Power off – who gives a dam(n)?
I’ve been getting the hang of doing my make-up by candlelight this week-end but it is a faff to have to grope round in the darkness; I’m just glad it’s not too often.
What is it with Sundays? Some texts go through, others don’t, and this week-end MTN are charging me twice for every SMS. I refuse to phone unless it’s an emergency! Phone calls are extortionate (but a change of providers might help)…
The radio announced that the power will be off for three days this week. Apparently there’s a problem down at Jinja (the new dam?) and there’s a national diesel shortage (we’re arguing with the Kenyans again) so generators will only be on for a limited period. So far so good but it’s the unpredictability of supply that plays havoc with the semi-charged laptop, the forgotten torch and the contents of the fridge. The internet goes off of course and office work slowly grinds to a halt as the laptop batteries drain and the surge protector unit – between the mains and the PCs – beeps louder and louder.
Orange internet seems no better than UTL, our previous internet provider: having our internet cables dug up and stolen was the last straw so now we’re wireless. Is it because we’re at swamp level here in Namuwongo that the connectivity’s so slow?
During work hours, we go into Kampala to catch up on errands when the power goes and Patrick makes an early start to beat his way through the ridiculous traffic. Without electricity to power the ‘iron box’ and do the ironing, Eva manages to slowly stretch the remaining household chores into the rest of the working day. She moves around so slowly at times, silent as a ghost.
I rather like overhearing the moment when the electricity suddenly cuts out: there’s a collective ‘OH!’ from the other side of the compound wall as the background music to my life suddenly stops. Ah, silence!
Face made-up by candlelight (after a fashion) I tiptoe my way to the boda boda stage by the light of my phone, aiming for the Indian shop, a (generator-powered) beacon of light amidst the darkness. “Take care” says the unusually attentive shop owner (that’ll be the low-cut top) and with that I trip on a pebble back into the darkness.
Choking through the potholes of Kampala
Traffic around Kampala is notorious and getting worse.
PHOTO: Enormous craters along this road have given it the nickname ‘The Mountains of the Moon’ – a reference to the Rwenzori Mountains between Uganda and the DRC (Democratic Republic of the Congo). After the rains this 200 metre unnavigable stretch of road (even in a 4X4) becomes known as ‘Lake Bukoto.’
It’s quite common to turn your engine off as you sit still for 10 minutes or more. Yesterday it took us an hour and a half to drive 3 kilometres / 2 miles, bumper to bumper, in and out of the potholes of Kampala’s Industrial Area, choking on the black diesel fumes from lorries we disposed of in the West 30 years ago. A Nature Uganda speaker this week told us how air pollution is a major contributor to heart disease in places like Uganda: road pollution, burning rubbish (including plastics and batteries), cooking over a charcoal stove, kerosene lamps and more.
door to door salesman Kampala
Stuck in traffic on a boda boda crossing Kampala Road. This day was pretty calm. Often the streets are PACKED with bodas
A birding safari here in my Kampala backyard
Early Sunday morning – when few people are around – is the best time to spot birds: through the slum, along the railway track, through the Papyrus down to Port Bell on Lake Victoria.
“Up with the lark” last Sunday for a spot of birdwatching with Roger and Jean. (Strangely, the lark was one of the few birds we didn’t see!) What a fantastic way to wile away a few hours.
Roger volunteers with Nature Uganda and gets paid to travel to every corner of Uganda to do bird counts. Nice job! His knowledge is amazing. Jean is a fellow VSO volunteer and is a midwife at Kibuli Hospital. He’s nuts about birds, she’s nuts about babies.
My house is separated from the marsh – and one of the city’s shanty towns – by the railway line a few metres beyond our compound wall. I love living in Namuwongo. I have the quiet of being in a cul de sac with the reassuring buzz of human activity beyond: men hammering iron sheet roofs onto new shelters, laughing children, salesmen broadcasting their (usually crappy Chinese) wares via the repetitive strain of Greensleeves played on a loop on cheap tinny speakers (did I mention crappy Chinese wares… ?) Except of course, it’s not always a buzz of activity out there but one – or many – loud pulsing rhythms. The drums and the sound of people ululating fill the night air on market days. Even after 18 months here it still sounds magical to me.
We are of course encroaching onto the wetlands. Our house is on legitimate land, the ‘right side’ of the railway, but nonetheless our house is surely part of the wider problem.
On our walk we lamented the loss of the wetlands (the natural filter for the heavy run-off from rains in Kampala for instance) but were delighted to see seven Grey-Crowned Cranes, Uganda’s national symbol. What does it say about a country’s environmental management that its national symbol faces extinction within 20 years? Survival of the Grey-Crowned Crane is threatened due to wetland habitat destruction, where the Cranes breed. Wetlands in Uganda are under threat from a variety of human activities, especially conversion to farmland and agricultural activities. Consequently, the Crane’s critical breeding and roosting habitats are disappearing while the remaining ones are highly degraded. Nature Uganda is spearheading the campaign to protect this extraordinarily beautiful bird.
We were gobsmacked at the sight of a Black Headed Heron swallowing an enormous frog and you have to wonder how the clumsy-looking Pink Backed Pelicans balance atop the tree. We searched for the beauty in the ugly Marabou Stork. Viewed while it’s on the ground you won’t see it: admire its gracious flight, we all agreed it’s quite spectacular for such a big bird.
