Monday, May 16, 2011

Life Little Aspects part II

As discussed in the first part of Life’s Little Aspects, it’s often best to put your preconceptions aside when it comes to life in East Africa as things are definitely not always as they seem.

Openess
If there’s one thing that can be said for Ugandans as a whole, they’re honest, sometimes brutally so. I would never ask the tempting question “does my bum look big in this?” as I would probably be told not only did my bum look big, but the fabric was horrible, my hair not coiffured enough and that I was too big generally and needed to lose some weight. However, even without enticing questions don’t be surprised if people give their honest opinions without you asking for them.

Physical contact
It is perfectly acceptable to fall asleep on a stranger’s shoulder on the bus, for two men who are friends to hold hands or indeed bump and grind in the disco and hugs and prolonged handshakes are standard. However, if you are in a couple, physical contact is to be kept to a bare minimum, no longer is hand holding acceptable and if you risk a kiss make sure it’s fleeting and away from prying eyes (otherwise you might just end up in one of Uganda’s tabloids).


Roads
Outside of Kampala very few roads are tarmaced in their entirety which can make long bus journeys anything from interesting to vomit inducing. Often roads are not actually wide enough for two large vehicles to pass causing one, generally the one who is a little less brave of heart, to veer off into dust lay-bys.
The nature of the red clay roads largely means that during dry weather the dust whips up and visibility is seriously affected and during wet weather the roads are constantly flooded and pot holes crop up at an alarming rate.

Restaurants
Forget about your image of a restaurant, most here look like people’s front rooms. They’re generally pretty small, with sofa/chairs and low tables. One of my favourite local hotels is Francis’ Joint – basically because the food is ludicrously cheap and tasty- meat and chips with cabbage/lettuce is 2500 (about 70p). Joyce, the owner, also makes a mean  (and I’m convinced, slightly addictive) chilli paste that only the foolhardy would try more than a smidgen of at a time.

A local bar/restaurant at Rutinda
Time
There are 3 types of time here.
European time: this is when you say 5 minutes and you mean 5-10 minutes. You know, the normal time frame that people in the West adopt. However, depending on how long the international has been in Africa depends on how ‘African’ their European time becomes so the system isn’t always reliable..

African time: Sooo, African time is laid back. People say “10 minutes” but what they really mean is “sometime within the hour”. Meetings never start on time, and I mean NEVER. I have waited for over an hour and a half before for someone who said they would be ‘just back’ to return, I left before they reappeared.

 Moses times: there is a local guy here called Moses, he works on the most          African time scale of all, even locals here think he’s slow... and that really is saying something!

Transport
There are various types of transport here, some I seriously wish were adopted back in Britain as they would make a heck of a lot easier!
Boda boda Bicycles: bicycles that carry passengers on a green and blue (almost uniformly those colours) cushion attached to the back of their bike. Often used for short journeys and very cheap. However, unused by me, I figure that if I’m going a short enough distance to not warrant a motorbike I can jolly well walk.
Boda boda motorbikes: are the most sensible transport solution ever, perfect for getting to places quickly, travelling medium distances and taking you home after a night out.
Matatus: Minibuses generally licensed to carry 14 passengers, it’s almost unheard of for them to have less than 20. Largely for moving between towns although in Kampala they are a cheap way to get around the city, although due to the endless traffic jams, not always the quickest.  
Special hire: the equivalent of our taxis, generally reserved for times you have a lot of luggage or a lot of people, otherwise boda boda’s are used.
Bus – the cheapest way to travel long distances. The post bus is the most reliable and least likely to crash, it also sets off at a specific time meaning that you don’t have to wait around for hours slowly getting stuck to your seat by sweat whilst waiting for it to fill up. For those not wanting to leave before dawn Horizon is your best option, Gateway and Kibungo are best avoided in my opinion


Washing: One of the first lessons I learnt in Uganda is that you can never expect your feet to be clean. It doesn’t matter how much you scrub them within a matter of minutes they will be dirty again, it’s easier just to accept it. Both washing of body and clothes is done in cold water which makes the former a certainly brisk experience and the latter that little less enjoyable. I have long given up on trying to use washing powder and now prefer the incredible power of blue star soap. I’m convinced that if you left your clothes soaking in a tub of water with blue star for too long they’d just disintegrate.

Weather: So you think of Africa and you think of bright sunshine, especially in countries on the equator, right? Wrong. Kabale is really high up, around 2000 metres above sea level and it rains here... a lot. Of course it does get sunny too but it rains on average 6 times a week, so much for being beautifully bronzed on my return home!

Sunday, May 8, 2011

A little planning goes a long way


If there is a city that is less pedestrian friendly than Kigali I’m yet to find it. Maybe it’s because I am the daughter of not one, but two, town planners that I pay attention to such things, but I’m pretty sure that any visitor to the capital of Rwanda would find the situation a little frustrating.

Firstly, in large swathes of the city the roads only have a pavement on one side. This would perhaps be more acceptable if it was easy to cross the road. However crossing the road in Kigali is like taking your own life in your hands. There are some zebra crossings but they are not observed in the typical way, i.e. no one stops at them to allow you to cross. It’s only once you’ve started the death defying journey that cars, motorbikes and mini buses even consider slowing down for you. Then it’s only really a token effort and dawdling can in no way be encouraged.

