A short-tempered muzungu flies to Istanbul
The overhead screen flips down, up, down and then back up again. Finally it settles to reveal the route we’ll be flying from Entebbe, Uganda, to Istanbul, over two countries that have been in the news non-stop since my last flight overhead: South Sudan (and North of course) and Egypt. There are a number of routes to Uganda from London, but this route has become my favourite.
I’m flying Turkish Airlines for the first time and so far I’m loving it. 40kg baggage is very good for the cheapest flight I could find online, and despite the warning to take only one piece of hand baggage, I arrive with a rucksack, a laptop and a large framed mirror – but no questions asked.
The seating is spacious and comfy. It looks like I may – luxury of luxuries! – have a row of three seats to sleep on (it is 2 a.m. after all).
I’d hoped for some shut-eye at Entebbe and headed for the least congested area of the departure lounge. The metal bench seating was uncomfortable but I was ready to sleep anywhere. Another lady had the same idea: she threw herself violently onto the seating, almost catapulting me off and then proceeded to fidget with each of her bags in turn, throwing herself back hard againist the shared bench every couple of minutes. No chance of sleeping til take-off then.
Damn it. Fat ignorant man arrives to congest the aisle, chuck unwanted blankets and pillows at me, clipping the newspaper I’m reading (no sign of a sorry) and shout loudly to his friend across the aisle from him. Immediate dislike registered!
We settle down. Just after take-off, I make to go to the toilets. I stand up, look around, make the obvious ‘can I get past?’ signs and he eventually looks up and makes a really big deal out of letting me pass. He takes his belt off, but doesn’t get up; he just moves slightly to one side. Just as I try to push past (bum in face? or crotch in face?) the seat in front of him suddenly drops back and I almost sit on him. It’s that woman again! My rowmate mumbles something under his breath.
As I wait my turn for the toilet, I hear sneeze after sneeze coming from the little cabin. Yuck. No way I’m locking myself in there with all those germs.
Back in my seat, there’s turbulence as we fly over South Sudan. It’s not a lot more stable on the ground. News coming out of the country is not good; newspapers report that as much as 10% of the land has been sold, at ridiculously low prices, to foreign interests. In Uganda, everyone’s talking about the opportunities there, but of what benefit to the local people?
I settle – only to smell something nasty… hmm, yes I blame him. I insert the Turkish Airlines-supplied earplugs (where are the noseplugs?) My companion puts his headphones on and starts shouting to his friend above the music.
Thirsty, I yank my bottle of water out of the seat pocket in front of me. With it comes a gooey string of chewing gum thoughtfully rammed inside the pocket by a previous passenger. I try and untangle it. Great.
Sleep quickly draws me in. I wake with a start, as my travelling companion bellows at me and the hostess thrusts a plastic meal tray at me. Behold – metal cutlery! What a pleasant surprise to have the real thing, not plastic. I wolf the food down, eager to get back to sleep.
Then there’s that smell again …
Six hours after leaving Uganda, we touch down in Turkey, en route for the UK and a three week holiday with my nearest and dearest.
Istanbul airport is fabulous: clean, very modern, well signposted and incredibly efficient. As I rifle through my bag looking for my wallet, the clerk orders me to move out of the way and barks at me “Madam you are not ready!”
My passport quivers in anticipation of a new country stamp! I realise, to my chagrin, that I don’t even know whether Turkey is in the EU yet … (quiz me about East Africa and I may have an answer for you, but Europe? Frankly, I’m out of touch).
Selfishly, I’m delighted that Turkey hasn’t joined the EU yet – I get my stamp – it’s worth the £10 and the rudeness of the clerk. (Yes mate, that’s all you are, for all your jumped-up attitude).
If you enjoy my travel diaries, read Airport drama # 1- “The plane is closing!”
If you’re flying to or via Europe, make a stopover in Istanbul – I highly recommend it! Read two favourite blogs A day in … Istanbul and Crossing continents – the Muzungu’s Istanbul city tour.
Somebody ill, somebody dead – start of another week
The muzungu lacks #MondayMotivation
I found it hard to get up today. I lost count of the number of times I put the snooze on. I enjoy seeing the sunlight filter through the new curtains I made from the scarves I bought in Ethiopia.
I get up and unbolt the heavy metal at the back of the house, and listen for the tell-tale sound of claws on concrete as Baldrick bounds round to greet me. I walk through the kitchen across the living room to take the padlock off the front gate; it’s like having two dogs – in a flash, Baldrick is at the front of the house too.
Enid is bright and breezy this morning and we compare notes on the electricity situation. Has her compound experienced load shedding (rationing of power apparently because the government owes the supplier Umeme so much money)? We’ve both been fortunate: our fridges still work.
Erik is at university today, doing some research and a text comes through to say Patrick’s at a burial.
Enid in the UCF compound Kampala
Eva meets me at the gate as I’m driving to a meeting. She’s late for work and very apologetic. Both the babies are sick. One has measles and the other has been vomiting. She’ll “do her work” and go home early.
Thus starts another typical Monday morning – somebody ill, somebody dead.
As I drive past the single petrol pump, home to my favourite Luganda teachers, I suddenly remember that I owe them 20,000. Getting credit – and being trusted to return – is one of the many small things that make living in Uganda so enjoyable. These guys are lovely, and delight in teaching me new words. On a good day we only communicate in Luganda. They’ve invited me to share lunch with them more than once, if I happen to be passing at dinner time.
I can’t believe my eyes as I drive along Namuwongo Road and see twenty men and women using brand-new brooms and sweeping piles of dirt from the side of the road. The makeover continues! See photos on a previous blog about how dire the roads have become.
I hoped I’d miss the Monday rush-hour traffic, alas, no. As I turn right into the Industrial Area, we come to a standstill. One lorry, manoeuvring or unloading, can easily cause a 10 minute jam.
