Catering

The Challenge: Create Christmas season food for a group of visiting Canadians and a few other expats who would be missing familiar traditions in a place where only basic ingredients are available.

The Response: Is no problem! All we have to do is:

1. Find a turkey. Ugandans don’t eat turkey, and you can pay over $100 for a turkey from stores in Kampala, so this is was not easy. However we managed to work it out. We contacted the Farm Manager at Kibaale Community Centre (a former student of mine when I taught here in 1996.) He found us one, and almost as importantly, he arranged to have it slaughtered, cleaned and plucked for us, so we didn’t have to deal with all that. It was very small and quite tough, so we supplemented it with a roasted chicken as well to make sure there was enough to go around.

2. Gather special treats. Over several trips to Kampala over the last few weeks we stockpiled items that are unavailable in Masaka to ensure that we had sprinkles for the cookies, cheese for the cheese platter on Christmas Eve and bacon for Christmas morning brunch. On my recent trip to South Africa, I also picked up some exotic African appetizers to share on Christmas Eve—roasted macadamia and cashew nuts and cans of zebra and wildebeest pate.

3. Bake up a storm. Megan has been VERY busy over the last little while making gingerbread men, molasses cookies, chocolate mocha pretzels and many other delicious baked goodies. I contributed a tray of Nanaimo bars and some butter tarts.(Interestingly, I learned through my internet recipe search that both of these are uniquely Canadian treats...who knew?)

4. Adapt where necessary. Since we are in the tropics we were able to add a few things to our menu that we wouldn’t be able to enjoy at home. We served freshly squeezed passion fruit juice for Christmas dinner, barbecued burgers on Christmas Eve and had fruit salad that featured mangoes from the trees on our property.

5. Be willing to spend lots of time in the kitchen. Prepared food doesn’t exist to any great degree here, so we had to make most things from scratch and without the benefit of food processors. We chopped all the ingredients for fresh salsa and guacamole and had to form the hamburger buns and patties by hand. Lots of cutting, slicing, kneading, carving and stirring, let me tell you!

Yes, it’s been a lot of work, but it has been fun to put it all together. It was a delicious feast and it felt almost like home on this first Christmas I’ve spent away. I’ve got good friends here and it was great to have visitors to help us celebrate. Good thing we’re heading on a safari next week...we can let others do the cooking for a few days! Phew!

Festivities

Christmas Day is apparently in six days, but I have to keep looking at the calendar in order to convince myself of this reality; it just doesn’t feel like “Christmas” around here and I’ve been thinking about why that is. Sadly, I’ve realized that many of the things I associate with preparing for the season have a distinctly “commercial” element to them—buying coffee in a red cup; seeing decorations appear in malls, checking off items from a shopping list; buying new outfits for various parties and so on. Don’t get me wrong—I love these things!

We really do make things complicated, though. Magazine covers offer “200 Gift Ideas” or “150 Ways to Simplify the Holidays” or “75 Festive Recipes.” We go to parties, attend special concerts, brave crowded parking lots and make plans to travel great distances through inclement weather. This is how we celebrate. And since I find myself somewhere that does very little of this, I am finding it hard to believe that the season is here.

I do hear the occasional Christmas song playing on the workers’ radios outside my door each day; people are starting to head from the cities to their villages where they will spend time with their extended families; the street hawkers in Kampala are trying to sell artificial Christmas trees to people stuck in traffic; some businesses have put up decorations and the Kampala Amateur Dramatic Society (made up of expatriates) is putting on its annual Christmas pantomime. There is evidence that it is a special time of year. There just isn’t the hype that I am used to and it is sort of refreshing.

We are planning to re-create much of what we associate with Christmas, but we will do several things a little differently. For example, we’ve ordered a turkey from “our guy” in the village, but we really had to emphasize to him that we didn’t want to butcher it, clean it and pluck it ourselves. Similarly, we have done a fair bit of baking, but we’ve had to adapt a few of the ingredients to what is available here. On the plus side, we can put poinsettias on the table as decoration, but we can just pick them from the bushes that grow here naturally. Another contrast is that the workers at the project site are having their staff Christmas party later today, but we’re not going to some hotel ballroom to enjoy a buffet dinner--they’re killing a bull right here and cooking it up to share. Good times!