Even in shopping centres, surely the prime place for pedestrians, there’s no real thought for those walking. Leaving involves either sidling around or limboing under barriers whilst rich Rwandans rev their engines impatiently with their scowls carefully hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

One of the most ridiculous things I saw, unless of course I was faced with modern art and failed to recognise it (always a possibility), was a stairway that was near impossible to climb. It wasn’t that it was painted onto the side of a wall or the steps were too high. No, it was a normal staircase that led up to a door in the side of building but in front of the steps was a locked gate that without a lot of effort clambering over it, the steps were simply not surmountable.

However, for me, the prime example of poor planning in Kigali is the roundabout at Place de l’Unite Nationale. They have built a rather nice area in the centre of this large roundabout with nicely kept lawns (who knows who is risking life and limb for that job, but surely they must be getting paid danger money), gravel paths, benches, there may even be a fountain. However, there are two immediate problems with the roundabout. Firstly I can’t be the only one who fails to see the appeal of sitting in the middle of a heavily congested road, breathing in exhaust fumes and having my ears assaulted by the blaring of horns. If however, I was the kind of person who found all that enjoyable, I still face a challenge: reaching the roundabout. To reach it you’d have to cross three lanes of traffic with no pedestrian crossing to assist you.

I can only hope that as Kigali continues to spread itself amongst Rwanda’s ‘thousand hills’ that they invest in a decent town planner. That, or at least someone with a modicum of sense!

Fountain-check, trimmed grass-check, shit loads of traffic-check

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Pressing issues

Sometimes I am genuinely shocked by what I see in the newspapers here in Uganda. Yes, by all means report the facts but there are ways and means. Like in most countries the quality of journalism relies heavily on which paper you chose to read but even in the most ‘journalistic’ of papers, the facts are often depicted in an unnecessarily blunt or brutal way, or in an oddly casual manner even when dealing with particularly sensitive subjects.

At the lower end of the journalistic scale slang terms are used in such abandon that a) it can be nigh on impossible to read the article without a colloquial dictionary at hand and b) even matters that are actually rather serious are made to appear comical.  A prime example of this was the case of former NSSF boss David Chandi Jamwa. As the article shows, Jamwa was being raped in prison and yet the paper just makes a joke out of the whole situation. This is even more baffling considering that homosexuality is actually a crime here and the ‘Pepper has previously ‘revealed’ known homosexuals.

Whilst articles are dubious it’s the pictures that I find most shocking. Whereas in the British press, if a child was murdered there would most likely be  a picture of said child in happier times, smiling, healthy. Not so in Uganda where no holds are bared. After the July bombings in Kampala the papers were filled with pictures of decapitated bodies, people slumped in their chairs, scenes ravaged by the bombs. The most harrowing picture was probably a before and after shot of a young girl in her early 20s. The first picture depicted a smiling, vivacious young woman. The second, a blood soaked body with essentially pulp where her head should have been. I won’t put this images here, firstly I don’t have the copyright and secondly I wouldn’t want to inflict them upon you.

Another prime example of Ugandan journalism
I can only imagine what her family and friends must have felt at seeing such pictures splashed across the national papers. In another article about a toddler who had been kidnapped by a witch doctor and subsequently had his penis removed before being rescued, they papers printed a picture of the boy post ‘surgery’. In years to come that boy will have enough to deal with, without the knowledge that his picture appeared in the papers when he was at his most vulnerable. I don’t agree with censorship in the press, but I think there should be some kind of boundaries when it comes to harrowing images. The stories themselves should be able to paint a clear enough picture without resorting to such explicit photographs.


Picking the perfect pineapple


When surviving almost solely on carbohydrates it is essential that one takes steps to prevent scurvy. The best way to do this, in my non-medical opinion, is via good old fruit and veg. A delicious tomato and avocado sandwich here, some spaghetti with vegetable sauce there and of course a pineapple party wherever and whenever the mood suits.

slightly over-ripe but nonetheless spreading joy


I adore pineapple, despite a nasty incident once when I ate half a one during my lunch break in work and it was so acidic that I managed to burn my lips and tongue. I can only imagine what it did to my insides… in fact I’d rather not think about it. Anyway several chapstick applications later I was fine, but that rogue pineapple had got me to thinking: one must pick their pineapple with care. There are a couple of things to consider when picking a pineapple and I’m going to take you through them (‘cause I’m nice like that).

1. Colour. The ideal colour for a juicy, sweet pineapple with a bit of a tang is light green. If you pick one that is already yellowey-orange you will find that it is super sweet, to the point of being slightly sickly and certain parts will taste slightly like nail varnish smells. Too dark a green and it will be super sharp and the texture quite firm, the flesh more white than yellow. Of course where on the light green spectrum you want your pineapple is a case of personal preference

2. Resonance. Now this is a tricky one to explain. It involves holding the pineapple near your ear and tapping it so try to ascertain how ripe and juicy it is. However, it’s more of a trial and error situation than an exact science. You also may look a little crazy walking around your local supermarket picking up pineapples and placing them next to your ear. Start talking to yourself at the same time and the men in white coats might start arriving.

