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).