In many ways, I’m glad the season feels so different here. It helps me not to feel too sad that I can’t be with my family and friends at a time of year when spending time with loved ones is such a big part of the celebration. Be that as it may, we have visitors from Canada here at the moment, we’ve stockpiled lots of delicious goodies, we’re having a barbecue on Christmas Eve (something this Canadian has never done!) and it’s sunny and warm. It’s all good!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Domesticity

The construction of the on-site housing is finally finished at the Timothy Centre, and last week my team members and I moved into the houses we’ll be occupying for our time here. It must be said: these houses are lovely! We’ve got all the mod cons and some features that are really nice even by North American standards, let alone African standards. We even use “green” technology what with our solar electricity, solar hot water heaters and harvested rain water. It is really great to have my own home to set up and to be able to unpack some of the bags that haven’t really been touched since I packed them in June.

The new house requires a fair investment of time to maintain, however, and sometimes I feel like I could spend each day just doing domestic chores. The greatest challenge is trying to keep the light-coloured tiles on the floor clean. Since the site is still in the process of being landscaped and it is the rainy season, even a quick trip outside results in muddy shoes that leave reddish-brown footprints on the tiles. Even if the ground is dry, the red dust gets tracked in. There is also an interesting situation each morning as there are usually lots of dead bugs on the floor that were attracted to the porch lights outside and then met their demise; I’m not exaggerating when I say that I sweep the floor about five times a day and mop it once a day.

Pre-planning and adequate time are also required to complete kitchen chores. When I buy fresh produce at the local market, I let it soak for a few minutes in a diluted bleach/water solution in order to get it clean enough to be able to eat it. Similarly, each morning and evening I boil a kettle of water and pour it into the water filter to have clean drinking water. Doing dishes is simpler in the new house, because I actually have hot water coming out of the taps and don’t need to heat it on the stove first like we did at the other place. Running water is convenient, but when you can’t drink it straight from the tap, you need to evaluate how you intend to use it every time you turn on the faucet and act accordingly.

Having said all that....even with the all the work associated with the activities of daily living, it is wonderful to be moved onto this gorgeous site with the beautiful view from my living room window, nothing but the sound of crickets and frogs at night and great neighbours next door.

Transitions

I just spent my last night in the house I’ve been living in since I arrived in Masaka. I will be spending tonight in Entebbe and departing for South Africa early tomorrow morning, where I’ll spend a week on a bit of a holiday. As I write this, my sister is probably checking in at the Vancouver airport for a flight that should get her to Durban about half an hour before I arrive. I am so excited that she decided to come visit and that I’ll get to catch up on all the news from home!

If all goes according to plan, (a tall order around here, we realize!) upon returning from South Africa, we will be moved into our houses on the Timothy Centre and my first night back will be spent in my new home. It will be very nice to be able to unpack all of my belongings and settle into a more permanent situation; the construction process has taken longer than expected, and we have all felt like we’re living in limbo over the last few months. It will have been worth the wait, however, as these houses are really lovely!

So, a lot to look forward to in the next couple of weeks—an opportunity to explore a new part of the world, a visit with a much beloved sister and the chance to settle into a brand new house situated on a beautiful piece of property. Then there is possibility of enjoying a Christmas Eve barbecue in the near future—a unique experience for any Canadian! Transitions aren’t easy, but things are looking pretty good at the moment.

Keys

In the house where I’m currently living, we go through a rather elaborate locking and unlocking procedure each morning and evening as well as any time we go out—a procedure that requires four different keys to leave the place locked up. At night, three padlocks are used to secure the main gate, and in the morning three different keys are used to unlock them. There is a key in each of the bedroom doors and a key for each of the two post office boxes we use. Each vehicle has a couple of sets of keys. There is even a key for the fridge. There are some padlocks we can’t open because we don’t have the key, and extra keys on the key ring that don’t seem to open anything.

