A crafty weekend.

So, I haven't updated in a while -- almost a week, I think? I really don't do very much interesting during the week, just go to work. We had a long weekend this week, with Friday off for Martyrs' Day. This week (tomorrow), I'm theoretically starting to work on a humanitarian parole case for someone my organization and others have been working to protect. The case is pretty sensitive, so I won't go into too many details here. But humanitarian parole is a temporary grant of asylum, basically -- usually less than a year, and it's for providing a safe, secure environment to people who are in constant danger for some reason. It could be a medical emergency, it would be a continuing risk of rape (I worked on a case like that with a few Haitian clients during the school year), or it could be a political danger. I hope the case isn't too far along, because it could theoretically involve a fair amount of interesting research and writing for the application. I'll find out tomorrow.

This weekend, one of Emily's interns arrived. Ben is an American who goes to school in Scotland, and has been teaching English in Germany for a year. He seems really cool, and we spent most of the weekend with him, helping show him the ropes. On Friday, we had to go rescue his taxi driver, who got lost trying to find the motel (the same one I stayed at for the first two weeks), and then we took him out to lunch nearby and to get a phone at Nakumatt Oasis. Nakumatt is a giant department store kind of thing, with a grocery section and all sorts of modern appliances. He was pretty tired from but my two flatmates and I went out on Friday night, along with some other of their friends who all seemed really nice. We went to a bar/dance club called Iguana, and Bruno (the guy who owns the motel) brought some friends to meet me. I ended up splitting my time between the Ugandans and the mzungus, which made for a sort of interesting night. And I got a ride home from Bruno and one of his friends, which meant I didn't have to take a boda really late at night -- victory!

On Saturday, I woke up before Emily and Ula (I had come home a little bit before they did), and Ben was bored, so he came over the flat and we chatted just the two of us for a while before everyone else woke up. Then Emily, Ben and I went to an art fair put on by the Alliance (sp?) Francais and German Cultural Centre. It was all local African artists, and a lot of organizations using art to further social causes. They weren't that interested in bargaining, I think because a) there were TONS of mzungus there, and b) the stuff was real art, and much higher quality that what you find at markets. I still ended up buying a fair amount of stuff -- a bracelet, an African love knot, a little figurine made out of Fanta bottle caps, and a poster of a gorgeous piece of art that I wanted but was much too expensive. There was a lot of live dance going on, including traditional Buganda dance that was seriously impressive (see below). We met up with some of Emily's friends from her French class, who have all been so nice so far.

I also got a pair of blue splatter-painted canvas flats that only sort of fit, but I liked them.

After we finished shopping/browsing, we went behind the Alliance Francais and found a spot on the ground to wait for the concomitant live concert of African music. There was a huge variety of music, from jazz to soul to hip-hop, but it was all really amazing -- there are some seriously talented musicians in Kampala. The concert lasted about 3 hours, and then Emily's classmate Sharifa gave us all a ride back to our place. Ben, Emily and I hung out for a bit longer, and then Emily escorted Ben back to the motel on a boda and then came back to the flat.

Today, we all got a bit of a late start -- like 1 or 2pm late. Ula (my second flatmate) suggested that we go to a craft market, and we invited Ben and Emily along as well. We all met at Nakumatt first because Emily had to exchange money, and we ended up getting lunch at a place there called Pizza Connection. I got a burger, which was actually really good... I find myself somewhat pining for American food on the weekends, since I mostly eat really heavy Ugandan food for lunch all week. The Ugandan food is really good -- the woman who cooks for us at the office is amazing in the kitchen, but it is really different. Sometimes you just want a hamburger and fries.

We made it to the craft market by around 5pm, and I was... a bit disappointed, to be honest. It's all in open stores, rather than stalls like in South Africa. Nobody is really that interested in bargaining, which I've always thought was part of the fun in markets. I also don't love the stuff they have for sale; I think partially the novelty of it has worn off after three trips to Africa, and partially I've gotten more responsible. Do I really need another pair of earrings that I'll never wear? No, so I stop myself from buying them. It saves me money and is probably a sign that I'm growing up (the horrors), but it's not as fun.

I did get another nice piece of art (sorry for the flash, it kind of ruins the effect) and a beaded basket/bowl for all the jewelry I brought with me. I thought a little basket would be nicer than the plastic bag I had them in before, and make it easier to look through and find things.