I arrive at the shopping centre. I hate these places. I particularly hate the fact that this one is built on reclaimed wetlands (evidenced by the way the paving tiles are uneven and coming loose even before the second part of the shopping centre is open). As I turn off the main road, the group of ‘insecurity’ stop me, checking my glove compartment for a gun. Security’s become lax over the last few months but today – the anniversary of the bombings in Kampala – everyone is on high alert. How things change in a year – read last year’s description of Kampala after the bombings
Sunday night reflections
Sitting here watching my TV in Kampala, the capital city, it’s quite easy to forget that the vast majority of Ugandans are subsistence farmers and have no electricity.
The government has various incentives for improving agricultural production. Industrialisation through technology can mean something as simple as a hand grinder for removing kernels from maize cobs, as demonstrated by the Minister this evening. Up to a staggering 25% of agricultural products are lost before they get to market, mainly as a result of bad storage. 15% of cereals and pulses and up to 25% off roots and tubers are lost. This affects every household – as producer or supplier.
Elsewhere, in northern Uganda the Acholi people are demanding compensation from the supplier erecting electricity pylons for a World Bank funded project, denying the company construction access until they are paid. Others argue that if construction is delayed, the World Bank will think they’re not serious and pull out altogether.
In Kampala, we have connection but we don’t always have power! Last week Umeme announced a load shedding programme. The government hasn’t paid Umeme (a private company) and the consumers are paying the consequences. The government has found X million USD to buy fighter jets, widely believed to have splashed out over half the annual budget on securing the election, and inflation is spiralling, as we all knew it would. The Uganda shilling hit an all-time low last week, only good for a handful of people who are paid in dollars. I fear things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.
Kampala’s thirsty policemen
Why is it that I’ve been stopped twice in two weeks, driving down the same stretch of Namuwongo Road at night?
Incident #1
It’s not far from my house to the centre of town. As the (local) Pied Crow flies, it’s probably only a mile or two but, in a developing country where virtually the only infrastructure is what’s left behind from the 1950s, following the tortuous road through the maze of thousands of potholes and random speed humps is quite a feat. And a drag. Late at night, and with no other traffic around, I can get from my house to the main intersection in town in approximately 7 minutes; during the day you need to double that; at rush-hour, forget about moving at any kind of speed: it’s not uncommon for the journey to take an hour.
So late one evening, I returned home from dinner at a friend’s house on the back of Michael’s boda boda. I trust Michael’s driving; he doesn’t drive too fast and he doesn’t do silly manoeuvres, at least not until a night two weeks ago.
As we turned off the main roundabout onto Namuwongo Road, two policemen on another motorbike overtook us, suddenly cut us up, trying to force us to pull over. Michael braked hard to avoid hitting them, and at the last second swerved sharply to the right, pulled on the throttle and we sped off down the dark road. We sped across the railway line that cuts across the tarmac, up the slight incline towards The Monitor newspaper headquarters. In this 200 metre section there must be 200 potholes. In the last few months, each one has been individually and laboriously filled in by hand. They haven’t fixed the section beyond that yet and we careered around the potholes and over the occasional speed hump for the next kilometre, Michael frantically checking his wing mirror over his shoulder to check we’d made our getaway.
“Mpole mpole sebo (slow down mate)” I whined from the back.
“Those guys – they want our money!” he exclaimed.
It was simple. It was highway robbery.
Incident # 2
I always lock the car doors as soon as I get in. It’s not that I really feel you need to in Kampala, it’s just a habit.
I was halfway home, it was around midnight and I just knew I was going to get stopped by the police that night. I couldn’t say why, but I just knew it was going to happen. There was a period where I got stopped several times in a month, but that was a year ago.
I took my earrings and my necklace off and stuffed my money inside my bra, all except a single 1000 shilling note I left on the dashboard. (There’s no point looking like you have money to throw away – it’s an assumption too many Ugandans make about us muzungu anyway).
Namuwongo Road is deserted that time of night. It’s a road I know very well and I feel very comfortable driving up and down it. I couldn’t quite believe it when a police pickup overtook me and indicated for me to pull over. Was I imagining it? Was I in some kind of deluded state and making it happen?
So the policeman came over, we exchanged greetings and he asked me whether I realised that one of my headlights wasn’t working. “I’m very sorry Officer; I must get it fixed tomorrow.”
It’s very common to see a car with only one headlight working – and mistake it for just a boda boda. I’ve mentioned the headlight to Patrick; he looks after the car, I wouldn’t know where to get anything fixed and I’d get even more ripped off than he does. He’s had a few things fixed recently, I guess that just got overlooked. The policeman asked to see my driving licence and I produced the paper photocopy that I keep in the glove compartment. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve had their driving licences taken; I’m not prepared to make seven visits to the central police station to get mine back.
“You are going to pay a fine of 50,000 shillings” said the officer in the dark blue uniform as he started to write something down. I assumed it was a ticket. “You can put the light on,” he told me, pointing to the light inside the car. He put his arm through the open passenger window and went to unlock the door. I quickly put the windows up. Interesting that he didn’t complain (they’re not supposed to get into your vehicle).
“Hello madam, how are you?” asked a younger policeman with an ingratiating voice and a sickly smile who appeared next to him. Two can play the charm game: I answered him in Luganda. He thought it was hilarious.
I was tired, I just wanted to get home and I wasn’t really in the mood for playing games. I tried to play along but my heart wasn’t in it. “Can you just give me the ticket please?” That floored him.
“Anyway madam, the police station it is shut and we don’t want to waste your time. Maybe you can give us some money for water?” I knew where this was all heading; if the guys in the truck didn’t know they were dealing with a muzungu to start with, they sure did once I’d put the inside light on.
“Okay you can have this, this is all I have. I’m just on my way home.” I held up the 1000 shilling note.
“Is that it?” he asked, “is that all you have?” (1000 shillings should buy two bottles of water). “It’s okay, we know you now, we can find you another time.”