December 1 is the date I am anticipating moving into the house located on the property where the school is to be built. Construction has been slow on these houses, but gradually they are being finished and the furniture arrived last week—a sign that completion is very near! On the weekend, we went over to clean up a bit and even move a few of our things there. If I thought that in the new house I’d enjoy some freedom from the Tyranny of the Key, I’ve since realized this is not to be.

The front door has a different key from the back door. The wardrobe in the bedroom has 4 locks on it, each with its own key and the top drawers of the dresser each have locks with separate keys. The bedroom has its own key and while I haven’t seen the fridges yet, chances are pretty good that they’ll also have a locking function. And that’s just for my house—there are six other units on the compound so far, each with the roughly the same number of locks! The situation will be further complicated by the different locks on the various buildings that house the laundry facilities, the storage areas, the generator and the vehicle parking. Of course, we definitely don’t want these keys to fall into the wrong hands, so there will also have to be a locked locker to hold all the keys for all the various locks...

Do all these locks make things more secure? In some ways they do, I suppose, but each night as I engage in the elaborate ritual of locking out intruders while locking myself inside at the same time, a vague thought often lingers at the back of my mind: “I sure hope the house doesn't catch fire tonight!”

Rubbish

In cities at home, you hear lots of news stories and public service announcements about reducing waste so as not to add to the landfill. The problem with these and the reason that the landfill continues to grow is that “the landfill” is largely a theoretical concept. Few people ever see this mythical “landfill” with their own eyes, so it is pretty difficult to get worried about something that may or may not actually exist. As far as most people are concerned, you put garbage in a can, take the can to the curb and it disappears by the end of the day. Where has it gone? Who cares? It’s garbage!

Garbage does not disappear here; it continues to pile up until someone eventually sets the pile on fire with little regard for the toxic fumes created by the burning of plastic. Mounds of tattered plastic bags and squashed water bottles develop at various places around the city and even spill out into the road at times. (If it were feasible to fix potholes by filling them with garbage, this would be a different place, let me tell you!)

As if the piles of trash weren’t unsightly enough on their own, these dump sites tend to attract flocks of marabou storks which are quite possibly the UGLIEST creatures on the planet. I imagine that at some point, marabou storks must have lived in some green and natural habitat, but I’ve only ever seen them picking through overflowing dumpsters in urban environments. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the phrase “you are what you eat” originally referred to marabou storks.

As someone who has gained a slightly different perspective on garbage over the last few months, I would urge you to consider leaving your garbage man a token of appreciation for the valuable and vital work he does. Having garbage that disappears on a weekly basis is cause for great celebration, believe me! Oh yeah, while you’re at it, you should probably reduce waste as well, so as not to add to the landfill. If you’re not careful, the marabou storks might hear that if the garbage picking is good in Africa, North America is a regular carrion-eater’s Valhalla and a marabou migration is about the last thing anyone should want to encourage!

Fruit

Any produce market here offers juicy pineapple, delicious mangoes, exotic passion fruit, sweet watermelon and mouth-watering papaya. The flavour of these tropical fruits far exceeds the paltry imported versions you can buy in Canada and once you’ve tasted pineapple that has been allowed to ripen in the sun and picked that day, with its bright yellow colour and its sugary sweet juice, you can never really be satisfied with the slightly tart and rather tough “pineapple” sold in the Safeway produce section.

Yes, one can get rather spoiled having all of these fresh tropical fruits so readily available, and as those in the Northern Hemisphere head into the doldrums of November dreading the “fresh produce-less” winter months ahead, one can imagine that heaven’s gardens are cultivated solely with mangoes and passion fruit.

I would likely have believed that myself a few months ago, but I had an experience yesterday that showed me how easy it is for the “exotic” to become mundane. I was invited to a birthday party that was attended by several members of the ex-patriate community here in Masaka; there was a delicious spread on the buffet table and we ate on an outdoor patio with a stunning view of the surrounding area. It was a really lovely time; the chocolate birthday cake was served with ice cream, but then a fruit salad appeared on the table...

