setting off a screaming baby towards the front of the bus. It mightn't have been so bad if the singing had been constant but I'd just be drifting off and there it was that godawful sound again - the kind that sets your teeth on edge. So you can imagine when we finally arrived in Kampala a little after 6 am, I am seriously sleep deprived and the wrong side of grumpy. Now this is where things take a serious turn for the worse. How you may ask, well here's how... Whilst we have been enduring this frankly, nightmare of a bus journey, some disgusting degenerate has thought it a good idea to urinate on the floor. This means that when I come to pick up my bag, its soaked through with someone else's piss, to the point that my clothes inside are also sodden. Then to top it all off later in the day I notice that I've ripped my cardigan repeatedly on a jagged nail on the arm rest, such joy!
Never mind about Voldemort, if Harry Potter had to suffer this kind of torture he'd have been in St Mungo's long ago.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

In the beginning...


So, after rather a long time of thinking about it and some gentle (and not so gentle) persuasion from various parties here it is, the very first entry of this, my blog. Now, I must confess that once upon a time when I was a student with lots of time on my hands I did have a brief foray into the blogging world. However, my blog was rarely updated, was largely filled with nonsense and as I recall had rather a lot of pictures involving fairy lights swirled into weird and wonderful patterns. This time I intend to do much, much better.

It is my intention that here you can catch up with the comings and goings of my life in Uganda. Inevitably, some of my entries will be retrospective, after all it’s been nearly 3 years since I first came to Uganda and roughly 20 years since I started doing things that I can remember. I also promise to keep pictures of fairy lights to an absolute minimum (although at Christmas time such promises might have to be temporarily suspended).

If you are the kind to judge a person by their musical tastes, and let’s be fair there are lots of us out there, feel free to judge away here

So without further ado, let the blogging begin. Until next time, well at least I think there will be a next time...