3. Leaf pluckability.If you want to avoid looking like a crazy person one of the tip top methods for looking sane but testing for ripeness is how easily the leaves can be pulled. Despite looking a bit like Heather Small’s hairdo in the late 90s fret not, pulling the pineapple’s leaves won’t hurt it, unlike if you had yanked Heather’s tresses. Instead it will let you know if the pineapple is ripe, the easier it is to remove the leave the readier the pineapple is to eat.

So there, armed with some useful tips go into the world and throw your very own pineapple party (and if these tips weren’t at all useful you can always buy the tinned variety!).


Thursday, April 28, 2011

Catch it, kill it!


Today I committed mass murder. Now, before you start calling the authorities, or start referring to me as Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, or another dictator of your choice let me explain. The murder was of mosquitoes, and maybe an innocent spider or two. That I regret a little bit, but not the mosquitoes, no siree Bob. 

The devilish blood suckers
I suffer mercilessly at the hands (or rather the snouts) of mosquitoes and other such little biting critters. My legs look like a dot to dot puzzle and seemingly the mosquitoes have tried to give me the gift of an anklet in bites. Needless to say that the gift is seriously unwanted. The thing I find most frustrating about getting bitten is not the incessant itching that happens the moment I decide to go to bed or the potential for disease, although admittedly both are highly unpleasant, it’s the patronising tone in which others (generally white ‘worldly’ travellers) ask “Don’t you sleep in a mosquito net?”

A girlie pink version of what I sleep in..
Well, yes I do, I’m not an idiot. I’ve also tried using DEET, the Avon bug spray, garlic, vitamin b tablets, citronella candles and mosquito coils but nothing works. The blighters are determined to get me, and so they do. It’s also a myth that the mosquitoes only really come out at dawn and dusk. There are fewer in the day but at night they are everywhere long after the moon has arisen. It seems that nowhere is sacred either, not content to feast upon arms and legs they bite the soles of my feet, underneath my toes, my bottom and most annoyingly the underside of my chin.

So yes, I may feel a bit guilty about the few innocent spiders that died at my hand today. However, whilst I was washing the dead mosquito bodies away in my bathroom, where with the use of a little DOOM I had managed to turn the white toilet seat black, I felt no remorse. I’ve had malaria once thank you very much and while it might be a dog eat dog world I’m not ready to accept that it’s a mosquito eat man one!

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Women's Troubles


Let’s face it, as Tammy Wynette sang sometimes it’s hard to be a womaaaaan. I concede that it may also sometimes be hard to be a man, but frankly I have very limited experience of that and thus I will talk only about what I know. However, I think being from a liberal family in Britain I’ve actually got it pretty easy compared to the woman of the Bakiga tribe, the local people who live here in south west Uganda.

Some of the lovely Bakiga ladies, not whistling and dressed appropriately ;)
Having lived here for a while I find myself getting chided for things that I find completely normal, most commonly for whistling. I’m surprised I actually whistle at all seeing as at home my sister despises it and thus I thought I’d grown out of the habit. However, free of Wales it seems my knack for whistling without noticing has come back with a vengeance. This in turn leads to a lot of frowns, sideward glances and tellings off. Apparently humming, la-ing and any kind of free form scatting is perfectly acceptable but whistling is the sole reserve of men. In addition to the oh so offensive art of whistling there’s a whole host of other things that as a woman you are not supposed to do here.

Women shouldn’t eat chicken. I have received two reasons for this. Firstly I was told that if women eat chicken they grow wings and more recently I’ve been told they grow beards. Well, I’ve been happily eating chicken for the last 25 years (not continuously you understand) and I am yet to grow wings or a beard, frankly I wouldn’t mind the former… not sure about the latter though!

Traditionally, it is acceptable for men to have several partners, including multiple wives. However the idea of a woman having a couple of husbands tucked away in the village is considered completely outrageous.

Whilst ladies are allowed to travel as passengers on bicycle taxis (side saddle of course), it is not considered acceptable for them to ride bikes themselves. A friend explained that this was because bikes could potentially damage a lady’s ‘personal area’, which is of course very precious. To be honest, logic would surely suggest that it would be a man’s ‘personal area’ that was at a greater danger of damage by riding a bike…

Gents and their bikes, and not a lady in sight
When it comes to clothes the rules are rather more restrictive when it comes to women too. They are not supposed to show their shoulders or knees and there’s a huge taboo about showing off the midriff or too much cleavage. Particularly strict locals believe that women shouldn’t wear trousers, perhaps something to do with the ‘personal area’ again, but who knows! However, having been to the clubs here I can confirm that all sense of decency is flouted in the name of entertainment. At karaoke women are there in skimpy outfits, men are dressed as ladies and there’s more than a fair amount of cleavage, thigh and stomach on show. Clearly the younger generations aren’t quite so stringent when it comes to personal decency.

Thankfully as a white woman locals are much more lax in their expectations of me. I freely walk around in jeans,  straddle rather than side-saddle motorbikes and am as happy munching on a chicken wing as I am tucking into rice and beans.  So Tammy, yes sometimes it is hard to be a woman, but seemingly it's harder for some than others... and for now I will try to keep the whistling to a minimum.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Walking: the new controversy


Walking from my house into town is not a long distance, it doesn’t take very long but as I’m walking there, various cyclists and motorbike drivers are offering me lifts, amazed that I am walking, you know, actually using my legs. I am met with choruses of Yamawe (Oh my God) as they realise that I am actually not in need of their services but am happy to walk. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m white that they are so amazed. Many locals were also walking along the road and they were not constantly being hounded by boda drivers and not once did I hear the exclamation of surprise aimed at them. Perhaps it’s because I’m a fatty and they simply cannot believe that I am a) able to walk b) happy to do so.