My heart sank.
I think he thought he was doing me a favour, letting me defer payment until the next time they pull me over. Now I’m thinking I’ll have to run the gauntlet of these ‘stupid hyena’ (words not to be used lightly) every time I’m out late at night.
Patrick laughed his head off when I told him this story. “These ones aren’t allowed to stop you, they are not traffic police! Only the traffic police can stop you and even they can’t stop you after five o’clock.”
So now I know: the jewellery’s back on, the cash is in my pocket – and my headlights are on full beam.
Warning – this blog contains snakes!
Entebbe’s Reptiles Village has been on my list of places to visit for ages.
Chameleon, Reptiles Village Entebbe. Close-up of one of the world’s most fascinating creatures!
When I suggested to the team that we all have a day out together at the Reptiles Village in Entebbe, organised by Nature Uganda, we were equally split down the middle: two for, two against. Enid’s words were in fact “No way, I’m not giving up my Saturday to see snakes!”
After the office was repainted, I noticed that she put back the posters of birds, butterflies and mammals – but not the one of the snakes. Patrick is equally averse to snakes – I remember his look of disgust when we walked past the enormous python at UWEC (a.k.a. Entebbe Zoo). To be fair though, last year a cousin of theirs was killed by a notorious Puff Adder out in the bush towards Tanzania; he was dead within a few hours.
It’s run by a Ugandan who is passionate about snakes in particular and reptiles in general. All the animals he rescues are native to Uganda. He rescues reptiles that are in danger of being killed by humans, and tries his best to ‘sensitise’ people (as we seem to be doing with elephants, dogs, birds, you name it)…
The message is generally: “you don’t have to kill it – it’s unlikely to harm you unless provoked and there are measures to deal with elephants, dogs, birds” [complete as appropriate]. Today at Reptiles Village, I couldn’t stop myself telling people off. I was tired, I wasn’t very gentle, I just said “stop doing that.”
Each reptile has a story. The Monitor Lizard only has one claw on its left paw, as a result of the fight he had with the humans who wanted to use his skin to make a drum. The shell of one of the Leopard Tortoises seems to have melted, where it was rescued from a fire. “I hear they are very good for traditional medicine,” one lady said. “Some people eat them,” someone else said.
Monitor Lizard and baby crocs – cute – at this size!
If you turn a tortoise upside down, it will panic and wee itself. If it does this too often it will become dehydrated and eventually die. I didn’t know this myself until last year. I bought a tortoise from some boys down one of the back roads in Muyenga (I shouldn’t have, I realise now). Anyway the tortoise (who didn’t hang around long enough to get a name) tumbled over a step and overturned. I turned him the right way up – and he did the most enormous turd (a sure sign he was scared!)
Being on today’s trip reminds me how much people need to be sensitised. These are not even your average Ugandans; these are people with a proven interest in conservation, and yet they were letting the kids pull leaves off the young saplings and getting too close to the animals. It was a fun and interesting day out but it just reminds me how much work there is to do in conservation in Uganda.
The lady guide was very informative but admitted she won’t hold a snake! We were lucky enough to have a HERPS (herpetology / reptile) specialist, Mathias, on our group. He was a mine of information.
Watching us without moving. An African Rock Python, Reptiles Village, Entebbe
Like a sentry on duty, the first snake we saw was the Forest Cobra, head up and in aggressive mood. Reptiles Village Entebbe
The three metre (?) long African Rock Python is a constrictor. Apparently this is the only snake large enough to consider eating a human but attacks are very rare, although their long teeth can inflict painful wounds. These beasts are often found in caves.
We couldn’t believe our eyes when we saw a small manky-looking puppy curled up asleep in the same cage. “Breakfast,” we asked? Twenty minutes later it had gone, nowhere to be seen! The snake hadn’t moved though so we can’t blame him…
Jackson’s Chameleons at Reptiles Village, Entebbe
Holding the pretty Von Hohnel’s Chameleon was a highlight of the day. Its black tongue is coiled tightly like a spring enabling, it to PING into action and trap insects half a metre away! Its eyes are hilarious, constantly rotating, one looking forward and down while the other looks backwards and up! “How does the brain process all that information?!” Erik asked.
Everyone loved the Twig Snake. It was the thickness of a twig, brown and only a foot long. Amazingly, however, this tiny little snake can give you a nasty death, poisoning you over the course of a week.
Death by other snake bites can be much quicker, especially if you’re in a remote area without access to the anti-venom injections, which is most likely. To put this in perspective though – assuming you’ve had the courage to read this far – only 10% of the snakes in Uganda are venomous. You’d be incredibly unlucky to meet one of that 10% and if you were to get bitten, they don’t necessarily release their poison either. I do love seeing Ugandans interacting positively with reptiles. (There seems to be so much fear around them, even though most are harmless).
Frankly I’ve hardly seen any snakes in my first two and a half years living in Uganda: two dead grey ones in the road and a couple of harmless Grass Snakes in our compound.
I had to wait a year before I saw a decent snake: and there it was stretched across the whole length of the road ahead of us, an enormous black snake (not a Black Mamba, they’re actually grey), on the road to Uganda Wildlife Authority campsite in Ishasha. It was a beauty!
Have you visited Reptiles Village? How do you feel about snakes and chameleons?
Africa Hash, Ethiopia – Magnificent Tissisat Falls
Monday: the Hashiest day of the week.
Tibs (meat) and injera bread (I grew to love it!)
The breakfast promised ‘as soon as we get out of Addis’ was actually brunch several hours later. I ate the best scrambled eggs ever and the Ethiopians shared tibs and injera. I noticed how everyone ate only with their right hand and pretended to do the same. I even sat on my left hand at one point, eager not to accidentally offend.
As we drove north, the landscape changed. I watched a child remove a big brown ‘pancake’ from a pile and tried to work out what it was: well fancy that, it’s a big pile of shit! Dried cow dung ready to put on the fire.