This salad had cubes of fresh mango and pineapple and was elegantly served in an emptied out watermelon. It was received politely until people noticed that mixed into the local fruit were fresh blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. It was quite the sight to witness what happened next. Within minutes, the berries had disappeared from the salad leaving only the tropical fruit in the bowl; the British, American, Danish and Canadian guests couldn’t scoop those berries fast enough! I don’t even think the Ugandan guests got the chance to taste the foreign fruit.

It became clear to me that depending on the context, the “familiar” can easily become the “exotic.” (and by the way, I didn’t get any berries either! Guess I’m stuck with boring old papaya and guava....sigh.....)

Bazungu

In Luganda (the dominant language in this region) a white person is called a muzungu; I hear that word a lot. When travelling through the rural areas little kids will wave and shout “Muzungu! Muzungu!” as we drive by. A guy at a market stall will say “Muzungu” in order to get my attention and then indicate that I should check out what he is selling. It is often the only word I understand if I hear a group of people talking in Luganda, so I know that it is very likely they’re talking about me! The word is so ubiquitous that tourist shops sell t-shirts that read “My name is not muzungu!” The plural form of the word is bazungu. It is simply unavoidable--we bazungu stand out around here. In terms of appearance, however, there is so much more than our skin colour that distinguishes us from the Ugandans.

When I see how the local women dress and carry themselves words like elegant, poised, statuesque, graceful, and even regal come to mind. They walk with perfect posture; they never seem to be in a hurry; their dresses are perfectly pressed, and even amongst the dust in the village, their whites sparkle. In contrast, when I observe bazungu women, words like harried, comfortable, practical, ill-fitting, or frumpy come to mind. We wear Velcro sandals, while the Ugandans wear high heels. We carry nylon purses or backpacks with lots of useful pockets, while the Ugandans carry fancy handbags.

Bazungu always have water bottles in our hands; we really like khaki and denim; we use a lot of hand sanitizer; we can’t seem to keep our hair under control; we often look flushed and a little sweaty; we are always in a rush; we pull out our cameras a lot. We are just so obvious...and it makes me smile.

I, unfortunately, cannot exclude myself from the above description. I try to keep my clothes ironed. I try not to take out my camera too much. I try to vary my footwear for different occasions. However, comfort and practicality tend to win most of the time. We are a funny bunch of folks to watch and observing other members of my race continues to keep me entertained.

Security

From purely anecdotal evidence, I think the security industry may be one of the biggest employers of young men in this country. You see guys dressed in sharp uniforms walking around with large guns all the time. They sit outside supermarkets, hotels, banks and offices--even schools employ armed guards. Most houses are surrounded by very high brick walls with broken glass or large spikes cemented in at the top to deter thieves and I’m getting used to driving up to large metal gates and honking the horn so a guard can let the vehicle in. You have to take security seriously around here.

We don’t have armed guards, but we do have two dogs that bark a fair bit and jump up at the front gate when someone arrives. They’re great for security because they can’t be bribed to look the other way while someone breaks in, and many people here are afraid of dogs. The ones we have are part German Shepherd and part Rhodesian Ridgeback (a type that was originally bred for hunting lions!) Sounds vicious, right? We’re pretty sure that if there were some kind of serious threat, their tough instincts would kick in. However, most of the time, they look like this:

We’re in good hands!

Powerlessness

It is now the fifth day in a row where we have had extended power outages during the day; the worst was Saturday when we had no electricity for over 12 hours! This situation has a “good news/bad news” kind of feel to it.

The good news is that we have a propane stove and can cook food and boil drinking water even when the power is off. The bad news is that the food spoils in our electric fridge and we have to throw lots of our groceries out before we get the chance to cook them.

The good news is that we have running water in our home and can even take real showers. The bad news is that the water heater is electric, so those morning showers can get a bit chilly (even in the hot weather!)