All kinds of alternative transport ;)
However, I should count myself lucky that it is just boda drivers and not the police who are stopping me as I walk. In the past week Dr Kizza Besigye, leader of the opposition party, has been arrested no less than three times for something no more offensive that trying to walk to work. This is part of the Walk to Work, Walk to Pray campaign organised by the leaders of the opposition in response to ever increasing food and fuel prices. In Uganda, people are legally within their rights to protest peacefully… well in theory anyway. Besigye, Mao and various other leaders of the opposition parties have been arrested in the past week and charged with inciting violence. Frankly I’m somewhat confused as to how walking stirs up bad feeling. In fact on the first day, last Monday, that Besigye was arrested there weren’t really many members of the public around to rouse. It was only on Thursday and again yesterday when the public came out in force, supporting the Walk to Work campaign. This seems to suggest that it in fact the police and their tactics, which can at best be described as heavy handed, that are provoking such a reaction from the public.

Three people in Gulu were killed after protesting against Mao’s incarceration, Besigye himself was shot in the hand and a seven month pregnant lady was shot in the stomach causing her intestines to fall out. An innocent bystander was knocked unconscious by a baton blow to the head and there has been a liberal use of tear gas, including throwing canisters into people’s homes, schools and health centres. The police simply cannot even argue that these people were unlucky and got in the way as they sought the perpetrators, unless of course they assume that school children and newborns are about to rise up and cause chaos.

The latest statement from police is that the opposition leaders are being arrested because they did not inform police of their plans to protest and therefore are acting unlawfully. This argument falls a little flat considering it is being announced almost nightly on national television that the IPC plan to continue the Walk to Work protests every Monday and Thursday until the situation is improved. It also begs the question as to how the police know where to go and arrest Besigye, Mao and friends if they don’t know their plans.

By preventing high profile politicians from walking to work the police themselves are surely the ones acting unlawfully. Using out of date tear gas, shooting bullets (albeit it rubber ones) and obstructing rights of way are far more likely to provoke violence and unrest amongst the public than the simple act of walking. Right now the police don’t have a leg to stand on and seemingly they’re not allowing politicians one either.

Picture courtesy of weinformers.net

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

You are smart!

Now, when I think of people being smartly dressed I think of good tailoring, pencil skirts, suits, outfits suitable for a wedding, shiny shoes, coiffure-d hair. Needless to say, I am not, even in Britain with its mod cons and beauty treatments on tap, a model for smart dressing. Yet, here I am often met by the greeting ‘you are smart today’. This is made more remarkable that a good 90% of my clothes have seen considerably better days. Three of my dresses have been sewn up by my own fair hand and being the first to admit my faults, this does not mean a great job has been done. The bottoms of my jeans are now permanently stained a pale reddy-brown and after 7 months of cold showers and no visit to the hairdresser my barnet certainly leaves something to be desired. However, thanks to a diligent boyfriend my shoes do tend to be buffed and polished, so at least my feet are keeping up appearances.

People who are actually smart
I think perhaps the criteria for me being smart is, that occasionally, I match. By this I mean I might wear a grey t-shirt under a dress and a grey cardigan – I don’t have the ability to be anymore co-ordinated than that. My main problem is that I’m drawn to patterns and as such find my wardrobe tends to clash. If that is the criteria then people must be pretty easy to please. However I’m not sure that this is the case.  Nine out of the ten people who tell me that I am smart are considerably smarter themselves, dressed in handmade kitenge outfits, ironed shirts, smart trousers and polished shoes.

All I can surmise is that living in Kabale they see so many travellers passing through who are a bit dusty, worn looking, sweaty from the gruelling bus or matatu journeys that they are just used to white people looking  a bit worse for wear. Therefore someone who has showered recently, has managed to brush their hair and at least made an attempt at wearing clean clothes just looks smart in comparison!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Ugandan - English



The official languages of Uganda are Ki-Swahili and English. However, this is very much Ugandan-English and should not be confused with English as we know it. It is also important to note that R and L are interchangeable thus pray = play, load = road etc.

A (as in apple): short and sweet, it shows surprise, is a greeting, can be used when things break/power goes off etc.

Boda boda: motorbike taxis, so named because when they first started they took people to the border of Rwanda and used to shout ‘border, border’.

Eeee (said ay as in say but for a prolonged time) this means yes, an agreement noise.

Fine: the only accepted answer to the question ‘how are you?’. Giving another response confuses people, especially children and they will just ask the question again. Unlike in Britain, the weather is never described as fine, it is a temperament reserved exclusively for humans.

It’s OK: This phrase gets a bit tricky, rather than meaning ‘no, its ok’, here it means ‘yes, its ok’. Ie. If someone says can I get you a chair and I say it’s ok, I mean no thanks I will get one, here if I say it’s ok, someone will think I mean yes, and will go and get me one. Best avoided.