Comparable to Colorado’s Grand Canyon, the Blue Nile Gorge is a sight to behold. Next to a sign that read “the road is highly slipping. Stoping prohibited” we stopped for photos, a small rock wedged beneath one wheel of the coach. As we descended in altitude, the heat intensified.
Flagging, after a whole day on the coach and more than ready for beer, we talked the driver into another stop. It had started raining as I walked out of the restaurant. The coach driver started to drive off, sounding his horn loudly. I chased after the driver, ready to abuse him. Desire and Jesus ran behind me, both careering on the wet road and landing in the ditch hidden behind the coach.
Wailer stands above Helvetas’ remote footbridge near Tissisat Falls“I banged my finger” Desire said as he showed me a rather bent looking digit. “Oh dear, that doesn’t look right.” A First Aid box was produced and Wailer proceeded to yank Desire’s finger back into position with a crowd of Ethiopian lovelies crowding around them. Desire was force fed local gin, for purely medicinal reasons.
“Monday is definitely not going to be a finger day then,” we teased. “Can’t every day just be a Thursday?” Desire asked. (You work it out).
As we pulled away there were shouts of “Strap, On!” Sheila’s a road safety consultant, so belt up!
Despite what the Ethiopia Bradt guide says, Tissisat Falls are most definitely worth a visit – if you know someone who can turn the tap on! As we turned a corner, three dramatic waterfalls came into view. Possibly the highlight of the whole trip, the Falls and the surrounding vista of mountains in every direction were out of this world.
Hashing transcends cultures, professions, ages and running ability. It’s a real leveler and includes some well-connected people – you never know who’s underneath that Hash T shirt. And so, with a simple phone call, the water flowing through the hydroelectric dam was rerouted for an hour so we could see – and feel from 100 metres away – the full force of the original Falls. How lucky were we?
An Ethiopian lady Hasher, Tissisat (Blue Nile) Falls behind her
Mekdes ‘Madness’ in Gonder, with the next day’s newspaper – featuring the very same Falls!
View a short video clip Blue Nile Falls, Ethiopia
Thanks to Helvetas who sponsored the Hash T -shirts for the run. Helvetas constructed the fabulous metal footbridge, one of nine they’ve built in remote parts in Ethiopia. Just see how people crossed before!
Terrifying: some of us would pay good money to scare ourselves witless bungee jumping and the like – but to have to do this to get to work? or receive medical treatment? without any kind of equipment?!
A recap of Africa Hash 2011
Africa Hash, Ethiopia – Part 1: three days in Addis Ababa
Africa Hash, Ethiopia – Part 2: road trip to Bahir Dar and Tissisat Falls
Thank you! Amaseganalu
Thanks to the Africa Hash main sponsor St. George beer. Africa Hash served as the launch event for their mobile draught beer bar – I can safely say we gave it the baptism it deserves.
Hashing has given me the opportunity to travel abroad with my Ugandan friends, reconnect with English friends I met at Africa Hash 2009 in Kampala, and make friends in Ethiopia, Kenya and Tanzania friends. Mombasa May 2012 is now firmly in the diary (I can’t wait to party with Nairobi Hashers again) and Africa Hash 2013 in Ghana pencilled in…
Special thanks to Addis Hash for inviting us to your fabulous country. I’ve wanted to visit for years but you provided the opportunity, gave us a fantastic welcome, an awesome party and continued to enchant me even after the official festivities were over. I WILL BE BACK!
ON ON
View the whole Ethiopia photo album on Facebook
Africa Hash, Ethiopia – Feeling irie in Addis Ababa
Of a forecast 50+ Kampala Hashers, about half that number slowly dripped into Addis Ababa for Africa Hash 2011, mpole mpole ‘slowly by slowly’ all the way – one of them arrived on Sunday morning. Seriously guys, that’s a lot of beer drinking time you wasted.
Hashing, ‘a drinking club with a running problem’ is open to everyone, everywhere. Africa Hash takes place every two years and lasts three days.
The Constitution of the Hash House Harriers states:
- To promote physical fitness among our members
- To get rid of weekend hangovers
- To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer
- To persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel
“Out of all the bars in all the world, he had to walk into mine.” I’d only been in Ethiopia an hour and who sat next to me? The Hasher I’d done my best to get away from at Africa Hash 2009. But with 300 other Hashers to drink, dance (and possibly even run with!) it hardly mattered.
Friday is a hashing day! The Entoto run – altitude 3,211m
Time to register and to dive into the goodie bag: I loved the Ethiopian flavour, especially the tej (honey wine) glass and the coffee condoms (they keep you up all night, apparently).
Stuffed full of spicy Fir Fir (and ready to catch up on some sleep), I climbed aboard a coach for Entoto. “Ten people need to get off or we won’t get up the hill!” Bozo yelled. We yelled back. Nobody moved; we were too busy singing along to Sucker’s Hash songs as the coach slowly crawled up the hill past the two donkeys f**king by the side of the road.
After Bozo’s proclamation that “Kampala Hash is shit,” I was keen to see exactly what makes Addis ‘so bloody brilliant.’ But, I’ll give it them: Addis Hashes are better marked than Kampala ones. There’s a colour scheme for the different shredded paper marking the trails (until it rains!) and you really led us a merry dance with your check backs, you w**kers.
Kampala is 1000m above sea level but I still found Addis tough going. We walked – and panted – our way uphill for two and a half hours, through the smell of Eucalyptus, pine, sage and thyme. I chose the harder walk first: I knew by the next day I’d be f**ked.
It was a blustery circle back at the top of Entoto and we just hung around long enough to empty the keg of St. George.
Back at Tropical Gardens that evening, the boys from the slum shook their shoulders for us in a terrific dance routine. Sidney Salmon and his reggae band got the crowd feeling Irie. “One love,. …. let’s get together … and drink all night.” Learning more about Rastafarianism was just one highlight of being in Ethiopia.