As the craft market started to close up, we all got on bodas and went our separate ways. Shortly after I got home, though, Ben called me to tell me that Bruno and Diane were at the motel until 11pm tonight, and they wanted me to come over. The power actually went out while I was on the phone with him, which I took as a sign from God that I should go. I took a taxi down to the motel and spent a few hours there with all of them. Emily came a little bit later, and actually there's another mzungu staying there who I had met at the art fair on Saturday. It's a small mzungu world. Bruno and Diane were wonderful as always, and made us dinner (matoke) and gave us Diane's amazing ginger tea, and later they broke out the wine. And they wouldn't let Emily and me pay for any of it. The power went out at the motel too, and one of Bruno's friends theorized that it's because the government was moving weapons and soldiers in the area. That didn't make a lot of sense to me, but it was interesting that that's where his mind went.

We played cards for a while... there's a Ugandan game that they taught me while I was staying there that's a bit like Uno, where you have to match either the suit or the number of the card, etc. Bruno and I have a bit of a competition going, because I beat him during our last "tournament," two days after learning how to play. Diane played with me and Ben tonight, and she's good. I lost a lot.


Emily and I came back home when Ula informed us that the power was back on, and now the weekend is over. I really don't want to go back to work tomorrow -- even with the new humanitarian parole case, Kampala is so much more fun when I can just spend time riding around and exploring the city.

There are more big protests against the government planned for tomorrow, but not near where I work. There's an outside chance things will spread/spiral out of control, but for now, the plan is to go to work as usual. At least Thursday is another public holiday!

A few observations.

So, I've been in Kampala for over two weeks now. I've settled into a routine, and I thought it might be time for some general observations about Kampala, Uganda, work, and the people here. There isn't going to be much rhyme or reason in this entry -- but I keep having random thoughts throughout the day where I go, "I should remember to put that on my blog," and then I forget. So this is sort of a round-up of all those thoughts. And I took some photos of my new neighborhood over the weekend, so the observations will be punctuated with photos!

First of all: the smell of the city. When I first got here, I honestly thought everyone was smoking marijuana all the time. I realized recently, however, that's it's the garbage. People here burn their garbage, as there's no city service to come around and pick up trash. The smoke is everywhere, and it makes the whole city smell sickly-sweet all the time. The smoke adds to the dust from the unpaved parts of the roads and the pollution from the boda bodas and matatus (minibus taxis) to make for a pulmonary nightmare. I woke up on my second day here horribly congested and unable to breathe, but I've gotten used to it since then. Occasionally a boda or taxi will belch out an especially big burst of exhaust, but it's just part of life here.

[Security: broken glass bottles on top of a wall in my neighborhood.]

Thing the second: Ugandans are incredibly friendly people, but in a somewhat reserved way. Unlike in South Africa, no one is going to start a conversation with you in a taxi about what you're doing in their country. In fact, people generally don't initiate conversations with me at all -- unless "Hello, mzungu, how are you?" as they pass by counts. But I find that any time I smile at someone, they smile back. When I do get into conversations with Ugandans, they want to know how long I've been here, what I'm doing here, how I find it. They are eager to tell me how much I should pay for things, and to warn me that salesmen and taxi conductors are prone to ripping off mzungus. Ugandans are very frank, and they say things like: "you people," "you whites," "people like you," to talk about Americans and Europeans. I found this a little bit offensive at first -- race is such a sensitive topic in South Africa still, no black South African would ever say "you whites." But I've gotten used to it, and I've found that if I keep my ears open, I learn a lot about how Americans in particular are perceived here.

Thing the third: corruption is rampant here. Everyone talks about it. Everyone acknowledges it. I even had a few Ugandans tell me that America should stop giving aid money to the government, and just come to Uganda and the build roads and hospitals ourselves. There is very little faith in the government, and even less in the police. The lack of faith in the police manifests itself in the terrible phenomenon of "mob justice." Since no one believes the police can't be bought, Ugandans display a willingness to take the law into their own hands. It's common knowledge that if a criminal steals a woman's purse, for example, and she calls out, everyone around will turn on the criminal. This usually ends up with the criminal (or, in truly horrific instances of mistaken identity, an innocent bystander) being burnt alive in the street. The police usually arrive too late.