Matatu: A public minibus that generally travels between towns, although in larger cities they also travel within the city boundaries. They are almost all only licensed to carry 14 passengers but expect to be sharing with up to 22 other passengers.

Mzungu: A white person. People have no qualms here with making overt references to your colour and calls of mzungu mzungu should be expected daily

Mzungu Price: An inflated price reserved especially for white people and travellers, lucky old us. A bit of bartering and repeat business generally ensures that shopkeepers top with this nonsense pretty quickly.

Now now: A reference to the present time. A singular now could mean any time between right now and an hour whereas now now is much more immediate.
ie. Are we going now now or do I have time to buy some water?

Pick: 1. To pick your phone (to answer it)
2. To pick someone (to go and meet them and then move to another place)

Short call: The polite way to say that you need to go and urinate

Somehow:  Used when describing feelings or events ie I am somehow ok, it was somehow good etc.

Sorry, sorry, sorry: It is rare to hear a solitary sorry, they generally come in blocks of three. Most commonly used when someone injures themselves/stubs their toe/falls down.

Yamawe: The local variation of oh my god, said to express surprise, shock etc even at the smallest thing (including seeing me walking down the road).



Thursday, March 24, 2011

Getting used to it


When people say you can get used to anything it’s a lie. I know it’s a lie because after 6 months of living in Uganda I still suck my breath into the back of my throat and do a little jig when I turn on the shower. It’s not that I am super happy to be getting clean once more, or indeed a leprechaun, it’s because my shower is bloody freezing. 

This isn’t a rejection of namby pamby luxury features or a misguided attempt at ‘when in Rome…’ Believe me, if I could fix a hot shower I would, but the water comes straight from the ground (where seemingly the temperature is about 2 degrees) and out of my shower head. Maybe this is how all showers work, I’m no plumber, but somehow some showers have the lovely facility of heating the water before it comes into contact with my skin. We don’t even have a water storage tank that might allow the water to get a little bit heated up by the sun’s rays before it cascades out of the head.

There have been times when I’ve contemplated putting water in black bags to let the sun heat them, and then pouring them over myself. The trouble with that though is that the water gets that plastic-y smell. If you don’t know what I mean leave a bottle of water in the sun for a couple of hours and then have a sniff inside, you’ll see.
So the fact remains that each day I approach the shower with a slight sense of dread, some days are better than others. Chilly, misty mornings are by far the worst when your body ends up steaming because it is so hot in comparison to the water you are bathing in. Still, I’m probably helping the environment. Firstly I’m not using any power to heat the water up and secondly gone are the days of long, luxurious showers. No, no, it’s now a case of get in – wet –lather –rinse- jump out.

Of course I endure my shower, after all I understand the importance of hygiene… and frankly I don’t want to smell like an old sock that has been rubbed in cheese and left in the sun to ferment for a week. But for me, endurance is not quite the same thing as ‘getting used to it’!

Monday, March 21, 2011

One Month On

Post election violence in Kenya, Mugabe in Zimbabwe and the recent troubles in Egypt, Ivory Cost, Tunisia and Libya, we’ve all seen how things can quickly get out of hand when it comes to politics in Africa. Therefore I was somewhat nervous about being in Uganda in the lead up to elections here. But thankfully, here we are a month since Museveni was announced as President for another 5 years and all is still calm, I can only hope that things stay this way. But what is it that makes Africans so passionate about politics?

Boda drivers awaiting the NRM candidate's arrival
One of the major issues that blights African politics is the length of time that leaders are in power.  In Uganda, Museveni has been in power my entire lifetime and now that he has recently been re-elected there is talk of extending term lengths from 5 to 7 years so I could be 32 by the time Uganda votes again. Whilst this does bring stability, which in the case of Uganda was essential after the regimes of Amin and Obote, it also allows for political stagnancy. Promising x,y and z when you’ve already been in power for 25 years seems almost ridiculous after all what have you been doing for all that time? This split voters into those who saw Museveni as a force for stability and opposition as potentially bringing back the issues of tribalism and those who saw Museveni as stagnant and the opposition as a change for good. Both camps were vehemently opposed to the other.

Many voters are swayed not by issues but rather by personalities. In fact many of the candidates’ stances on various issues were not entirely clear. Rather they won voters with their looks, smiles, personalities. Nearly all politicians at some point during their rallies dance along with the crowds, showing that they are one of ‘the people’. Museveni took it one step further, not content with simply dancing he released a rap song to ingratiate himself with the youth vote.

Rallying is clearly a serious business
However it seems that money is the root of all voting. As one person told me “people vote for money, rarely anything else”. Boda drivers were given petrol money and other gifts (money, t shirts, bandanas) to take part in NRM rallies. In the village small sums, candles and other minor gifts were distributed. Then there’s the sheer cost of the various party campaigns. The disparity between them was for me, the most startling thing about the February 2011 elections. NRM, the ruling parry, simply blew everyone else out of the water with their campaign. Their rallies were numerous and began months before any one elses. They flew Coco Finger from Juba to Kampala just to perform for a rally and Bebe Cool another musical heavyweight was singing for the cause despite the fact that his own father, Bidani Ssali was running for the PPP.