At this point I have to say that Mismanagement did not live up to their name: the entertainment programme ran so smoothly; it was hard to imagine it was really a Hash event.
Several St. Georges later and the Hashettes Toad Under and Lobster and I turned our attention to the model Ethiopian Airlines plane, strategically misplaced right next to 300 drunken Hashers cavorting on the dance floor. “That thing’s not going to last the week-end!” Toad Under said, as we suggestively draped ourselves over it and set to scheming how the three of us were going to ride it (all puns intended).
My first Blue Donkey (taxi) experience later that night was scary; convinced we were trying to rip him off, the driver pulled over and screamed abuse at us at the top of his voice for five minutes. No-one moved (not that you can in a Lada anyway). Another U turn and another screaming fit later, I was relieved when it was my turn to jump out.
Note: Lobster had asked another Hasher to see I got home ok. He didn’t, he made his own arrangements. I suppose I should forgive him; he’d been locked out of his room the night before while one of the local ladies tested out the contents of the goodie bag with an Antipodean Hasher she’d picked up at the airport. Yes – I do have names!!
Saturday is a hashing day! Suluta Valley run – altitude 2750m
Back on the coach up the hill past the two donkeys (still) fucking by the side of the road.
I made no pretence at running – nor did many others! But enjoyed the scenery and walking with Drainoil, a fascinating man from Kuala Lumpur Hash and a walking piece of Hash history. What he doesn’t know, isn’t worth knowing. Hashing started in 1938 in Kuala Lumpur.
I lagged behind but was delighted when I turned a corner to see a Hasher languishing on a rock, St George in hand. This was undoubtedly the best circle of the week-end … DESPITE THE BEER RUNNING OUT! Ben Ghazi entertained us with the bagpipes (I left Europe to avoid that sound), Queenie dragged (not so innocent) Hashettes into the circle, Sucker was merciless with a cane and the locals looked on, mouths open, as Hashettes mounted Hashers on the open grass.
Back in town, the highlight of Saturday night was the Tam Tam (African music) Club in town. “I’m digging your Ugandan moves” Strap On said. (Two years as a volunteer in Uganda have not been wasted then!)
“I’m staying at the Hilton,” some Hasher chancer told me, “but it’s a bit lonely on my own” he hinted.” I glanced down at his wedding ring. “You should have brought your wife then,” I thought, as I sought refuge on the dance floor to wiggle my kabina some more.
Sunday is a hashing day!
The Red Dress Run was a hoot: there weren’t many Red Dresses (we were uncommonly well behaved after that nice Slave Trader’s warning not to offend the locals) and there was no Running but it was certainly er … Red.
The tree planting was a nice surprise. As a conservationist, I can bore you silly about how much I love trees. The Red Dress Run was in aid of Cheshire Services – a charity that works with Ethiopian children and young people with disabilities.
Back at the Tropical Gardens for our last get-together, a treat was laid on for us: grown men and women vomiting beer everywhere. Nice. Apparently it’s the gas that makes you heave, not the three days and nights of continuous drinking.
Sunday night, I crashed and burned. I hear Nairobi Hashers were giving it large back at the Phoenix Pub. I had another 2 weeks to go; I was pacing myself.
A recap of Africa Hash 2011
Africa Hash, Ethiopia – Part 2: road trip to Bahir Dar and Tissisat Falls
Africa Hash, Ethiopia – Part 3: Shoulder shimmying in Gondar
Thank you! Amaseganalu
Thanks to the Africa Hash main sponsor St. George beer. Africa Hash served as the launch event for their mobile draught beer bar – I can safely say we gave it the baptism it deserves.
Hashing has given me the opportunity to travel abroad with my Ugandan friends, reconnect with English friends I met at Africa Hash 2009 in Kampala, and make Ethiopian, Kenyan and Tanzanian friends. Mombasa May 2012 is now firmly in the diary (I can’t wait to party with Nairobi Hashers again) and Africa Hash 2013 in Ghana pencilled in.
Special thanks to Addis Hash for inviting us to your fabulous country. I’ve wanted to visit for years but you provided the opportunity, gave us a fantastic welcome, an awesome party and continued to enchant me even after the official festivities were over. I WILL BE BACK!
ON ON
The meaning of the Jamaican/rasta”IRIE” – my favourite is “I Respect I Eternally” – you have respect for yourself; being happy with who you are.
Ethiopia calling me – from my sickbed
Two days before I fly to Ethiopia, and I’m lying in bed with a temperature. I’ve a bed in Addis Ababa and someone to pick me up to the airport – but I still haven’t got a plane ticket.
Some mix-up at the bank. My debit card was refused on Friday, and after two long and very expensive calls to the UK, I’m told there’s no bar on the card anyway. (Apparently Visa is blocking its use, not my bank). What a bloody pain. I really don’t need it this week.
I’ve wanted to visit Ethiopia for years. Like many Westerners, Ethiopia first really came into my consciousness thanks to Bob Geldof and Band Aid’s “Feed the World” movement following the 1984 – 85 famine. Pop and politics was a potent mix for this British teenager. Every word and note had me hooked. It came as a shock, some years later, to watch film of the most fantastic green gorges and canyons, stretching for miles and miles, with enormous rivers – Ethiopia is one source of the Nile – thundering through them. I couldn’t believe it was the same country. Pictures of the unmistakeable red dusty African roads reminded me of the Africa I’d been yearning for since younger, pre-Bob days.
Another part of the African puzzle slots into place. I just know I’m going to fall in love with Ethiopia. I wonder if this is the start of my next African love affair?
The mattress seems surprisingly comfortable tonight; I can feel myself falling into it. I don’t remember when I was this physically exhausted, although reconnecting with my body is actually quite a nice feeling.