I have decided that if I get mugged here, I am going to keep my mouth shut. I don't want to be responsible for that kind of thing.

 [The street leading to my apartment complex.]

Thing the fourth: there is no way of getting around the city that my mother would be willing to use. This occurred to me this morning. The two main choices are boda bodas or matatus/minibus taxis. The boda bodas are the fastest option, and they can take you anywhere you want to go. On the downside, they're incredibly dangerous and, as I learned the hard way today, don't always understand where you want to go and end up in a completely unknown part of the city. They're also expensive, and really not safe to take at night. The matatus are much cheaper and safer, although sometimes as they go through an especially pot hole-y part of the city, it doesn't feel totally secure. Unfortunately, they don't go everywhere, and you really have to know where you're going to take them. They also get stuck in traffic jams so they take a lot longer than the bodas, despite the drivers' willingness to drive on sidewalks (true story: this happened to me this morning). With both bodas and taxis, there is always a chance of getting ripped off.

[Me, standing where I catch a matatu in the morning.]

Thing the fifth: it's somewhat frustrating to be a lawyer in a country where no one respects the law. I've never appreciated the culture of accountability that we have in the United States as much as I have in the last two weeks. Uganda can have the most progressive, modern Refugees Act, but that isn't going to stop the government from trying to (illegally) force out Rwandan refugees. The Constitution is meaningless when the President can amend it unilaterally to extend term limits and limit individual freedoms. I have so much respect for the NGOs that work hard here to hold governments to account for their actions -- it seems so futile that the people who commit their lives to this kind of work need to have a special kind of passion and determination, the likes of which I've rarely seen. I feel privileged to have the opportunity to observe and learn from them.

That seems like a good note to end on.

A stalker and a smorgasbord.

I didn't go to work yesterday because I was feeling sick -- my stomach was doing funny cramping things, and I didn't really sleep at night. I slept all afternoon instead. The people in the motel are really wonderful though -- Bruno (the motel owner) and Diane were both at the motel in the evening, and when I said I was going back up to my room after I had cereal for dinner, Bruno insisted that I not spend the whole day alone, and that I come back downstairs. I agreed, and it turned out to be a good call. His father and two of his brothers came by to visit, and we all spent time together at reception. His brothers are both my age: I think Diane said one is 23 and one is 26. We somehow ended up talking about South Africa, and Bruno's father asked me what I loved about it so much. I told them about how South Africans are so proud of their country and want visitors to love it as much as they do. Depressingly, all the Ugandans in the room agreed that there is nothing to be proud of in Uganda, and no reason to love their country. I guess that's what happens when you have the same leader for 25 years -- it's new and exciting and revolutionary at first, and then it stagnates and everyone becomes discontent.

The conversation turned to South African languages, and they were all fascinated by the three "clicks" from isiXhosa that I can do. They laughed at it and said that it sounded like monkeys talking. They really seemed to get a kick out of it -- even today, Bruno told me he's still laughing about it. As Bruno's father and brothers were leaving, the older one stuck his head in and said, "Katie, I have just one last question. Can they actually talk to monkeys?" and left laughing.

Random observation from last night: Ugandans appear to drink whiskey mixed with soda or tonic water here, instead of drinking it neat. I thought that was very strange, and Bruno has offered to have me try it twice now, but I'm a bit wary. It seems like it would taste really gross. Maybe I'll find out in the next few days.

Anyway, I woke up feeling fine, so I went to work today. My boss was very sweet and came in to check on me and give me advice about some of the adjustments foreign bodies have to make when they come to Uganda -- new bacteria, etc. She told me I still look a bit wan, but I've had people telling me that since I got here. I don't know how I'm supposed to look healthy! Anyway, she seemed satisfied that I'm not going to drop dead and gave me advice for questions to ask when I go see a doctor tomorrow. I already had the appointment to get my INR checked (for the Coumadin), but I figure I'll also have the doctor look at my burn and ask some questions about what I can do when I'm feeling nauseous in these first few weeks.

I successfully navigated the taxi back to the motel again. I'm trying to also identify landmarks near where I'll need to get out when I move into my flat, but I was sitting in the middle of the back row in the taxi today so I couldn't really see much. I was really hungry when I got home, but I was just going to wait until later to eat cereal. As I was going into my room, though, Christine (the woman from Monday who showed me the shortcut around the road block) saw me and shouted a "hello." She's known around the motel as my stalker, since she's called me at least four times since Monday. I decided to go say hello to her, though, and see if she could help me get a snack from the vendors on the street near the motel. The joke about her being my stalker got a little too real when she told me that she saw me through my room's window last night on my computer -- I guess that's what I get for sitting in my room with the light on and the curtains open, but it was still really creepy. Still, she helped me get food.