As they say money talks, and in this case the voters answered. So it’ll be Museveni for at least another 5 years, it will be interesting to see the public reaction if he is successful in extending terms from five to seven years after all he has already done away with maximum term limits. Only time will tell the true cost of these elections, I just hope it won’t be too costly.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

27 by 27

Happy Birthday to meeee!
 Today is my 25th birthday, here I am a quarter of a century and whilst I’ve done a lot of great stuff in my lifetime there are still many things (large and small) that I still want to achieve. Therefore why not give myself a bit of a kick up the backside and make a list (I love a good list) of 27 things to do before I’m 27.

Why 27? Well, firstly I have never been good at sticking to appropriate numbers for things. For example this article has only 8 and a half points rather than the more traditional 10. I could have gone for 30 things before I’m thirty but five years seems quite a long time, and this way if I fail to do all the 27 things before my 28th birthday I can always add three more things and give myself three more years to get everything done. Of course I could have gone for 29 things, but that’s a bit close to 30, and well, I don’t much like the number 28. So here it is a list of 27 things to do before my 27th birthday. Some are more adventurous than others and various ones will be made harder by the fact that I am currently living in Uganda. Still, I’m ready to give it a good old go… 

1. Grow my own vegetables.. successfully
2. Learn how to do cryptic crosswords, subsequently complete one
3. Have one article published in a magazine/newspaper
4. Raise £1000 for charity
5. Host a tea party with little cakes, triangle sandwiches and proper china
6. Start a small shop on Etsy
7. Go to Malawi
8. Read at least one of the religious books/scriptures in its entirety
9. Learn how to play Mah jong, the real rather than the computer, version
10. Customise an item of clothing/shoes
11. See mountain gorillas
12. Be with Denis when he experiences the sea for the first time
13. Go to Glastonbury festival
14. Skip every day for a month in the hope that it may encourage me to continue the good habit.
15. Knit a scarf
16. Take a sign language class
17. Write a letter to my childhood pen-friend in Australia whom I have not written to in over a decade, to see if I get a response from her or whoever may now live at that address.
18. Drastically improve my Rukiga  
19. Learn (and play) every card game in the Collins Book of Family Card Games
20. Get a fringe cut in (subsequently grow it out sharpish if it looks horrendous)
21. Read the entire works of Shakespeare
22. Volunteer with the homeless
23. Have a go at riding a motorbike
24. Learn to cook 14 new vegetarian recipes
25. Attend a bhangra dance class
26. Spend a month writing a letter a day to someone I love.
27. Read Milton's Paradise Lost

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Life's Little Aspects: Part 1

Forget about dictionary definitions and the blueprints in your mind, when it comes to things like food, time and housework the same rules simply don’t apply in Uganda. As it’s the small things that really make up life, let’s go through a few definitions of every day aspects of life.

Animals
When you think of Uganda most people are probably thinking lions, monkeys, giraffe, gorillas, elephants etc. Yes, these animals are of course here but they are not part of everyday life, in fact they are very much confined to the numerous national parks. 
Not many of these little critters in these here parts
Monkeys are an exception, they can be found playing in the trees of some towns including Kampala and Jinja. However, the most exotic animals that I am in contact with here in Kabale are pigs, goats and of course, my nightly visitors- the mosquito.

Football
Never mind the fact that we are thousands of miles away from Britain. Loyalty to the teams of the English premier league runs deep. Everyone supports a team, most commonly Manchester United or Arsenal and they will stay awake until 1am in order to catch the games. It’s one of the most common questions you get asked when people first meet you, they want to find where your football loyalties lie. I must say though, I’m pretty grateful to Manchester United and to Ryan Giggs in particular. Why? Well because when I say that I am from Wales people actually know where I’m talking about (and no, mentioning Princess Di does not have the same effect, clearly Giggs is much more celeb-worthy)!
                             
Food  
‘Food’ here is considered to be stews (meat, beans etc) and various kinds of carbohydrates for accompaniment:

Irish: Boiled potatoes
Kalo: Millet flour and water mixed until it becomes stretchy, brown and entirely unappetising.
Matooke – mashed plantain (savoury bananas)
Posho – maize flour and water ‘mingled’ until it becomes a solid starch lump, horrendous
Rice – delicious, why would anyone ever choose posho over it?
Sweet Potatoes: Not the orangey kind, but the white wiggly kind, boiled.
                      
Sweet potatoes, matooke and devil eggplants
Anything else is not referred to as food, but rather as snacks. This can obviously get a bit confusing when you go into restaurants (see below) and ask if they have food. They may well answer no even if they do in fact have eggs, chips, chapattis, samosa etc. As you can tell, the diet is carbohydrate heavy, thank goodness for cheap and delicious pineapples, passion fruits, avocadoes and tomatoes!

Hair:
Ladies will happily spend hours in the ‘saloon’ (and not that is not a typo here salons are known as saloons) having their own, and generally copious amounts of fake, hair braided into weird and wonderful styles. For men the only acceptable styles are those shaved close to the head. Men with long hair, or heaven forbid, dreadlocks are immediately associated with the Rastafarian culture, which socially has negative connotations (thieves, marijuana smokers etc).
Housework:
Washing machines, vacuum cleaners, hot water – you never truly appreciate them until you’re in Africa and scrubbing your pants in a basin of cold water with Blue Star, a multi-purpose wonder soap. I’m not joking, I love blue star, it would probably ruin your washing machine if you shaved off some and put it in the drawer, melt the drum or something. I confess that I'm not a very good clothes washing, opting to pay a lovely lady to do most of mine for me. Anyway I could never get my whites that white again, I've come to the conclusion that locals must use witchcraft, there is no other explanation.