I was exhausted even before I left the compound with Baldrick at 6 p.m. We walked for an hour to Al’s Bar in Kansanga for the Hash. I stood around for an hour, had dinner and then walked home. It was a terrible Hash venue: dark and dim, crowded and terrible traffic for those driving.
I wonder if I have malaria? If I’m honest, I’m a bit worried about being away from civilisation for two weeks, essentially on my own. I brought a big bag of medication with me two years ago and have hardly used any. I’ve rarely been ill and with VSO nurse and doctor friends and International Hospital just 10 minutes walk away, health has never been a worry but, unusually, I have a headache.
I woke up hot and sweating this morning. The pillow was wet and the mattress was soaking – on both sides of the bed – and I thrashed around all night. Something’s given me a sore neck. It’s been a stressful day, and I’ve been on a mission to do as much as I can, so I’ve hunched over the laptop without a break. My shoulderblades and neck are locked solid, a sure sign of malaria according to Harriet. Better get tested.
I’m totally shattered now though. Last week was a tough week.
Shotgun wedding – a surreal and intense day
The word surreal is overused. But let me run this scenario past you, and I wonder if you – like me – would feel your brain split down the middle.
There’s no way around it, Friday was an intense day.
It started off well – we had a plan. The plan was that we would put the finishing touches to a donor report, due in the next day. This report is to an important donor, the final one for the project. There was a hell of a lot of work to report on, stretching back 18 months.
Did we need a 7 hour power cut?
However, we were both focused. UCF is a very small organisation; four of us work here full-time and Trustees, Directors and others all contribute on a voluntary basis, with very busy lives of their own. Pulling a report like this together can be a challenge, because we all have shifting priorities, and are spread across three time zones: Uganda, UK and the US. At the last minute, two key contributors had been reassigned to work on other projects. Our boss had to jump on a plane to see his girlfriend in hospital, and we were left to make some last minute decisions about things that we didn’t really feel qualified to answer.
It took Patrick hours to reach the office: he’d had to take a massive detour to avoid the trouble hotspots, which were multiplying by the minute.
Kampala was in a state of high alert. We were in the middle of the Opposition’s ‘Walk to work’ campaign, which started off as a protest about the increases in fuel prices and cost of living. The protest quickly led to riots across the capital. The state’s heavy response has further aggravated and politicised the populace.
But none of this affected our quiet little house here in Namuwongo.
Throughout the day I received SMS from the VSO emergency number and the British High Commission, telling me which areas of the city to avoid. The information was good, but the situation kept changing. People came and went from the office with reports about which areas of town were no-go areas. Eva told us of people being taken to hospital, and people being injured. Some of it was true, some of it wasn’t. It was weird to know all this trouble was only a few kilometres away, while we were totally unaffected by it.
The government had ordered television stations not to broadcast live footage of the demonstrations. We therefore relied more than ever on the radio, SMS and eyewitness accounts from friends. One of our volunteer friends was barricaded in her office, close to Mulago hospital, an inner city area which is often a scene for disruption. This time was more intense, there were battles on the streets and burning tyres.
As Chair for the VSO volunteers in Kampala, I needed to make sure I kept up to speed with the security situation. I called the VSO Programme Office and we agreed to watch the situation. Would we need to issue further security guidance to volunteers? At what point would we need to consider evacuating the volunteers? We agreed things would probably calm down over the weekend and that we’d review security first thing on Monday morning.
With serious security SMS to read, digest and share, while pushing hard to meet a crucial report deadline, the muzungu was stressing about something altogether less serious: I wanted to finish early to watch Great Britain’s Royal Wedding.
During the build-up to the wedding, I began to feel homesick.
I remember what a great day Charles and Diana’s wedding was, and always swore I would attend the next one, and take my place in the Mall. I also longed for a long week-end with my family.
As noon approached, I received another SMS from VSO: no non-essential travel allowed. How essential was it for me to go and watch the wedding? And what would Daniel say if he heard the Cluster Chair had ignored the advice? I’d planned to go to Bubbles (an ex-pat bar) to watch it but resigned myself to staying in the house, determined not to work through the wedding.
At five minutes to one, I shut down my laptop. “I’m not here,” I told the others. I have a TV but the others were still working (two of us work in my living room), preparing to email the report to the donor, and I wanted to be on my own.
I went into my bedroom, climbed under the mosquito net, put on my headphones and tuned into the World Service. I felt surprisingly emotional – the classical music stirred me.
I couldn’t see Pippa’s bottom, I didn’t see Beatrice’s awful hat and I didn’t follow the whole service; it was enough to just connect with home for a few minutes, especially after all the stress and madness going on around us.
Around the World with 40 Lonely Planet bloggers
Did you know Diary of a Muzungu featured on Lonely Planet from 2009-2012?
If you like travelling – real or armchair! – you’ll love this …
Diary of a Muzungu has been appearing on Lonely Planet, as part of the travel bloggers’ Blogsherpa programme since 2009.
The Lonely Planet “Blogsherpas” is a group of 250 of the world’s best-known bloggers. Our free photo e-book “Around the World with 40 Lonely Planet Bloggers” takes readers on a world tour of almost 70 countries, and introduces the world of professional travel blogging. You can download a copy for FREE!
Diary of a Muzungu was a Lonely Planet Featured Blogger from 2009 to 2012
In the e-book, Diary of a Muzungu highlights some of the incredible places I’ve visited in Uganda. I had just two pages in which to select my favourite photos of Uganda – so it wasn’t an easy decision!
It took me weeks to decide which of my photos of Uganda I could include. I have hundreds more… Photos – Diary of a Muzungu – as featured in the Lonely Planet bloggers’ e-book
“Around the World with 40 Lonely Planet Bloggers” features a collection of stunning images that capture the essence of our travel experiences.