The good news is that we have a washing machine at the house and if we put in a load in the morning, the clothes have a chance to dry on the line throughout the day. The bad news is that when the power is out in the morning our laundry continues to pile up. Or, if the power goes out mid-cycle we have to deal with soapy, dripping clothes for an undetermined period of time.

The good news is that the power tends to come back on in the early evening. The bad news is that we’re sleeping overnight and can’t take advantage of it!

I am taking steps to survive these challenges, however, and recently invested in a rechargeable fluorescent lantern (imported from Dubai.) I have a lot of faith in this product as, according to the user’s manual if I “set power switch to the lighten position, then connect it to the pointed electricity power, it will be an excellent emergency light automatically when it is in the shortage of electricity power.”

SWEET! If only I knew what that meant!

Imports

Each meal here seems to involve a trip around the globe. I had peach jam from South Africa and granola from the UK for breakfast; the rice I ate for dinner last night came from India; the crackers I enjoyed for a snack were from Hong Kong and a glance in the pantry shows tomato paste imported from Dubai, olives from Spain and tuna from Thailand. Similarly, while shopping in Kampala this weekend, I was pleased to find cranberry sauce from the US to serve at our Thanksgiving dinner.

It is quite amazing to see not only the variety of goods available here in Uganda these days but also how far these goods have travelled to get to my table. The carbon footprint of many meals I have eaten here is a bit staggering when I think about it! However, much of the produce I eat on a daily basis easily falls within the boundaries of a 100 Mile Diet. In order for you to enjoy the same items in Canada, they would have to have been transported a long way; I figure these things should sort of cancel each other out.

For example, I buy pineapples, passion fruit, watermelon, mangoes, papayas and avocadoes from people who cultivate the land by hand and bring the goods to market on a bicycle. This should offset the fact that I buy imported cereal, mayonnaise, apples and fruit juice and have to drive 2 hours each way in order to purchase these luxury goods. Don’t you agree? Likewise, the milk powder that I put in my coffee comes from Holland, but since the sugar I add is grown and produced here, as is the coffee itself, I’ve basically achieved carbon neutrality, right?

So, here is the dilemma I’m facing: On the one hand there is the problem of climate change due to the emissions required to send these goods around the world. On the other hand, however, I have a really strong personal desire for comfort food while I’m a long way from home...

Given the fact that I’m anticipating enjoying cranberry sauce very soon, I think it’s fairly evident where I’ve landed on that one! My apologies to the polar bears.

Science

I’m not generally that interested in scientific phenomena (picture my fingers indicating quotation marks in the air), but here’s something for those that like that kind of thing.

Question: If water spins in one direction as it drains in the Northern Hemisphere and spins in the opposite direction in the Southern Hemisphere, which direction does it drain right on the Equator?

Answer: It goes straight down without spinning at all.

Each trip I take to Kampala is a “trans-hemispherical” experience (I’m quite aware that isn’t actually a word!), and I had the opportunity to witness this phenomenon last week as we stopped at The Equator en route to the capital city. Over the years enterprising individuals have capitalized on the novelty of having this significant line of latitude run through the nation. They’ve painted a yellow line across the road indicating zero degrees and set up a place for people to have their photos taken. There are also several craft stalls in the area that sell souvenirs and a coffee shop that serves lattes and cappuccinos as well as freshly baked muffins and cookies (a distinctly “northern” menu that is rather ironically located on the south side of the line!)

Another interesting feature of this little tourist trap is the three basins that have been set up to show the water draining phenomenon—one on the Northern Hemisphere side, one on the Southern Hemisphere side, and one directly on the line. I watched a demonstration in the three basins, and it was pretty cool to see that the effect works so close to the actual line and also to realize that the water doesn’t spin at all right at zero degrees!

Perhaps I’ve been a bit starved for entertainment lately, or maybe Science is interesting after all!