A Long Crested Eagle watched us pass. He looked a bit odd; the wind dishevelled him, making his crest feathers flop over his eyes, reminding me of my grandfather whose single strand of hair covered a receding hairline – until he ventured out in windy weather.
We argued about the merits – or not! – of the Woodland Kingfisher’s call. A beautiful bird it may be but its call, from the avocado tree overlooking my bedroom, is shrill and unforgiving at 5.30 a.m. every bleeding morning.
A few of the amazing 86 bird species we saw on our walk (Roger has actually recorded 120 in this small area) included the Hadada Ibis, who scolded us at regular intervals, like a child who uncovers you playing ‘hide and seek’ and has to alert everyone to your hiding place.
The African Hobby is quite the cutest bird of prey I’ve seen. The bird reminded me of my UK life and the long distance we’ve both travelled. We also saw a Sandpiper and some other avian visitors from northern Europe.
As the railway track curved round towards Port Bell we heard a terrific blood-curdling screaming as a pig had its throat cut at the open-air abattoir below us. Roger told us about another day trip he’d been on: counting the vultures at the main city abattoir near Luzira. “I’ve never seen anything like it” he said. “Hundreds of sheep and goat heads in a pile.” Four hundred cattle are killed a day, and in the most rudimentary fashion.
Marabou Storks and Hooded Vultures jostled for the best picking among a big pile of bones which, on closer inspection (I couldn’t stop myself) turned out to be fresh pig heads. Yes I am somehow still a vegetarian!
The one and only: Baldrick
Dogs rushed us from all directions as we approached Port Bell and for once my happy-go-lucky Baldrick looked rattled. “He’s alright” Jean said. “Not sure Baldrick thinks so!” Roger added. Being charged by an enormous cow – loose and feeding on a rubbish dump we passed – was a bit scary though.
We followed the railway track right down to Port Bell, on the edge of Lake Victoria. It’s the first time I’ve seen draught Bell – or any other lager – in Uganda, served an inch at a time! We had our drinks in a little shack by the beach as the waitresses argued over how to lay out the tables. The freight ships arrive in Port Bell from Tanzania. We know they’ve docked when we hear the train shuttle up and down 2 or 3 times a day from the Lake to the Industrial Area approximately 5 km away.
Back home along the railway track and we tripped over Baldrick as the day heated up and he started to lag behind. Jean and I waved and shook hands with the kids screaming “muzungu, how are you?” as Roger kept walking on.
“We’ve blown your cover!” I said, laughing.
“I’ve spent months trying to ignore them. Now they’ll all be calling at me next time I walk along here.” Sorry Roger, I just hope you get to hear the Papyrus Gonolek above the screaming children next time you walk to Port Bell.
The full list of birds we saw on our birdwatching safari to Port Bell, in the order they appear in Stevenson and Fanshawe’s “Birds of East Africa” is:
Pink Backed Pelican
Great Cormorant
Long Tailed Cormorant
Cattle Egret
Little Egret
Purple Heron
Black Headed Heron
Grey Heron
Marabou Stork
Hammerkop
Open Billed Stork
Marabou Stork
Hadada Ibis
Black Kite
Black Shouldered Kite
Palm Nut Vulture
Hooded Vulture
African Marsh Harrier
Shikra
Long Crested Eagle
Grey Kestrel
African Hobby
Grey Crowned Crane
African Jacana
Black Crake
Spur Winged Lapwing
Long Toed Lapwing
Wood Sandpiper
White Winged Tern
Gull Billed Tern
African Green Pigeon
Speckled Pigeon
Red Eyed Dove
Laughing Dove
Grey Parrot
Eastern Grey Plantain eater
Diederik Cuckoo
White Browed Coucal
Blue headed Coucal
Little Swift
Palm Swift
Speckled Mousebird
Pied Kingfisher
Woodland Kingfisher
Malachite Kingfisher
White Throated Bee-eater
Yellow fronted Tinkerbird
Yellow rumped Tinkerbird
Double Toothed Barbet
Sand martin
Barn Swallow
African Pied Wagtail
Common Bulbul
White Browed Robin chat
African Thrush
Little Rush Warbler
Winding Cisticola
Red-faced Cisticola
Tawny Flanked Prinia
Grey capped Warbler
Grey backed Camaroptera
Northern Black Flycatcher
Black and White Shrike Flycatcher
Brown Throated Wattle eye
African Blue Flycatcher
Yellow White eye
Bronze Sunbird
Olive bellied Sunbird
Copper Sunbird
Red chested Sunbird
Grey backed Fiscal
Black headed Gonolek
Papyrus Gonolek
Pied Crow
Ruppell’s Long Tailed Starling
Splendid Starling
Grey headed Sparrow
Black headed Weaver
Grosbeak Weaver
Slender billed Weaver
Fan tailed Widowbird
Red billed Firefinch
Common Waxbill
Black Crowned Waxbill
Bronze Mannikin
Black and white Mannikin
Yellow fronted Canary
Fun and games at the ballot box
If “the path to true love isn’t always smooth”, how about the path to democracy?
Ugandans would like to say they live in a democracy but if the last week’s events are anything to go by, the country’s not there yet.
I have a feeling tonight’s set to be another noisy night. I live behind a high wall, next to Kampala’s railway track and the slums of Namuwongo slum. “Soweto” is one of the better known parts of the slum.
It’s quiet now but several hundred people have just passed by on the other side of the wall, cheering loudly. I expect it’s do with the election primaries being carried out across the country. Our house girl Eva will fill me in on the local gossip tomorrow!