I had a veritable smorgasbord of food this evening. I wanted to try something called a Rolex, but the first thing I saw was a gonja -- a fried sweet yellow plantain. I decided to get one, but then she pointed out that the guy right next to the gonja woman was making Rolexes. A Rolex is a chapati (apparently the same thing as a roti, in India -- an unleavened flat bread of sorts) filled with fried egg, and the egg can be mixed with a number of things. Mine was mixed with slices of tomato. You put the egg and the tomatoes onto a hot surface, and it fries into what looks a bit like an omelet, then you put the chapati on top and roll it up like a burrito. I was told later that there's one called an "Obama" filled with meat and cabbage and lots of other things.

Christine came back to the motel with me, and she acted like she wanted to go upstairs, but Bruno saw what was happening and came out to subtly stop her. I told her I was going to take a shower, so she left (but said she'd come back -- seriously???). I went up to talk to Bruno about all of the food I had brought back, and he ended up inviting me to drink tea with him and some of his friends in the dining room. They have this really good ginger tea that isn't too strong, and it's lovely. I ate my gonja and Rolex while I was talking to him. The Rolex was SO GOOD. I mean, seriously, it was delicious. It might be my new favorite food here, which is a problem because it is not healthy. But worth it.

I sat and chatted with Bruno and his two friends for a while... and there was more food. Brian brought up corn that had been roasted or something, and it tasted just like popcorn, but it was still on the cob. It was rather delicious. We all sat around, eating the corn and drinking tea. The friend of Bruno's who I hadn't met before, Andrew, lived in London for 6 years and hates England and the English, so we sparred a bit on that topic. I also made the grave error of telling Bruno that the older brother, Emmanuel, is good-looking. He started teasing me about being my in-law, and when his brother called him later in the conversation, he actually told his brother that I "was missing him so much." He told me to say hello, and I shouted very loudly that I hate him and am not paying him to stay in his motel anymore. Because I am 12 years old. It was so embarrassing. All I said was that he's good-looking. And I might have mentioned that he's funny. But now I can obviously never see him again. Thanks a lot, Bruno.

I had the opportunity to take a picture of one of the guards outside the National Resistance Movement headquarters today. I find the guards really photograph-able, in their blue fatigues with their big guns. They seem to be always reading the newspaper. This guy wasn't actively reading the paper, but it was sitting right next to him. I guess guarding the headquarters of the ruling party doesn't keep them very busy.

I mostly think the yellow balloon-like things are very silly.

A police roadblock.

I wasn't going to update today because, quite frankly, sitting at a desk doing research on the status of refugees in the emerging East African Community isn't the stuff of thrilling blog posts. Don't get me wrong, it is sort of interesting -- East Africa is moving towards political federation, like the European Union on steroids, and my organization is looking at whether the concept of "refugee" will continue to be relevant in a region with free movement of people. I spent most of today researching how West Africa has dealt with the issue in the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS). Still, not terribly compelling for a blog post in its own right.

The day got interesting when I left the office. I walked down to Wandegeya, but there didn't appear to be any taxis stopping. I wasn't quite sure what was going on, so I stood around for a few minutes, but taxis just kept passing by, completely full. I decided to bite the bullet and take a boda -- for the first time since I burned myself. I think I lucked out and got a very gentle driver, because he drove fairly slowly and didn't try to cut off every vehicle on the road. I was just feeling pretty good about the whole thing, and we were approaching where I would get off... when suddenly there were traffic police in all white, stopping traffic from continuing on Kiira Road. Not entirely sure what was going on, I got off the boda and paid him, thinking I would do better on foot. A truck full of policemen flew threw the junction, and then the traffic police put up moveable spikes in the road to pop the wheels of any vehicle that tried to come through. I asked a police officer if it was okay to walk through, and he said yes. But I only walked a little ways, before I saw a crowd of people standing on the side of the street and a giant police truck in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. I asked a police officer again if I could walk through, and he said no. At that point, I found out that President Mouseveni was beyond the truck, at a store opening -- and so traffic was blocked off, probably in both directions.

