The mzungu who fell in a hole

I’ve just returned from my Kampala journey – I stayed longer due to Independence Day holiday (didn’t need to risk drunks on the road). I have to say that it feels good to come back to Gulu - I suppose a sign that it is my home now. I dragged myself out of bed at 5:45 this morning, expecting to get to the bus park early to catch a 7:00am bus. When I was directed to a bus that was empty, I knew that I was in for an extended journey. Buses don’t depart until they are full, and I mean FULL. Of course I ask the driver when we will be departing and he says 8:00. Fine. 8:00 passes, 9:00 passes. The heat is rising, I am packed like a sardine on this bus, sweating and smelling the body odors of my neighbors when, finally, at almost 10:00am (and I have been waiting since 6:30) the bus starts up. That is how a four-hour journey turns to eight in Uganda. I am just thankful that this time I didn’t have to share my foot space with a scary live chicken, as I did on the way to Kampala. We also got to watch a Nigerian film called Before the Wedding, in which three male friends try to con women into sleeping with them. They do so by telling the women that they will marry them, but only if they will sleep with them first – the men justify their requests by stating that they must be sure that these women can conceive. So no wedding before a bun is in the oven and strangely women are so eager to be married that they give in. I am afraid that there won’t be a conclusion until I have the chance to see Before the Wedding II.

I don’t know if it was my strange mindset last week or what, but I was perpetually accident-prone in Kampala. As I was leaving a meeting on Wednesday, I thought I had looked before crossing the road, but nearly got ran over. I was looking the wrong way. I can’t seem to adjust to this whole driving on the left-hand side and opt to take my frustration out on those no good British imperialists and their left-sided ways. Then there are these huge marabou birds that glide over Kampala. One might think, how lovely, but these nasty birds feast on the city trash. So I am on my way to meet somebody for lunch, and I take notice of a bunch of marabous hanging out in the trees. I contemplate getting a picture but decide that I better get onto my meeting. As I am walking I felt a little something on my arm, and sure enough one of those dirty birds let loose on my shirt and arm. Finally, on Friday night I was leaving a shopping center (ok, a mall) as night was setting in and I hurriedly made my way towards my next destination (Indian food – yes I ate it three of the four days). I was trying to walk with confidence (as if this will prevent anybody from messing with me) and I am making my way across a median when, yes, I fall in a hole. Literally. I quickly laugh aloud at myself, brush myself off and stumble on only to fall again onto my knees. I look up and see a bus stop full of people smirking at the idiot mzungu. Terrific.

But overall, Kampala was a good little break. Most of my tentative meetings and work plans fell through, but I managed a few productive activities. My little hotel was apparently located right near a karaoke joint, so I got to hear Ugandans belt out Lionel Richie, Celine Dion and other hits of the 80s and early 90s. While I am myself a big fan of Lionel, I really did appreciate the Boys II Men renditions. The Motown Philly memory is alive and well in Africa – there are Boys II Men Saloons (barbershops) in both Kigali and Gulu.

I have officially concluded the Ugandan police are to traffic violations as the Boulder police are to underage drinking. Just prior to my arrival, the city of Kampala converted all the downtown streets to one ways and police are vigilant about parking violations. Seatbelts and helmets for boda boda drivers are also the rage. Every time the bus is stopped by the police (I know I am stating this so nonchalantly, but it happens frequently) everybody goes digging for their seatbelts. In Gulu, the police sit around all day looking for minor violations to pass their time.

And yes, this weekend Uganda celebrated 42 years of independence from the British (and why not show true independence by driving on the RIGHT hand side of the road?). Several articles in the papers have expressed, no matter how politically incorrect, that some Ugandans feel that things were better under colonial administration than they are now. After Idi Amin, Milton Obote, the horrid Joseph Kony and the LRA, I can sympathize with where these folks are coming from.

I am tired from the heat and travel, so I shall close. I anticipate a few weeks of heavy work, and just maybe, I will be moving into a flat...