Today’s Sunday Vision reports that “the (ruling) NRM (National Resistance Movement) party primaries for Kampala were yesterday called off following theft of the ballot papers.”
According to the acting chairperson of the Electoral Commission: “The ballot papers which were dispatched to Kampala in the evening of September 3 have been stolen and are in the hands of unscrupulous people who intend to rig the elections in Kampala.”
Last week a number of senior Government Ministers were voted out during the first stage of the primaries. They disputed the results and all hell broke loose.
Lady NRM candidate on the campaign trail in Jinja
According to the Daily Monitor newspaper: “It was evident that some ballots were ticked prior to the voting dates. Some incumbents are said to have ferried students from their schools in order to get more votes. In another region one candidate got more votes than the voters in the area – was this magic?”
It’s going to be an interesting few months …
The general election is due to take place in March.
Girls’ adventure in Jinja and a sneak preview of an amazing new lodge
A stroke of luck – and a chance to explore Jinja
My finances had dried up and I wasn’t looking forward to staying in all week-end with only 10,000 Uganda shillings (£3) to survive on until payday this week. After only 3 sessions, the English conversation class I’ve been giving has been put on hold.
I was going stir crazy.
“We’ve been working far too hard for volunteers!” Stacey and I agreed, only half-jokingly. I’d produced four fund-raising proposals in two weeks and I needed to get out of town. When my colleague asked me how he could thank me for my hard work, I immediately said “take me on your next field trip!” Sadly, as the week passed, the car filled up with researchers and so I was left behind in Kampala to stew alonein my very lovely house. Since the organisation office is in my spare bedroom, it can be difficult to switch off from work, especially when you’ve been working long hours.
And then out of the blue came an invitation to accompany fellow VSO volunteer Jan and a visiting Irish Member of Parliament for a week-end in Jinja. What luck!
Jinja sits on Lake Victoria, three hours drive east of Kampala. For Ugandans it’s a symbol of the country’s industrial heyday but I find the derelict factories and the run-down 1950s architecture depressing; it could have been so different. For visitors however, Jinja’s famous for being the Source of the Nile and the adrenaline capital of East Africa.
Our timing was spot on: a group of rafters and canoeists – there to heave rafters out of the water if the raft overturns – were approaching the falls. I had butterflies in my stomach. Were these the falls where we’d flipped over and I’d panicked?
The rafters floated on downstream and we stopped for lunch at the Fork and Paddle, a high vantage point overlooking the river. The sun was beating down and for a moment I thought I was on holiday.
As we left Bujagali Falls, three big buses thundered past us at speed, throwing up billowing clouds of thick dust. How blessed were we to have been virtually run off the road by the visiting African Anglican Bishops.
Kingfisher Safari Resort offers no chance of game viewing but does have a beautifully landscaped view of Lake Victoria through lush vegetation and palm trees of varying heights. We loved the funky bandas and it was great to be in the pool after a muggy dusty day.
We’d promised VSO we’d take good care of our VIP guest so we had to laugh when, en route to dinner along the Kanunga Road, our car ended up in the middle of a heaving mass of several hundred people, shouting, dancing and ululating!
As we waited for everyone to pass, the crowd changed direction and moved towards us.
We were stuck. People gestured us to drive forward. People beckoned us to reverse.
In the build-up to the general election next year, we had ended up slap bang in the middle of an election rally of not one, but two, candidates.
It was market day and the whole world was out on the street. Resplendent in gold and yellow – the dominant colour of the National Resistance Movement that has been in power for 24 years – the lady candidate danced and laughed with the crowd. There’s not a whole lot going on in this neck of the woods so, regardless of your political colours, you’ll get a good turn-out if you roll up with a big sound system. You have to wonder how many of the cheering crowd will actually vote though.
On our guided tour along the randomly designed wooden walkways, we murmured approvingly at the way the walkway had carefully been built around the trees. The individual bandas are large and stunning, each with their own private decks. I thought of how relaxing it would be to go to sleep to the sound of the falls. Every element of the construction is unique: the Zanzibari wood carvings above the doorways, the granite hand basins, the natural rock pool next to the falls that will soon be the lodge’s swimming-pool.
As we paddled back across the Nile through the dark night back to the waiting car, a flicker of lightening gave a rosy glow to the far horizon.
A lazy week-end in Kampala marked 18 months in-country
Another hangover, another power cut, oh yes it must be Sunday morning.
The dog’s lying on the floor by the front door staring at me, reminding me it’s time for his morning walk.
Working from home has made me lazy – it’s hard to believe that 18 months ago to the day I arrived from the UK, fit and full of energy! I’m still running once or twice a week, but it’s a bit of an effort these days. I’m OK once the legs have warmed up, or I’m on the flat, or downhill, but these Kampala hills can really crush your motivation.
It’s been an idle week-end so far. A friend bought me lunch yesterday at Cassia Lodge, a beautiful hotel set high on a hill overlooking Lake Victoria.
Stacey flew to Zambia last night where she’s giving a presentation to the East and Central African Nurses Association. She’s spent the last two months interviewing nurses across Uganda and I’ve spent the last few days working on her presentation. It made a change for the subject matter to be nurses rather than elephants!
Jan’s been busy cooking Stacey dinners and printing her transcripts so Stacey treated us both to lunch. A very relieved Stacey was full of laughter again.
In the evening we were invited to dinner at an Irish friend’s house.