A number of Ugandans came over to ask me where I was trying to go, and when I told them, they said they could take me via a shortcut. I was a little bit skeptical of going along a back dirt road with random men I didn't know, so I sort of put them off at first. I knew they weren't flat-out lying to me about a shortcut because -- and isn't it funny how life has a way of working out like this? -- the taxi I took to work this morning had gone by the same dirt road shortcut. But I still hesitated to set off on back roads with random men I didn't know. I said I would wait, and a young woman came up to me and said it would be at least 2 or 3 hours before we could pass through. At that point, I agreed to go with her. She said she was also going to Frobel Road, so we set off together.

Her name was Christine, and the first thing she told me is, "I'm Catholic, God-fearing. Do you fear God?" It's funny how something that would sound so obnoxious in the United States, sounds fairly benign here. She wanted to know where I was from, how long I had been in Uganda, how long I would stay. She said she loves her country, which was refreshing -- she's the first Ugandan I've met who seems really excited about Uganda. Everyone else is really angry and pessimistic about politics, and I have to admit, it's sort of coloring my view of the country as well. But she was very upbeat about it, and asked me to tell people to come visit when I go back to the USA. She's a secretary, but also apparently interns at an organization called Femrite, which (per their website) "promotes women writing in Uganda." She says they meet every Monday evening at 5pm to discuss books and literature, and she invited me to come to the meetings. I think it would be a cool thing to do/experience, so I may take her up on her offer next week. It sounds like a really exciting organization.

In any case, she got me back to the motel safe and sound, and she actually lives just nearby. I was relieved that she didn't go out of her way to get me home.Diane was here when I got back, and she's the one who told me exactly what Mouseveni was doing on Kiira Road. She said I should have taken pictures of the police. It definitely occurred to me, but I thought they might be skeptical about why I was taking pictures and take my camera away. My general rule is not to take photos of police or military, as you never know how they'll react.

To make up for having no pictures of the police roadblock, I took some pictures out my back window of my neighborhood. Enjoy!

P.S. I know some of you are having trouble leaving comments that save. Try posting as Anonymous (I think it's the very bottom option in the drop-down menu).

Work!

So, today was my first day of work. And I, of course, slept through my alarm. Thankfully, Brian called me to let me know it was time for breakfast, and I got up with plenty of time to spare. Ate a quick breakfast, then waited around for Diana (the motel owner/owner's wife) to be ready to take me to work. She drove me into town, but asked me to pay 10,000 UGX for gas -- which I guess means she didn't give me a free ride after all. Anyway, she dropped me off at the office a bit after 9:00am. When I went inside, there was no one there except Debbie, who sort of serves tea and coffee and makes lunch, I guess? She appears to leave after lunchtime, and according to my office mate, she makes lunch every day. In any case, people came in a bit after I got there, and my boss emailed me some things to read while she was on her way in. It was a summary of the organization's activities in 2009-2010 -- and they did a LOT. After I read it, I went and met with her about what I found interesting and the things she thinks I should work on.

Apparently some of the work is pretty politically sensitive -- some of the members of this organization have received death threats based on certain reports (sorry, Mom), so I can't really go into details (that sounds so mysterious), but generally speaking, there are three areas she thinks I could work on: 1) Rwandan refugees in northern Uganda; 2) the emerging East African Community; and 3) citizenship and belonging among Darfurians in the newly-independent Southern Sudan (which becomes independent on July 9 -- happy birthday, Mom! I got you a new African country.) She gave me some reports to read about Rwanda and Darfurians in South Sudan. A group is actually heading to Juba in South Sudan on Wednesday to do research interviews about citizenship for a new report, and there are going to be interviews among Darfurians in Kampala, too. In the afternoon, the researchers came in and we had a big (read: 4 hours long) meeting about research methodology. It seems that I'm going to type up oral/dictated translations of the interviews, which will probably all be in Arabic. Even though the conversation sort of went in circles, and there were some language barriers, it was actually a lot of fun and very informative. One of the Darfurian refugees who's heading to South Sudan walked me out to the road and got a boda boda driver down to a reasonable price to take me home. Unfortunately, I thought I recognized the spot where the motel is and had the boda driver drop me off... but I was wrong. At least I was only about 500m away (according to the estimate of a man working at the nearby supermarket). When I realized my mistake, I decided to go into the supermarket and see what I could buy. Now that I'm friendly with Brian, it feels strange to ask him to cook meals for me -- even though I know he loves to cook. It's still weird, so I bought some cereal and non-refrigerated milk (the kind that comes in packets, like in Europe), and walked back to the motel.