Music 
I’ve mentioned the state of music before, but really, for someone who loves music and live gigs in particular, it’s a big deal. There is some OK local music being made and I confess to have been won over by some of the more catchy Ugandan songs, particularly those of Radio and Weasel. But on the whole things are pretty bad. Alarmingly, Westlife, Celine Dion and Shania Twain are more popular here than they were in Britain in the 90s (early 00s for Westlife).
Ludicrous amounts of love for Celine
 Locals love a good soppy ballad, they also love songs with slightly questionable lyrics, I refer you to P Square’s smash hit “Do Me”.  It should also be noted (so that I don’t look negatively biased) Museveni’s political rap was voted the  best song of the year. I rest my case.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Bibliophilia

I think it would be fair to say that since childhood I have been a fully fledged bookworm, I love to read. By age 4 I had read every copy of Topsy and Tim books that my local library had to offer (including the ones I had specifically asked to be brought over from the central library). It’s one reason, among many others, that if I was put in the Big Brother house I would just go completely loopy. I particularly love second hand bookshops, the shelves filled with wrinkled spines and softened pages and of course the spell of the paper, I would love to bottle that smell. So here in Uganda I face a little problem, my nearest bookshop that doesn’t exclusive sell religious works and text books is an 8 hour bus journey away. Of course I brought some books with me but with a 23k luggage allowance and clothes, medicinal supplies, a few pairs of shoes, Oreos (vital to every travelling girl) and basic toiletries to bring there wasn’t too much room left. 


Thankfully, there is a light under the covers. A hostel in town has a small selection of books that you can borrow free of charge. Despite the rule that you can only lend the books, and not swap one for another, there is a pretty high turn over of books and the selection is becoming increasingly multi-lingual. Also anything worth reading will be pinched within a matter of days. This means that I have to check the book shelves regularly for any new gems before they get pilfered. I have been lucky on occasion – I’ve managed to read The Road, I Dreamed of Africa and Les Miserables. However I have also been forced to read books that I would never usually pick up, namely thrillers and crime novels. For some reason the vast majority of books that are left here fit into these genres. This leads me to two possible conclusions: 1. people travelling to Uganda are on the whole lovers of crime and thriller novels 2. People travelling to Uganda bring all kinds of books but the ones that leave books behind are those who like crime/ thrillers. I guess if you’re reading a whodunit there isn’t a great deal of point in reading the book a second time other than to give yourself a smug satisfaction that you know exactly ‘whodunit’ from page one.

Books, books, lover-ly books
So for now I will content myself with titles like Death de Jour and State of Play and hope that Uganda’s next batch of visitors bring some more stimulating reads. When things get really desperate I can always turn to Better World Books, a website I have just discovered. They sell first and second hand books and the best thing is that worldwide delivery is free and unlike so many other sites that claim to offer ‘world wide delivery’, this does actually include Uganda… it’s a good day for bookworms far from home soil.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Unwanted Attention

Yesterday whilst sitting enjoying a mountain of meat with some friends, and, perhaps more importantly, minding my own business I was handed a note by another patron in the restaurant. This is in fact not the first letter that has been slipped over a table at me whilst both the author and I try to avoid catching each other’s eye. For me the avoidance of eye contact is simple, I try to pretend that the situation isn’t really happening and I definitely don’t want to encourage the note giver so that they begin talking to me. Similarly, whilst I read the notes (and offer them around for other people to take amusement from) I never respond to the writer, even if they bring over several… you’d think they’d get the hint after the first one wouldn’t you? For them, the lack of eye contact is probably a case of embarrassment, but then why give me a note at all?

The original letter
 The givers of these notes are never entirely savoury. This particular note giver was in the latter stages of middle age, had a slightly wild look about the eyes and was drinking alone… at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

As for the note itself, well it wasn’t (thankfully) a declaration of love rather it said the following: “Hullow a strong woman and a brown woman even a social woman who is always smart and very active. I am Julius who is greeting you. I am very glad to see you here. Which means I wish you a happy stay and enjoyable life in Kabale district. A strong woman, just now I am in a bad condition, assist me – 2000 shs.”

To my knowledge I have never met, or indeed even seen, this man before. Therefore I’m not really sure how he knows that I am always smart and very active.  Strong here is clearly a code word for fat and I’m not entirely sure as to why he refers to me as brown, especially considering the fact that the majority of people here can’t wait to point out the fact that I’m white with their calls of ‘mzungu, mzungu’. The request for money is cheeky, but not entirely surprising, such requests are fairly commonplace. What I was surprised at however was that after I failed to acknowledge his letter, the scribe once more sidled up to our table and handed my friend a letter. It was similar (he described him as a strong man) but rather than 2000 shillings he asked only 1000 from my local friend. I guess even in the world of begging you have to ask for mzungu price!