Understanding My Context: The Sounds

You know that time in the morning when you’ve woken up and you’re deciding how much longer you can doze before having to actually get up? Well, I’ve learned in the last few weeks that here in Uganda I don’t even have to open my eyes and check a clock to get a rough estimate of the time. If I wake up and all I hear are cicadas buzzing outside, then I can go back to sleep—that’s a night sound. However, if I hear birds singing outside, then I will likely have to get up soon—birds are a morning sound. I can almost set my clock to the birds as they seem to start singing about an hour before the sun rises at 7:00.


The sounds here emphasize the contrasts in this country. I hear cell phones ringing and goats bleating; radios blaring and roosters crowing; vehicle horns sounding and cows bawling. There’s even a local ice-cream man whose motorcycle plays a tinny electronic version of Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” that I hear from time to time. I hear the Call to Prayer from the local mosque as well as the sound of raucous singing and preaching from an outdoor Christian tent revival. There are the natural sounds like birds, insects, heavy rain or wind in the banana leaves, but there is also manmade noise like traffic, generator motors or vehicle horns. Most sounds I’ve heard here are pleasant, but hearing gunshots, teargas being fired, or rioters shouting was unnerving.


People and relationships are highly valued in this culture and it is not surprising that the sounds reflect this. Passengers on motorcycle taxis or open trucks shout greetings to the people they pass on the side of the road. Little children sing together as they play. Market stall owners call out to passersby to try to drum up business. Mothers give instructions to their children. Taxi drivers negotiate prices with customers. Political activists drive around with megaphones mounted on the back of pick-up trucks raising awareness of all kinds of issues. It’s almost like human voices are the soundtrack playing in the background all the time.


There is an important distinction between hearing sounds and listening to them, so I hope that I am not just “hearing” sounds but I’m also listening to them in an attempt to understand my context better.
PS: Waking up to a variety of songbirds every morning is pretty great!

Understanding My Context: The Sounds

You know that time in the morning when you’ve woken up and you’re deciding how much longer you can doze before having to actually get up? Well, I’ve learned in the last few weeks that here in Uganda I don’t even have to open my eyes and check a clock to get a rough estimate of the time. If I wake up and all I hear are cicadas buzzing outside, then I can go back to sleep—that’s a night sound. However, if I hear birds singing outside, then I will likely have to get up soon—birds are a morning sound. I can almost set my clock to the birds as they seem to start singing about an hour before the sun rises at 7:00.

The sounds here emphasize the contrasts in this country. I hear cell phones ringing and goats bleating; radios blaring and roosters crowing; vehicle horns sounding and cows bawling. There’s even a local ice-cream man whose motorcycle plays a tinny electronic version of Beethoven’s “Fuer Elise” that I hear that from time to time. I hear the Call to Prayer from the local mosque as well as the sound of raucous singing and preaching from an outdoor Christian tent revival. There are the natural sounds like birds, insects, heavy rain or wind in the banana leaves, but there is also manmade noise like traffic, generator motors or vehicle horns. Most sounds I’ve heard here are pleasant, but hearing gunshots, teargas being fired, or rioters shouting was unnerving.

People and relationships are highly valued in this culture and it is not surprising that the sounds reflect this. Passengers on motorcycle taxis or open trucks shout greetings to the people they pass on the side of the road. Little children sing together as they play. Market stall owners call out to passersby to try to drum up business. Mothers give instructions to their children. Taxi drivers negotiate prices with customers. Political activists drive around with megaphones mounted on the back of pick-up trucks raising awareness of all kinds of issues. It’s almost like human voices are the soundtrack playing in the background all the time.

There is an important distinction between hearing sounds and listening to them, so I hope that I am not just “hearing” sounds but I’m also listening to them in an attempt to understand my context better.
PS: Waking up to a variety of songbirds every morning is pretty great!

Hope

“For pennies a day, you can make a difference in a child’s life. Call today!” We’ve all seen the commercials on TV asking you to pick up the phone and pledge to sponsor a child in a far-off country, and we develop a degree of immunity to these appeals. It’s easy to wonder how mere “pennies a day” can really help in terms of the massive needs in these countries. However, I have to say that these ad campaigns are not trying to deceive you. Sponsoring a child can provide opportunities for children that would not be able to go to school otherwise, and (please pardon the cliché,) it DOES make a difference!