When I got home, I had a bowl of cereal and then hung out at reception and talked to the owner, Bruno, and Brian. I somehow ended up on the topic of the American Constitution and went on and on about the details and everything I know now after a semester of Constitutional Law, AKA I proved that I am a giant nerd. I stayed down there for the whole evening chatting with Brian (who tends to monologue, and ended up telling me his whole life story and -- once again -- about how corrupt Mouseveni's government is) without even realizing it. Brian works pretty much 24 hours a day, every day, but he promised that the next time he goes home to his village, he'll take me with him. It's only 45 minutes from Kampala, and I think it will be fun. He had better not just be agreeing to pacify me.

So that's pretty much it. I have to make my own way to work tomorrow morning, and I still don't know how to walk from the Wandegeya taxi stage to my office. I'll probably end up just getting a boda... I really need to find a place to buy a helmet so I don't feel like I'm going to die every time I ride one. The taxis are less expensive than bodas, so hopefully I'll figure out how to use them soon. I was going to wander around the area a bit at lunchtime to see if I could orient myself (hah), but since Debbie brought food to my desk, I didn't really get the chance. But tomorrow is another day.

Day 3

So, today I switched hostels. The first hostel was, all told, pretty horrible. It wasn't any one big thing, but a bunch of small things that cumulatively made it un-liveable, and made the prospect of staying there for a week dim. I looked up Kampala on hostelworld.com and found a place called Etana Motel which looked like it was near where the flat is that I'll ultimately move into. I called last night, booked it for 12 nights, and crossed my fingers. When I got up this morning, I ate breakfast and then had the hostel-that-shall-not-be-named call me a special hire (what we think of as a taxi), and we set off on an adventure. The driver knew the general area where we were going, but I made a grave miscalculation. There's a minibus taxi stage right near the hostel, with a name. I assumed that, since it shows up on Google maps, it must be well-known to locals, right? Wrong. It turns out, I have learned, there are taxi stages every few blocks all over the city, and it was completely unreasonable for me to expect it to serve as a useful landmark. However, by stopping and asking boda-boda drivers for directions about five times and driving back and forth along Kira Road a few times, we finally found it.


I knew this place was an improvement based on the simple fact that someone was there to welcome me, and that there is a reception desk. Three friendly staff people came and insisted on each taking one of my bags, telling me, "You are most welcome," and showing me to my room. Which, by the way, is beautiful. The bed is clean, the floor is clean, there's a desk with a mirror, there's a closet, and the shower works and has hot water. I must literally be in heaven.

The young man at the front desk actually introduced himself to me (his name is Brian): another improvement over the last place. We chatted for a bit and he explained the taxi system in Kampala and how the major roads work. It turns out the main arteries in the city are named for the place they lead you -- e.g. Jinja Road will take you to the town of Jinja, Kira Road will take you to the sub-county of Kira, etc. After I picked his brain for a while, he made me lunch. He said it would take 30-40 minutes, but it took almost 2 hours. I am learning quickly that Ugandans do things very s-l-o-o-o-o-w-l-y. That said, lunch -- which was a delicious beef and vegetable stew with white rice -- was exactly the right size and very good. The beef wasn't exactly of kobe quality, but that's not exactly a shocker. I ate most of it in all its chewy glory, because the sauce was so damn good. Even the white rice tasted better than normal.

After lunch, Brian and I chatted a bit more about the political situation in Uganda right now. He is the second Ugandan I've talked politics with, and he's the second one to hate Mouseveni. He actually got caught up in the violence on Thursday; he said he hadn't gone to protest, but drove a taxi right into the middle of the confrontation, and when he got out to find out what was going on, he ended up getting beaten by a police officer. His elbow definitely looked freshly-wounded, although I can't say whether it was really an accident that he was there. He told me all about the tribal politics of Uganda, and how Mouseveni is from the western part of the country and favors those tribes over the Buganda, who form a majority, especially in Kampala. According to Brian, Mouseveni gives jobs to underqualified members of his own tribe, while passing over qualified Buganda and other central Ugandan tribe members. He also said that the political government of Uganda is supposed to pay money to the Buganda king, but Mouseveni stopped paying almost 10 years ago (I think?) and owes billions of shillings now.