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Stop, Look and Listen

I, like most children in the Western world, was taught from a young age about the dos and don’ts concerning safety. Mantras like don’t talk to strangers, don’t play with matches, stop look and listen are drilled into our skulls until following the rules became second nature. In my childhood there were cartoons and adverts targeted specifically at kids to help keep them safe. Frances the firefly was a personal favourite of mine but the ‘King of the Road’ hedgehogs certainly captured their audience. There was a time during primary school that the whole of my class would have been able to sing the advert to you word perfect, maybe even in four part harmony if you’d asked really nicely. 

Courtesy of the 'Staying Alive' road safety campaign
Here, however, there isn’t the same level of diligence about being careful. In truth there seems to be a bit of a disregard for being cautious. It is not uncommon to see young children, 5 or 6 years of age walking around with pangas (machetes) that are a big as my forearm. They are not carrying them in a threatening way but instead are carrying them so that they can cut wood or bamboo. In fact the biggest danger they pose is to themselves. Martin, a friend, once showed me an enormous scar on his back that he got from a panga accident as a child – he had forgotten that he had placed the knife through a length of bamboo and as he threw the bamboo over his shoulder to carry it home the panga had driven into his back.

But it’s not just knives, children tend to charcoal stoves, light paraffin lamps and play right next to, and even sometimes in the middle of, busy roads. I’ve stopped wondering where the parents of the unaccompanied children you see wandering about the town are and people are much more willing to pass their young children around to complete strangers. For example on a recent matatu ride my mother offered to hold a newborn baby while her mother got on and ended up holding it for most of the journey whilst the mother chatted away to fellow passengers.

Children in Stone Town, Zanzibar observing road safety beautifully
 Frankly, in Britain I think we’ve gone too far with our fear of strangers and general mistrust of the adult population. It’s ridiculous that friends can no longer look after each other’s children unless they are vetted and that in some play areas adults are not allowed, even the parents whose children are playing inside. We need to have more trust in the general population and allow children vital freedom and independence. However, letting them play on main roads and allowing children as young as 4 or 5 to be unaccompanied in town is going a little too far, especially in a country where child abduction and subsequent sacrifice is not unheard of. There must be a middle ground somewhere, I just hope when I come to have kids of my own, whether here or in Britain, I’ll have gone someway to finding it.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

We are sorry to announce that the 10.37 to Kalangala will be delayed by indefinite minutes

Have you ever complained about a bus that didn’t turn up or failing to get a seat on a long distance train during peak hours? I know I have, but since living in Uganda all my quibbles regarding British public transport are forgotten. Not until you have been crammed with another 22 people in a minibus made for 14 or spent 48 hours travelling on a bus with no toilet or refreshment facilities can you truly appreciate just how good you’ve got it back home.

The first rule to public transport in East Africa is to forget about personal space. Even on the buses where you have your own seat it’s not uncommon for someone to be perched on your arm rest, another sat near (on) your feet and for a roll of mattresses/shopping bags/chickens to be jammed in the aisle next to you… and that’s luxury. In the public minibuses (matatus) more people are squished inside than you ever thought possible: legs go dead, arms are draped out of windows or around strangers’ shoulders, bodies are contorted in weird and wonderful ways and it’s not uncommon to have some chickens and even sometimes a goat share your journey with you. On a recent journey from the Ssesse Islands we fitted 12 people into an Ipsum, (including 3 people and the driver in the front) which according to its manufacturers should hold just 7. 

There's always room for one more package/person/chicken
 In Rwanda the situation is slightly better as their regulations are tighter and so they tend not to overcrowd their public taxis. However, this comes at a price. I recently got into a minibus at Katuna heading to Kigali, about 2 hours away. As soon as I got in I realised why the row I went to sit in was empty. The seats in front were so close to mine that in order to have been able to fit my legs in comfortably I would have had to have had them amputated around mid thigh. So whilst I think it’s great that in Rwanda they are more strict about how many people are allowed to sit in a minibus taxi, after all no-one enjoys being crammed in like sardines, if the price of having less people means that I only have enough leg room for a short child, I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

In addition to buses and minibuses there are the ridiculously useful boda-bodas (motorbike taxis). Need to get up a steep hill, travel at night, have a lot of shopping, travelling a relatively short distance? Then bodas are a god send. Seriously, I wish we had them in Britain. No more worrying about how you are going to get back from the pub/ that house party, just head to your nearest boda stage (they’re never far away) and voila! problem solved.

Luckily in Kabale bodas are pretty safe, there isn’t a lot of traffic and as long as you have your regular drivers you eliminate the chances of taking one at night who has also been enjoying a beer or two. Kampala bodas are a whole other experience though, they tear through the traffic jams narrowly dodging cars, trucks, pedestrians and each other. They attempted to enforce a rule whereby all boda drivers must wear a helmet and have one available for passengers, but this fell short.

Holding the strap to keep the helmet on... not ideal
 Unlike Kampala, Kigali has successfully enforced this rule. Of course one part of me knows that it’s logical to have a helmet and a lot safer too. However, I can’t help but think of all those other people who have worn them before me, sweating in to them, maybe with nits, lice or skin infections. Then there’s the fact that many of the helmets don’t really fit, in fact half the time you have to hold the chin strap to stop it from flying backwards off your head. In reality what good is that going to do in a crash?

So the next time you’re cursing the 7.47 train for being 15 minutes delayed or the 58a for failing to show up again, just think. You could be waiting for an indefinite period for the bus to fill up before even leaving or be sharing your commute with double the people and half a farmyard.