The gathering of this eclectic group of travel experts was born out of Lonely Planet’s effort to broaden content for their audience. “The concept was simple – get the best 10% of travel bloggers out there to share their thoughts and ideas…shining a light on the very best travel writing and photography on the planet,” tells Matthew Cashmore, former Innovation Ecosystem Manager at Lonely Planet on the creation of the BlogSherpa Program.
“The 40 BlogSherpas showcased in the e-book specialize in travel modes ranging from solo to couples to family travel, road trips, budget travel, expat living, voluntourism and even perpetually traveling digital nomads,” explains Karen Catchpole, one of the featured bloggers.
Fishermen in a dugout canoe paddle through the early morning mist on the Rover Nile, near Jinja. Photo – Diary of a Muzungu – as featured in the Lonely Planet bloggers’ e-book
The BlogSherpas have reached beyond our own blogs, featuring in National Geographic Traveler, Huffington Post, Travel + Leisure, AFAR and more.
I’m delighted to be associated with Lonely Planet and to share and learn so much from the Lonely Planet Blogsherpa global community.
“Around the World with 40 Lonely Planet Bloggers” is free to download here.
It’s a big file so make yourself a cup of tea while it’s downloading … we hope you enjoy the e-book as much as we’ve enjoyed collecting the content for you 🙂
If you want to see more of my photos, check out my Gallery on Flickr or follow Diary of a Muzungu on Instagram and Facebook.
The son-in-laws I never knew I had: funeral of my namesake, Jajja
“I only came so I could see you in your gomezi!” I teased Harriet. She looked beautiful.
Anxious not to arrive halfway through another Ugandan funeral, I decided to check that “4 o’clock” means the same for me as it does for my Ugandan friend Harriet. I’m glad I called: the 4 p.m. service had been brought forward by two hours and is 40 km outside Kampala; there’s the service in town to attend first too.
We’re late of course.
Kampala traffic is its usual snarled-up mess. “Kampala’s a dump” says Harriet’s aunt Sanyu; well it’s certainly a bit of a culture shock in comparison to rural south-east England where she lives.
Halfway through the service and there’s still no sign of the coffin.
After the service we go outside and the hearse opens to reveal a white coffin. I don’t want to cause a scene but … [didn’t I see a brown wooden coffin lying on the grass in front of Jajja’s house … ? Do we have the right coffin?]*
“Would you like to look at it?” Sanyu asks me. (I assume she means Jajja’s body, not just the coffin, but by now I am rather confused). We agree it doesn’t seem right, seeing Jajja for the last time in the open car park, but Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t allow the body inside Kingdom Hall.
Two hours later at Kalassa, 40 km north of Kampala, it’s our turn to be stared at as we pull up and park under a tree. The caterers prepare gigantic pots of food – enough for 3-400 people – over open fires. A man throws his full weight into stirring a gigantic tin pot of thick maize posho.
The bush kitchen was in full swing when we arrived. Catering for a funeral
Groups of older ladies in their best and brightest gomezi sit on woven mats under the cool canopy of the mango tree. Boys sit on the tree’s trunk-like roots. Young men distribute red, blue and the ubiquitous white plastic chairs under the marquees that surround the coffin on three sides. The open casket lies under a smaller marquee in the shade of the tree. The roses wilt and droop in the intense midday heat – so do we.
It’s difficult to stay awake as we await the other mourners.
After an hour and a half, Harriet still hasn’t arrived. We hear police are using water cannon and letting off tear gas and bullets back in town (it’s a few weeks after Presidential elections). We just hope the funeral party isn’t stuck on the wrong side of the protests.
One of Jajja’s greatest legacies was the establishment, 40 years ago, of a primary school for the children of Nsambya police barracks, the largest of its kind in East and Central Africa. The Ugandan police are poorly paid and the barracks are shockingly bad. The police bus, kindly provided to ferry teachers and mourners from Nsambya, has been caught up in the riots and has to be escorted through the trouble as disgruntled young men start throwing missiles at it. Luckily everyone gets through safely.
These events require a lot of patience: the long drive, the language barrier, the religion, the greetings, the hot sun, delayed schedules, the need to wait for everyone to arrive from every part of the country. It’s strange for me to have this enforced time out of the office mid-week but there’s no power anyway after last night’s powerful windstorm. My right hand is ‘paining me,’ I shouldn’t be handwriting these notes but, with no laptop for the foreseeable future, I have to live with it.
I doze in my chair.
I’m relieved the Police Commandant delivers his speech in both Luganda and English. “We would all have been here” he says “but you know what’s going on.” He’s referring to the Opposition’s ‘Walk to Work’ campaign ostensibly in protest at the sharp increase in the cost of living. To help reduce household bills in particular, people are asking the government to reduce the amount of tax levied on petrol. This campaign is being led by the Opposition parties who are still contesting the results of the Presidential elections.
Military police have been stationed at strategic points around Kampala on and off for weeks now. They were just hanging around when we passed them but things hotted up later on …
On TV the World Bank reports that the cost of food globally has increased by 34% in one year, predominantly due to increase in oil prices. Poor people spend most of their money on food so they are the hardest hit. Some people here are even talking about ‘going back to the village.’ They won’t earn money there but at least they have land to farm and thus won’t starve. Ultimately every Ugandan has a village to go back to, although stories of people selling their land to move to the city are increasingly common.
Back at the graveside, hundreds of people crowd precariously on the mounds of earth heaped up around the small hole in the ground amid the coffee trees. The traditional Muganda barkcloth is laid over the coffin as it’s lowered into the ground.
The traditional barkcloth is laid over the coffin as it is lowered into the ground. Hundreds of people crowd around the graveside
Harriet’s brother Martin shows me the family’s burial plot and invites me to cleanse my hands with the sap from the stalk of the banana tree, part of the funeral ritual.