Interestingly, Brian was very excited to find out that I'm American, and the first thing he said was, "President Obama!" He's read one of Obama's books (he couldn't remember the title, but I think it was probably The Audacity of Hope) and views the NATO mission in Libya as Obama following through on his promise to free Africa from its dictators. I've heard now from two sources that Mouseveni is good friends with Gaddafi -- there's even a road named "Col. Muammar Gaddafi Road" in the Somali neighborhood of Kampala, that Gaddafi funded and built with Mouseveni's permission/approval. The general consensus -- if there can be such a thing after four days in a new country -- is that Ugandans believe that anyone who rules for 20 or 30 years is bound to go bad. Like Gaddafi, like Mouseveni, and I imagine like Mugabe, although he hasn't come up. Brian and my taxi driver from Entebbe both agreed that Mouseveni was very good for the first 10 years, and then everything went to hell.

While Brian and I were talking, his boss and her three children showed up. Now, anyone who knows me know that I love nothing more than sassy African children, especially when they're dressed in patent leather shoes, jeans, white dress shirts, vests, and bow ties. So I went to introduce myself. The woman, whose name I embarrassingly didn't get or can't remember, and her husband own this motel, and she is lovely. We spent the next 4 hours talking about all sorts of things, from Paris Hilton and the Kardashian sisters to the difficulty of earning a good living in Uganda to the difficulties she's had with her sisters-in-law because she's from a different part of the country and had to convert to Catholicism to be allowed to marry her husband. The kids hung out, all of them calling me "auntie" to my great delight. The middle one, who is 4 years old, kept giving me and his mom flowers that he had picked from the decorative plants. So the afternoon flew by that way. She offered to take me to work tomorrow morning, and to show me where the taxis will stop so I can start to figure out how to get to/from the office on my own. This saves me about 25,000 UGX (around $10) in taxi fare and will hopefully enable me to get to the office completely on my own on Tuesday.

I finally had to leave her and the delicious South African wine we were drinking so that I could take a shower (allow me to say it again: hot water is a godsend) and put in my order for dinner. I am currently waiting for dinner, and am not hopeful that it will be ready anytime soon, given how long lunch took. But that's okay, I'm starting to adjust to things taking this long. It's not like I have anywhere to be at the moment.

Phew. Sorry for such a long entry. I guess I'm feeling verbose tonight. Tomorrow is my first day of work, and I'm very excited. But for now, I will leave you with a picture I took while I was waiting for lunch today, enjoying the smell of the coming rain. This woman looked so perfect standing in her doorway, watching her daughter do chores in the yard, that I couldn't help getting a little voyeuristic.

 

Day 1

Have arrived in Kampala. Getting into the country was uneventful, except for the fact that I couldn’t get a multiple entry visa at the airport, or a visa for longer than 90 days. I’ll have to figure out how to change both of those things once I’m a bit more settled. The hostel last night in Entebbe was fine. The power went out a few times this morning, but it’s not so hot that fans are necessary — at least not early in the morning. I got a taxi from the hostel into Kampala, with a nice driver named Daniel. The opposition leader Kizza Besigye returned to Kampala yesterday, and apparently the road into Kampala from Entebbe was full of roadblocks and the military fighting, as the presidential convoy met FDC supporters. The road was clear today, but there were TONS of men in military uniform and big guns standing along the side of the highway. It was definitely a noticeable presence, and more than a little bit intimidating.

The drive from Entebbe to Kampala confirmed what I already knew — Uganda is significantly less developed than South Africa. The sights in urban Uganda are things you would only see in rural South Afirca — bicycles carrying loads and loads of plantains, goats and cows tied up on the side of the highway, women walking with jugs of water on their heads, etc. It was hard to tell when we actually entered Kampala; we didn’t go into the “downtown” area, and the area I’m in (Old Kampala) doesn’t seem much more developed. The roads are TERRIBLE — huge potholes all over, the likes of which I’ve only seen in rural Eastern Cape South Africa. And this is the capital city.