“It’s nothing special” he said, “you must come round and help me eat this food or it’ll go to waste.” When I said I don’t eat chicken he said, “but you do eat lobster?”
What can a girl say? Specifically, what can a VSO volunteer struggling to live on her allowance say? And so off Jan and I trotted. For this occasion we decided that arriving with wine in the usual cheap Tetrapak carton “just wouldn’t do” and we were right. We were treated to imported Irish smoked salmon and capers, followed by mint and chocolate ice cream, washed down with Jameson – Irish Whiskey – of course. The food was like a dream.
Back home and I don’t even have money for milk for my morning tea…
Namuwongo house kitchen. I was lucky enough to have a fridge but the rusty door kept falling off its hinges!
There are always bananas in the bowl. I make sure they’re there for Simpson and Eva, but there are only so many I can eat in a week and I had two for dinner on Friday. The unreliable fridge and lack of an oven have put me off cooking; it’s not the same cooking for one anyway. It’s become too easy to ask Eva to pick up bits and pieces for me when she’s shopping for our lunch. I hardly even go to the market anymore. I love bartering but Eva gets a better deal than me and watching my shillings gets tiresome.
I’d been looking forward to starting up English lessons again with Hans and his French wife Kiki. They had their Visa card stolen while on holiday in Europe and are now reviewing their finances so the lessons are on hold. It’s a bit of a blow. Two hours English lessons with them every week can double my monthly income.
My thoughts now are on a big party that I’m planning for my birthday in a month’s time. Luckily I’d already asked everyone to contribute 10,000 shillings (approx £3). For this, Eva will be preparing a Ugandan buffet and a friend is organising for one of the street vendors to slaughter a goat and roast it on an open grill in the compound.
“And you will eat some” T says firmly.
“No I will not” I laugh. Am I his daughter to talk to like that?
My happy boy. Baldrick in the house
The theme for the party is “Come as something you might see on Safari” so it should be a giggle. I’m inviting all the VSOs, the VSO Programme Office and a variety of expat and Ugandan friends. I love hosting parties. We still talk about last year’s. It went on until 4 am before we went clubbing.
I have a big house, the catch being that it’s also the organisation office. I find this a struggle sometimes: hard to switch off from work. I was ill last week and I really didn’t want to see anyone. Next month I will be sharing my house with Rob and Janice, two older volunteers, who are returning for three months. They’re nice people but I was a bit put out at simply being told they’re coming to stay: two people – for three months. That said, the change may do me good.
The emotional rollercoaster continues
The emotional rollercoaster continues.
I wonder, at 18 months in-country, where I am on “the VSO volunteer scale”? During training, Voluntary Service Overseas showed us a big U-shaped diagram that charts how volunteers tend to feel as we plan, arrive and live our placements in a foreign land. There are emotional highs and lows. If you see the pattern, it can help you cope with your new life.
T made me float on air. “It feels too good to be true” I pinched myself.
Then, a few weeks after our affair started, followed the excitement of travelling back home to the UK and reconnecting with everyone.
T had Malaria, but when this didn’t subside after two weeks, he was diagnosed with Typhoid.
The World Cup was on TV and T’s eyes were glued to it. He only had eyes for me to start with and now he walks in the house and immediately switches the TV on.
Weeks of insecurity followed, but were they all down to me?
One morning he announces that his daughter Louisa is playing up and he needs to spend more time with her. What room is there in his life for me? I don’t complain, how can I deny an 11 year old her father? (Recall the trouble he had admitting he had two children).
A few days later and I ask how she is. “She’s OK,” he says. I’m worried and all I get is two words in return.
A month later – I now have a much more thorough knowledge of the Ugandan TV schedule – he says he had to take his mother to hospital. She has a heart problem. T looks worried.
Next time I see him I ask him how his mum is. “She’s OK,” he says. I’m worried and all I get is two words in return.
I go to kiss him and he shies away. One time he even physically smarts and frowns, as if I’ve hit him. His fevers and mood swings have subsided but what’s left?
I’ve been feeling homesick. It took 18 months. Or did it take a man? I’m even thinking about going home after my placement, and asking myself how I’ll manage in Kampala until then.
Kampala to Jinja relay – the sugar cane Hash
Map of the Kampala to Jinja Relay
Map of the Kampala to Jinja relay route that gives the quite correct impression that 1) there were indeed lots of hills and 2) our collective blood pressure would rise and fall like the proverbial yo-yo, ending in a slump by the Nile.
The dusty back roads of the Kampala to Jinja Relay
They came from Kigali and Nairobi to join Kampala Hash House Harriers (KH3), an assorted bunch of Ugandans, Americans, Brits and the occasional Dutchie: thin ones and fat ones, professional runners (a few) and the usual party animals (carloads of them).
My lucky English socks!
Some of them brought dogs…One Harriette wore her lucky English socks!
The team Waragi bus. Kampala Hash House Harriers
In true Hash Mismanagement style, we were still shopping for supplies at 11.30 pm the night before the annual Kampala – Jinja relay, and on the road (minus the required tent, what tent?) at 6.30 the next morning.
Last year’s knee injury sustained climbing Mount Elgon meant this was my first time to take part in the (in)famous Kampala Jinja Relay, now in its sixth year.
Jinja is Uganda’s second city and famous for being the Source of the Nile (but don’t mention that to an Ethiopian, they get upset).