Practicing my rudimentary Luganda to meet and greet Harriet’s family offers some light relief after the day’s formalities. Being given a Muganda name “Nagawa” has given me hours of fun and I am delighted to be the same clan as Jajja. Our totem is the Red Tailed Monkey. Since Jajja has passed on, I (her clanmate) have assumed the role of Jajja. I discover that being Jaja means I am mother-in-law to two men who are the same age as my father! (Sanyu tries to explain how the relations between clans work but I’m not sure I get it). Either way, I am honoured.
Beautifully dressed lady mourners walking home after the funeral in the village
Last week I wrote:
Jajja is very sick. It’s very sad. She’s lying in a metal framed hospital bed in the clinic. It’s a typical Ugandan setup: drab and old-fashioned but dust-free from daily mopping. Jajja has been on a drip since yesterday but these visits to the clinic seem to be getting more regular. Harriet’s worried and she hasn’t been sleeping. She is stressing over the house girls who are paid to look after Jajja but who instead just sit around watching TV. It’s a shame I didn’t get to know Jajja before she was ill. She’s 87 now.
Harriet is a devoted granddaughter, trying to feed Jajja, organising people to look after her. It seems the main responsibility keeps falling back to her though, whatever arrangements she tries to make.
Last night Harriet slept in Jajja’s hospital room, in a mat under her bed. She was covered in mosquito bites this morning.
*As for the mystery over the two coffins, it turns out that the family had bought a second, more expensive one: the white one I had seen at Kingdom Hall.
I’m further alarmed the next day when I notice the original brown coffin stored in one of the spare rooms. I know the family need beds for all the relatives staying, but seriously???
Lest you think I’m just sunbathing in paradise
Getting this far is a blog post in itself – if you’re interested in things technical…?
Here in Uganda, I’ve had even more IT issues than normal. This w/end, putting in even longer hours than during the working week, I seriously had to question my sanity for even trying to blog at all!
After two years using a free blogging service, and with the imminent launch of the Lonely Planet bloggers’ e-book, I decided to upgrade to purchase my own domain www.muzungubloguganda.com Perhaps it’s here I went wrong! This turned out to be a major amount of work on a slow internet connection (I write this blog in addition to the ‘day job’) … and last week, just when I thought we were good to go, it got hacked!
Luckily Erin, web designer, to the rescue! Without your support, I would have lost the plot by now; I can’t thank you enough for stepping in right at the last minute and rescuing my blog and possibly my sanity!
Keen to promote the e-book as much as I can, I tried to get Twitter set up. It took me countless attempts. I set my account up 2 years ago in the UK but in Uganda, I gave up trying to log in. At first I thought the problem was slow connectivity. I was constantly asked to reset my password, there was no answer to my problem in the FAQs and the support contact form didn’t work … In the end, I asked my sister to log in to my account from the UK and bingo! Twitter now works. (We’ll ignore the fact I’m 2+ years behind the rest of the world in terms of actually knowing how to use it!)
These IT ‘challenges’ as we say in VSO-development speak for PROBLEMS, major setbacks and dealing with impossible people (!) were nothing to the fact that a few weeks ago my laptop ground to a halt, totally. The motherboard completely failed, the on-screen icons melted, I heard a ‘beep’ and amen, it was no more. I was quoted $400 to replace it (I earn that in about two months) with no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. Thanks HP for manufacturing complete crud.
So, with a serious work deadline looming (final project report to our biggest donor) and the blog mid-transfer, I was forced to work between two tired old PCs, an external hard drive and webmail.
And while all of this was happening, did I mention …. getting dropped from a great height by Possibly The Most Handsome Man I have ever dated, who turned out to just be a Player? (I should have known)…
Did I also mention I caught Malaria? (Don’t panic Ma, I’ve taken the medication!)
So, another day / week / month in paradise!
Days that go from complete euphoria to the other end of the spectrum; but it’s not just me, lots of expats feel the same way too about life in Uganda – life – and our emotional reaction to it – doesn’t leave room for any grey areas.
R.I.P. Mary – elephant entertainer extraordinaire
Tragic news from Queen Elizabeth National Park this week-end: Mary the orphan elephant has been found dead, believed to have been poisoned.
This famous elephant was raised by Marcel Onen (who worked for Michael Keigwin, my boss and Founder of the Uganda Conservation Foundation (UCF), for seven years. Michael writes “After years of Mary entertaining us all in Mweya and elsewhere in QE it is very sad, but somewhat inevitable, that this would happen. Everyone is very upset.”
Recently, Mary has been quite the media darling, appearing in the local newspaper stopping traffic and of course causing losses to some traders, who just couldn’t keep up with her demand for bananas. Just last week my colleague Patrick met her at Katunguru where she was rubbing her shoulders against a tree.
Image courtesy of Jan Broekhuis, Wildlife Conservation Society
She was a delicate lady: friends have told me stories of how she would delicately remove all the crockery from the outside sink – without breaking a thing – before turning on the tap to quench her thirst.
Despite our best efforts, ivory poaching and retaliatory killings of elephants are on the increase in Uganda. The poaching / global ivory trade now operates on an industrial scale, and growing human populations encroach on what little remains of the Protected Areas. Fact is though, Mary was harmless – all three tons of her. She’d been reared by humans, was not one of the destructive crop raiding elephants and was adored by thousands of tourists and rangers. She’ll be sorely missed.
The Uganda Conservation Foundation works with the Uganda Wildlife Authority to try to protect elephants and sensitise local communities to the benefits of community conservation. However, the prevalent mindset is still simply to kill any animal that gets in your way.
We won’t give up however: there are many dedicated men and women rangers who put their lives on the line on a daily basis to protect wildlife, and they need our support more than ever.
UCF has the fastest growing conservation page on Facebook in Uganda, with supporters from across the globe.
Do you have any funny stories about Mary you’d like to share? We’ve created a Facebook photo album in Mary’s honour and invite everyone to upload photos, post comments and share this link with friends.
If you’d like to support UCF, a British registered charity that has been operating in Uganda for ten years, you can donate here