The room at the hostel is fine — nothing except a bed, really, but it will do for a few weeks. There doesn’t appear to be anyone else checked in, but hopefully other people will come soon. There’s another hostel that’s more popular with backpackers a little farther away from downtown Kampala, which I might move to after the week at Tuhende Lodge. We’ll see how things go. Maybe the other hostel has a bed fan -- it's not as sweltering as I was promised, but it is warm.

When I emailed my boss and Emily, the girl whose puppy I am going to live, Emily emailed back right away and asked if I wanted to meet her at a big mall called Nakumatt Oasis to buy a phone and get lunch. I thought that sounded  like a good idea, so I had one of the staff at the hostel flag me down a boda boda to take me there. Boda bodas are sometimes referred to as "flying death traps" -- they're moped taxis where no one follows the rules of the road or wears a helmet. However, they're much easier than the minibus taxis: you just tell them where you want to go, and they take you there. With the taxis, you have to make sure you're getting on the right route, and you have to know where you're going, so you can tell the driver to pull over. They are apparently less expensive than boda bodas, though. Here's a picture of a boda boda from Wikipedia (in other words, I didn't take this photo):

So I got to Nakumatt Oasis and met Emily, who took me to get a phone. It's just a cheap Nokia, but it's nice to have one anyway. I feel more connected to the universe. Then we got lunch at an Indian place on the top floor of Garden City, which is a giant mall next-door to the other giant mall (go figure?), with nice views of the city. According to Emily, Indian food in Kampala is really good for some reason. I don't know about all Indian food here, but the place we ate was delicious. After lunch, we went to buy an Orange "dongle"... it's a USB stick that provides internet access wherever the Orange network has coverage, which is basically everywhere. I'm currently using it from the hostel, which doesn't have its own internet.

After I finished buying all my technology, Emily and I jumped on another boda boda together to go to the office of the organization where I'm working. I met some of the people in the office, including the lovely woman who interviewed me and with whom I've been in touch over email. They were all really nice, and seem to be looking forward to me starting on Monday. After a brief visit, I parted ways with Emily, got on my own boda boda, and headed back to the hostel. I played around on the internet for a while to make sure the dongle works, and then I ventured out to get dinner. I didn't venture very far, to be honest... just downstairs to the restaurant in the hostel. They served me a three-course meal for less than $10, which was good and very filling. I'm now back up in my room, killing time before I get tired and go to bed! I hope I won't have trouble sleeping without a fan. It's cool at night, but for some reason it's fairly warm in my room.

Anyway, that’s all I have to report — other than the fact that I heard a minibux taxi blasting the Macarena on the way into Kampala, in a truly multlcultural moment. Welcome to Africa, Katie.

Day 0

I am sitting in the Washington Dulles airport, waiting for my first international flight — to Amsterdam, and then onward to Entebbe (the airport serving Kampala). I am not looking forward to the next 24 hours, but I hope it will be worth it when I get there. At least Dulles has free wi-fi. There is, of course, a child at my gate screaming as though it were literally being murdered. Repeatedly. Hurrah!

In more serious news, the leader of the opposition party Forum for Democratic Change, Kizza Besigye, is returning to Kampala any day now from Nairobi to face charges for the “walk-to-work” campaign that has been running for the past few weeks. Selfishly, I hope it doesn’t cause problems for me when I arrive… the government has announced they will put in place an “exclusion area” to prevent FDC supporters from rallying at the airport, so they’re apparently planning to gather on the road into Kampala instead. I have a feeling that the next week will be a bit dicey (Mousevni is being inaugurated as President tomorrow in Kampala — the result of a disputed election), but hopefully things will settle down after that. I don’t know whose “side” to be on with these protests — I’d like them to stop so things go back to normal, but I don’t particularly like the government’s overly harsh response that has been responsible for tamping down on them.

The plan for when I arrive is to stay in the town of Entebbe the first night, as I’m getting in fairly late. The next day, I’ll catch a taxi into Kampala and check into a hostel for two weeks. The hostel is in Old Kampala, which is the next hill over from downtown (Kampala is built on a series of hills), where my office is. I’ll have my own room, so it won’t be too inconvenient. Then, at the end of May, I’ll move into the apartment with a person who appears to be the nicest girl on the face of the planet, and the puppy! That is basically all I know, but hopefully details will come in the next couple of weeks. That’s all for now. Next post will be from Uganda!