Harriet and Martin ran in the afternoon heat. Rather them than me! Kampala Jinja Relay Hash KH3
Each relay team comprised nine ‘seeds’ (runners) and miscellaneous hangers-on (well someone had to be responsible for forgetting the tent). The weekly cries of the Hashmasters: “No more than ten people in a team!” were closely adhered to by everyone: our team had 13 members, another had 32.
Two seeds ran/walked one section each, six seeds ran two sections and Seed One ran three sections: the first of the day, immediately after lunch, and the last stage of the day. Needless to say, Seed One was the hardest slot.
Waitinf for team mates to cross the line. Kampala Jinja Relay Hash KH3
Here’s how it works, if you like the detail…
Kampala Jinja relay seeding for all 17 stages and distance in km in brackets. Total is 87 km (er… in reality more like 92 km on the day!)
Seed 1– 3 stages (7.4 + 6.6 + 5.5 = 19.5 km)
Seed 2 – 2 stages (5.7 + 6.3 =12 km)
Seed 3 – 2 stages (4.9 + 6.0 =10.9 km)
Seed 4 – 2 stages (5.8 + 4.1 = 9.9 km)
Seed 5 – 2 stages (5.9 + 4.0 = 9.9 km)
Seed 6 – 2 stages (6.2 + 3.1 = 9.3 km)
Seed 7– 2 stages (5.4 + 3 .1 =8.5 km)
Seed 8 – 1 stage ( 3.5 km)
Seed 9 – 1 stage (3.5 km)
The Kampala Jinja Relay takes us through the sugar cane plantations
What was different about the Relay was running through the day (Monday’s Hash starts at 6pm, as the sun’s going down). With the sun high above us, I joined Lynda and the walkers for the 3.5 km stage.
I felt uncomfortable walking through the cane fields. Large sections of the (supposedly) protected Mabira Forest were illegally sold off by the government. Public anger was such that riots broke out in Kampala. An innocent passerby – who just happened to be Indian, like the owners of the sugar company – fell victim to the mob. As a conservationist, it makes me sick, or was it just the sickly sweet smell of the crushed cane getting to me?
Apparently, the local advice is: come into the fields and eat as much sugar cane as you like – just don’t take any with you.
Make some NOISE!
Late afternoon I opted to ‘fun run’ 3.5 km to keep Cathy company. No pressure.
I disappeared into the bushes to take a short call and emerged a few minutes later to see Cathy had disappeared. Her father Jerry pointed in the direction of the disappearing convoy of cars so I trotted off after them, keen to catch up (I kidded myself). I ran past a few cars, but no other runners.
As the road widened, carloads of cheering Hashers beeped me and egged me on “ON ON!” they cried. I enjoyed running the flat road. And then something strange happened. Jerry overtook me. Hmmm. He was supposed to be AHEAD of me, I thought… The road seemed to go on and on and, just as I was thinking the 3.5 km run must be finishing, the route got steeper.
As I approached the finishing line it seemed everyone was calling my name “Nagawa! Nagawa!” It was quite overwhelming. My moment of fame (and embarrassment) was short-lived as a speeding police car appeared out of nowhere and a quick scuffle ensued as they jumped a boda boda driver trying to run off. My red face and I were grateful to retreat into the crowd. Boy that run was tough. I found out why afterwards – in my rush to catch up with Cathy I’d actually run the longer 5 km stage, the stage before hers! “Sorry you’ll have to do this one on your own after all” I said.
Life away from the main road to Jinja is as poor and underdeveloped as anywhere I’ve visited in the border areas of south western Uganda but the thrill of doing an event like this is seeing people and places you’d never normally see.
A young man – covered in mud – stops to say hello as we run through the sugar cane
A man emerged from his field drinking his morning mug of tea to see what all the fuss was about, as 350 people, three small coaches, 30 cars and a travelling sound system bounced and sang its way along the dusty back roads. Following the runners through the fields and villages was a fantastic driving experience.
Local people watched our convoy run and drive past
Children shrieked with delight as John blasted the vuvuzela at them out of the open car window. Some of the Hashers handed out exercise books and pens they’d brought with them. We couldn’t help but stare at the two albino children we passed.
When the combined results of the seeds came in, our team Ruff Ryders came 15th out of 21 “which adequately reflects our comprehensive training programme” Jerry said.
What a great day it was.
Ruff Ryders – not to be confused with Rough Rider condoms! – team members were: Charlotte “Nagawa” [member of the Red Tailed Monkey clan], Harriet ‘Dry Climax’, Timo, John, Virus, Martin, Apollo, Mukyala, the Burton family (Jerry, Lynda, Peter and Cathy and their 2 dogs of course!). Thanks for being such great team mates.
The final circle was at the Source of the Nile in Jinja! Time for a beer – or three!
As the all-night party kicked off in Jinja we sped home to Kampala along deserted roads.
I was glad to be back in my own bed.
“Hashing is a state of mind – a friendship of kindred spirits joined together for the sole purpose of reliving their childhood or fraternity days, releasing the tensions of everyday life, and generally, acting a fool amongst others who will not judge you or measure you by anything more than your sense of humor.”
[Jerry’s friend in Addis Ababa Hash designed our T shirt logo. Here Jerry’s pictured riding a croc on the Nile, beers in hand].
Here’s the official account of the KH3 Hash House Harriers Kampala- Jinja Relay.
Driving us potty!