Today, I had the privilege of meeting up with the girl that I have sponsored, and she is an example of someone that has truly benefitted from a relatively small financial investment. In a country where girls face many challenges trying to finish primary let alone secondary school, she has graduated from O-Level and has earned a post-secondary certificate in accountancy. She is hoping to go on and earn a diploma from a school in Kampala, which will allow her to get a higher paying job. She is a bright, determined young woman whose eyes lit up as she described her ultimate goal of working in a bank. However, without sponsorship, she would not have been able to afford school fees and would have little chance of breaking the poverty cycle. It is such an honour to see firsthand how the gift of education has changed someone’s life.

She was on her way to Kampala today, but she wanted to interrupt her journey in Masaka to meet up with me and greet me (a very important thing to do in this culture.) She was waiting for me outside a cafe and when I got out of the car, she rushed over with a big smile on her face to give me a hug. We visited for maybe 20 minutes or so and she gave me a woven straw mat that she’d made. She told me that her family sent their greetings and was praying for me, and her smile got even bigger when I told her that I also brought greetings from my family. It was so great to sit across the table from her and make that personal connection.

The needs here are real and the challenge is great. However, it is not hopeless. A straw mat presented to me by an ambitious young woman is all the proof I need.

Unrest

A PowerPoint announcement slide in church this morning read something like “Welcome back from the previous week of gunfire, teargas and running exercise.” I can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything like that at church at home, but sadly, that was the experience here in Uganda this week.

You may or may not have heard that there were some violent protests that broke out in Kampala earlier this week and I actually happened to be in the city at the time. The violence extended beyond the capital and there were some blockades and rioters even here in Masaka. It was a bit of an adventure trying to get home on Friday, but thanks to the help and advice of some great Ugandan friends (and the prayers of many) we are all safe. Things have settled down now and people are getting back to routine, but the experience did highlight a few concepts for me:

1. Adversity brings people together.
2. Good friends are invaluable.
3. Cell phones are a wonderful invention.

You can read about the situation in more detail from various internet news sources, if you’re interested, but we’re all doing fine here and are maintaining positive attitudes. Keep Uganda in your thoughts and prayers!

Waiting

Time is viewed in more general terms here than most Westerners are used to, so it shouldn’t be too surprising that more than a few well-meaning development workers have burned out trying to get tasks accomplished according to a rigid timeline. Everything just takes longer than you expect and you spend a lot of your time simply waiting—many times you don’t even know what you’re waiting for.

Personally, I try not to get too worked up about “wasted time” and try to keep myself entertained while I wait Good thing the cell phone I just bought has games on it!

I also came up with a helpful sort of acrostic poem that I could repeat over and over to myself as I wait.

While
Activities
Involve
Tedium
I
Never
Grumble.

I may have to say it through gritted teeth every once in a while, but I shall boldly attempt to stay positive in the face of frequent and interminable waits!

Understanding My Context: The Smells

Countries adopt national birds, flowers, sports and all kinds of national symbols. Well, I think Uganda really should try something new and be the first nation in the world to declare a National Smell. Towards this end, I humbly submit my nomination: Smoke—the National Smell of Uganda. (Not the cigarette variety, we’re talking the smoke caused by the burning of wood or grass.) You smell smoke in both rural and urban areas and it seems like every breath you take in has a hint of wood smoke in it. You may not believe me, but even as I write this I can smell the smoke from a nearby fire.

It is the end of the dry season at the moment, so farmers who keep cattle tend to burn the older grass at this time so that new, fresh grass can grow when the rains start. Similarly, other farmers burn brush in order to clear their land for cultivation. Driving through the countryside right now you can see charred hillsides where there has been burning and at night you can see the glow from these fires.

It is not just farmers that cause all the smoke smell in the air, however. Brick makers, charcoal producers and housewives all do their share in producing it. Bricks are baked in wood-fuelled kilns, charcoal suppliers obviously can’t make their product without burning wood and housewives cook the family meals over open fires or charcoal fires. It is no wonder that every breath has a smoky undertone.