Bemoaning the “potholes, crevices and craters that masquerade as roads” in some parts of Kampala
Pothole fishing protest downtown Kampala
I missed seeing this great photo when it was on TV recently (it took me 18 months – and a man – to work out I have more than four channels on my portable TV!)
Residents in the Ugandan capital of Kampala have been protesting against the state of the roads by going fishing in potholes. Look closely and you will see a man pulling a fish out of a pothole.
The protesters said the poor state of roads causes accidents and increases congestion. The protesters are not wrong, Kampala roads are a nightmare.
Kampala’s roads are in such a bad state that the city has been nicknamed “Kampothole”.
Kampala’s Mayor claims he is not given enough tax revenue to fix roads.
Poor state of the roads? They’re abysmal, dangerous and a total disgrace. We’re all so exasperated at the amount of time it takes to travel short distances. During morning rush hour (which can last until midday) it can take an hour and a half to crawl into town. At night, the traffic gone, this same journey can take less than ten minutes.
This whopping pothole has been filled in but most reappear. Terrific rains and poor drainage combine for maximum destructive effect
I took this photo after a heavy downpour had washed the road away in the Industrial Area. This road took the full force of thousand of gallons pouring downhill. The problem is not just the roads, it’s the lack of a drainage system to channel the water. Rubbish quickly blocks drains too.
Note: the ‘small car’ on the other side of the pothole, cautiously waiting to cross, is a Toyota Landcruiser, one of the biggest 4X4s on the market. This pothole was very deep and I saw a few cars stuck in it. It’s been filled in but will no doubt reappear in the coming weeks or months.
Since the Al Shabaab bombings (of July 2010), it’s simply not worth driving into town unless you absolutely have to. The frustrations of standstill traffic and 20 minute security searches everywhere you go are good news for boda boda drivers – it’s the only way to travel these days.
Uganda: Ian Clarke Repairs Namuwongo Roads
Dr Ian Clarke wrote extensively about the roads in Namuwongo below Muyenga, and the impact on the health of people living in the slums on the wetlands (where rainwater and rubbish inevitably end up). Ian came from Northern Ireland 30 years ago as a missionary. Since then he has set up International Hospital (IHK) and created quite a property empire. He’s a controversial character but I like him. He gives me a lift to the Hash every Monday evening. (He has a number of my VSO volunteer friends working at IHK).
Hashing is a great way to meet people in Kampala. This was Busuulwa’s Hash pre Kampala Mayor elections one year
We all know that there is very little planning in Kampala and that the capital city of Uganda is basically a village that outgrew its infrastructure years ago. The Central Government and Kampala City Council have been playing a game of ping-pong with Kampala roads, bouncing the responsibility and blame to each other, while the rest of us continue to suffer. The roads are atrocious, the drainage is worse, the rubbish is a disgrace and the traffic conditions are becoming more intolerable every day.
From time to time a road gets fixed in one part of the city, another section of the city’s roads deteriorate, such as the drainage channel behind Seventh Street and the road over the railway line at Namuwongo. Over the past few weeks the road across the railway line has become like a village farmyard track, so that all traffic is slowed to less than walking pace as it labours over the potholes, crevices and craters that masquerade as a road.
During the past couple of weeks the drainage channel behind Seventh Street has become completely blocked so that water and all manner of filth simply runs out onto the road undermining any surface that was there in the first place. The City Council KCCA had deployed workers to unblock the drain, so some men had the unenviable task of standing in the drains fishing out the filth. Someone then had the idea of dumping the mud and rubbish in the potholes to fill them up. This is a novel way to fill potholes and could kill two birds with one stone!
Why do I get to worked up about roads? One reason is that I worked in infrastructure – specifically roads – in my former life in London. They are critical to development and business and fixing and maintaining them doesn’t have to be as complicated as Kampala makes it.
The new Kampala post-11/7
Al Shabaab bombings in Kampala – the impact
Evacuation from the bar before either team had scored was the last thing we expected as we watched the World Cup Final that fateful evening in Kampala, July 11th. “What is it with the 11th day of a month?” people keep asking.
We’d been watching the World Cup Final from the crowded Dutch-owned Iguana bar in Kisementi, north side of Kampala, when the texts came through that two well-known locations – the Ethiopian Village restaurant and Kyadondo rugby club – had been bombed. It didn’t seem real.
“On ground at rugby, where are u now? remember u love 2 b in crowded places. ope dis makes sense abt yr security” read the text message from T.
I was relieved to hear T was ok, but why was he at the rugby club (where two of the bombs had exploded)? Had he been watching the game there or had he gone to help out when he heard the news? I told myself not to worry: he’s Ugandan, he’d probably just gone to stand around and look.
I was happy he was safe. When he arrived with breakfast the next morning he said he’d been up all night, visiting the scenes of the bombings with journalist friends and the Deputy Police Commissioner. “Important people need to know what’s going on” he smiled.
He laughed in that unnerving Ugandan way as he recounted how they’d been watching the ‘comic goings-on’ of a cocktail of security – ‘or insecurity’ – police, army and private security companies (of which there are many).
As shocking to me as the bombings has been the media coverage: photos of the victims, the wails of a dying woman, a man being bundled into the back of an ambulance with a stump of an arm in full view, live interviews with victims who are still looking for friends and relatives at the bombing scenes. In the newspaper they even showed a colour photo of birds picking on human remains. Ugandans don’t shy away from the gore and, much as it turns my stomach, I sometimes wonder if we’re overprotective in the West. A shocking picture can have quite an impact.
And so, last Monday, for the third morning in a row, I was woken by a mosquito inside my net. After only 4 and a half hours sleep, disturbed, the events of the previous night come into my mind. I wanted to find out what was happening in Kampala and switched on the news.
Kampala is like a huge village or many interconnected villages. You always know someone who knows someone who was been affected by whatever the issue of the day is.
On that fateful night – 11th July 2010 – we’d gone to Iguana Bar to hang out with Dutch friends. Normally Jan watches football at the Ethiopian Village, in Kabalagala, the nearest bar to her house. She had watched a number of other football games at the Ethiopian Village. I had persuaded her to hang out with us at Iguana that night.
Mike, my old boss at the Uganda Conservation Foundation, had helped establish Uganda’s first rugby team. Tragically, he knew people who died at the Kyadondo bombings.
Uganda is under attack by Al Shabaab (an organisation linked with Al Quaeda) because our soldiers are part of the African Union peacekeeping force in Somalia. Al Shabaab want Ugandan soldiers to withdraw from Somalia. The Army Spokesman said “What terrorists want is a safe haven. They’ve been dislodged from Afghanistan and are looking for somewhere else to operate from. If Somalia stabilises they have nowhere to hide; if Somalia is in chaos they get a safe haven and they have time to build capacity and then no-one is safe.”
People are scared. Terrorist acts are very rare here in Kampala. Today’s rumour, that Al Shabaab are employing pigeons to carry bombs, is typical of the overreaction.
My VSO nurse friend Stacey worked through the night of the bombings at IHK, International Hospital, Kampala’s biggest private hospital, just a few hundred metres from the Ethiopian Village. God only knows what she saw, but she hasn’t been quite right since that night. I’ve thought a lot about my VSO volunteer friends this week. Many volunteer doctors, nurses and cardiologists that are now back home would have been in the thick of it: doctors Rob and Richard in particular, and nurse Duncan, all worked at IHK.
The best I could do was encourage people to donate blood. The supplies are desperately low. My friend Jan and I eventually found our way to the blood bank but were rejected. Our iron count was low. “You should eat liver,” came the answer right back from T, trying to persuade me to eat meat. I just laugh at his constant efforts to convert me to back to eating meat.
There was a moment’s silence at Monday’s Hash for the 70+ victims of the bombings before T attended the vigil of a 24 year old law graduate, brother of a good friend of his, who was killed at the rugby club bombings. He had graduated just two months ago and was from ‘a very humble family’ so getting him through law school was a major achievement (there’s no such thing as grants or even loans for students).
A week later, the National Week of Mourning behind us, Kampala is hosting a week-long meeting of the heads of state of the African Union, as planned, a quick PR strike back at Al Shabaab.
Sixty FBI agents are reported to be in Uganda to help track down the perpetrators and there have been arrests.
It seems like we’ll all be having lots more house parties over the coming weeks. Many NGOs are not letting their workers go out in Kampala for a month until they can assess the security situation so the usual bars and clubs are empty. Kampala has changed overnight.
[NO PHOTOS this week. You wouldn’t want to see them].
How do you deal with an elephant in your garden?
Human wildlife conflict – the reality of living with wild animals
A herd of elephants, slowly ambling along, is the ideal way to admire elephants. This photo was taken at sunset on safari in Queen Elizabeth National Park. But when elephants invade your crops, the picture isn’t so pretty: if you’re a subsistence farmer, it can be an issue of life or death.
A big part of Uganda Conservation Foundation’s work focuses on “mitigating Human Wildlife Conflict (HWC),” that is stopping humans and elephants from killing each other. Simply put, if we can protect the humans, we can protect the wildlife.
It’s a big problem – you try dealing with an elephant in your garden! – and it’s going to get worse.
The fact is, in most cases, humans are encroaching on wildlife territory. As you cut back the forest for firewood or clear bush to grow more crops for your expanding family, you enter the habitat of the baboons.
This situation is made worse in areas of northern Uganda where, after the war, people have been returning to their homes after 20 years living in IDP camps (temporary camps for Internally Displaced people). Elephants have become used to wandering unhindered and eating the fruits from the trees planted by the farmers 20+ years ago. Based on UCF’s success in Queen Elizabeth Protected Area (trying to manage elephants and buffalo) and in Budongo Forest (baboons and wild pigs), we’re now doing a Feasibility Study on mitigation projects in northern Uganda, specifically in the Murchison Falls region, an area of over 4,000 square kilometres.
A toolkit produced by the Food and Agriculture unit of the UN is designed to help resolve, prevent and mitigate the growing problem of conflict between humans and wild animals.
According to the FAO (Food and Agriculture unit of the UN) “With the world’s population growing at some 75 million a year, humans and wildlife are having to squeeze ever more tightly together, thereby increasing the risk of conflict between them.”
Uganda Conservation Foundation (the organisation I work for) continues to trial different solutions to mitigate Human Wildlife Conflict. Conflict can be either direct (e.g. attacks on humans or livestock by predators) or indirect (crop raiding); its effects overt (e.g. financial, starvation) or hidden (children missing out on education to guard crops or family members being sick). [Source – Thirgood].
The people most likely to be affected are those least able to cope, either physically or financially and those who usually benefit least financially from the presence of wildlife. It’s for this reason that UCF, in partnership with the Uganda Wildlife Authority, invests in a programme of sensitisation to the potential benefits of conservation-based tourism.
UCF’s experience in Ishasha in southern Queen Elizabeth Protected Area, tells us that there is no single solution to mitigating Human Wildlife Conflict: a number of complementary measures are needed. For example, the excavation of 20 km elephant trenches and erection of fencing create a physical barrier which makes all the difference to the survival of both the human and elephant populations. In valley areas, in the nearby Kikarara Parish, UCF is using bee-keeping as a deterrent to help prevent elephants crop raiding. (Elephants will generally avoid angry bees).
As the human population increases – Uganda has the third highest birth rate in the world – and the elephant population does the same – thanks in part to our anti-poaching work – mitigating HWC will become ever more of a priority.
This is one of many blogs I’ve written about the Uganda Conservation Foundation, human wildlife conflict, the Uganda Wildlife Authority, hippo poaching and conservation in general. Why I love elephant dung is a perennial favourite!
Would you be a Ugandan child?
Ugandan kids are delightful but they live tough lives by Western standards.
With the third highest birth rate in the world, kids are everywhere in Uganda. Slung on a hip, being coralled by older siblings or just sitting playing in the dirt, Uganda has a very young and inquisitive population.
“Mzungu, mzungu bye!” The kids scream at me everywhere I – the mzungu – go. They never fail to make me smile. Few conversations go beyond “how-are-you? I’m fine” but they’re always so excited just to get a wave back.
Happy children Uganda
The reasons for such a high birth rate are many and complex, it’s not just about access to contraception. After a year and a half living in Uganda, I only understand a few of the reasons: infant mortality is high at 87 deaths per 1,000 births; big families are admired (having many children improves your status); pride; and besides, what else do you do for entertainment if you don’t have TV?
Despite an abundance of fertile land and the weather that, in most parts of the country means two harvests a year are possible, many children are malnourished: their bellies may be full but they don’t have a balanced nutritious diet. Almost one third of children under 5 have stunted growth.
The children of Kapchorwa, eastern Uganda, on slopes of Mount Elgon
One of the major household chores is collecting water, usually performed by children and women. Toddlers are given tiny yellow jerry cans; the bigger you get, so the size of the jerry can increases. In the countryside you may have to walk miles everyday to find a river. In Kampala I see the children from the slum collecting water that washes down the hill from a domestic overflow. 48% of the country’s population is without access to clean water.
Children and assorted jerry cans below Sipi Falls, eastern Uganda
Danger is everywhere here. One of my first impressions of Kampala was seeing a husband and wife on the back of a boda boda tearing down one of the better, i.e. faster, roads. Three adults on the bike, the lady with a baby in her arms. Our eyes met: the baby looked terrified.
Human sacrifice (to bless the fortunes of a new business for example) is a modern phenomenon that is on the increase in some neighbourhoods. Ugandans say it is a crime brought into the country by ‘outsiders’. Children are easy targets.
Burning hot charcoal stoves are left untended outside houses – but how can you have eyes in the back of your head? Household burns are frighteningly common.
At the local Super Grocery, I spot a little girl wondering around at the back of the shop. I haven’t seen her before. The shopkeeper tells me “She’s my neighbour’s child. The father died last year and now her mother’s died. I’ve had her tested and she’s negative.” It’s a very matter of fact conversation about the heart-breaking impact of HIV / Aids as I buy my breakfast. “What else can I do?” she said “but take her in and look after her.”
“Everyone takes care of the African child” my Ugandan boyfriend reminds me.
Children kids at Royal Pride Academy are fascinated by the new ‘pop-up’ reading books given by VSO volunteer friends Alan and Alison. Their friends and family in the UK raised money to have concrete floors laid in the classrooms, so they no longer get flooded
PHOTO: the kids at Royal Pride Academy are fascinated by the new ‘pop-up’ books given by VSO volunteer friends Alan and Alison. Their friends and family back home raised money to have concrete floors laid in the classrooms, so they no longer get flooded.
The number of orphaned and vulnerable children due to AIDS is estimated at 1.7 million and is expected to rise to 3.5 million by 2010. This, in a country of just 30 million people.
Universal Primary Education means every child is entitled to a free education but with very poorly paid teachers, facilities (a roof and an old wooden bench), and class sizes of 100 and even 120, it’s a numbers game where quality of education takes a back seat to quantity of pupils through the door. That said, the standard of the children’s work (I have a glimpse of beautiful neat handwriting for instance) can be amazing, the discipline second to none (British schoolchildren take note), and the dedication of the teachers truly humbling. They survive on a pittance and many contribute half their wages to help keep the schools open.
Many Ugandan children go to boarding school, as many as 36 kids in one dorm! All sleeping in ‘triple deckers’ (triple bunk beds). The kids all have to do their own washing – by hand of course – a world away from the pampering I got at a British boarding school!
Washing dries on the barbed wire boundary fence at Equatorial College School in Kamwenge, western Uganda
On the brighter side of life, girls walk arm in arm, boys – and even men – walk hand in hand. Camaraderie is everywhere: adults often talk fondly of their O.B.s and O.G.s (Old Boys and Old Girls from school) so friendships forged at school seem to last and last. Life here is simpler in many ways yet mere everyday survival is more complex.
So where would I choose to have a child – the UK or Uganda? That’s a hard one, you’ll have to keep following my blog to see how that particular personal decision pans out.
This post has been written for Lonely Planet’s Kids Around the World blog carnival kindly hosted by Glennia Campbell.