Other nominations for Ugandan National Smell could be diesel fumes or “just-rained-on-dirt,” but these would be distant runners-up. Smoke takes it.

Stories

There is that stereotypical image of traditional life in Africa with a village elder sitting in front of the campfire telling stories to the children in order to impart wisdom and teach the history of the tribe. While modern academics may bemoan the perceived loss of this practice in post-colonial Africa, it seems to me (from my admittedly limited perspective) that oral tradition remains alive and well in these parts. The village elders may look a little different and the campfires may have changed somewhat, but stories are still a vital form of communication here.

Just as the village children would gather around the tribal elder to listen to stories, I have found myself listening to the wisdom of people who have been here longer than me. I have heard amusing anecdotes, cautionary tales, historical accounts, genealogical chronicles, epic sagas, exaggerated yarns, local legends, extended narratives and just about any kind of story imaginable. I’ve barely been here two weeks and in that time I’ve heard stories of persecution under Idi Amin and tales of close encounters with snakes, lions, elephants and all manner of wild animals. I’ve listened to tragic accounts of the vulnerability caused by poverty and learned of the innumerable challenges people have to overcome to make a better life for themselves and their families. But for each of these sad stories, I have heard inspiring tales of generosity, courage and resourcefulness.

I have listened as the Canadians with whom I work tell of their experiences, but I’ve also heard stories told by Ugandan teachers, school administrators, and even a game warden. One evening, I listened to stories recounted by two young Irish women working in a hospital here and in church one Sunday a visiting Kenyan pastor shared stories from his home. I’ve heard varying political and religious viewpoints and have heard stories from both the male and female perspective. People have shared stories to pass the time in the evenings or on the long drives from place to place; each day presents many opportunities for the telling of tales and I never tire of hearing them.

Right now, I feel like that village child sitting at the feet of the elder; I am trying to learn as much as I can from the stories I’m hearing because each tale adds to my understanding of this place and the people who live here. The problem is that every new story makes me realize how much more there is to learn! I appreciate each of the “elders” so far who have shared their wisdom and I can’t wait to hear the stories tomorrow will bring.

My Context: Sights

Remember the “Where’s Waldo” books that were so popular a while back? Each page depicted a complex scene with a variety of people engaged in a variety of activities; you had to examine each part of the large picture very closely in order to find Waldo. As I think about how to describe a “typical” scene here, I imagine a sort of Ugandan version of that kind of picture.

A quick look at a village scene would show a red dirt road lined with lean-to shacks and shop fronts in the foreground. The green hills in the distance are dotted with small houses—some brick, some mud, some with sheet metal roofing and others with thatch. Each of these has a grove of banana trees beside it to provide the family with matoke, their staple food. There is a cleared area of packed dirt in front of the house and maybe a few hibiscus plants decorating the small compound. There might be some bougainvillea vines here and there splashing colour onto walls or fence posts, and as the rain hasn’t arrived yet, everything is covered with fine, red dust.

Upon closer examination, you would begin to notice the people in the scene, each involved in the daily activities of village life. A wrinkled ja-ja (grandmother) sits on a three-legged stool beside a roughly constructed stand where she sells some produce from her garden; the tomatoes neatly piled on plastic bowls and the lemons polished with a small bit of cloth. A boda-boda driver (motorcycle taxi) transports his three passengers with the hood of a winter coat pulled so tightly around his face, he can barely see out. This is his attempt to combat the dust he encounters on the road. A little girl wearing a grimy dress peeks out shyly from behind the ragged curtain that serves as the door to her home. Three young boys kick around an improvised soccer ball made of tightly knotted plastic bags; they try not to disturb the older men playing cards in the shade of a tree or the young men gathered around the portable radio that hangs outside a small shop. A woman, her hair wound up in a brightly coloured head scarf and a baby tied onto her back, bends over plastic basins to do laundry; another stirs an aluminum pot over a charcoal fire—banana leaves serve as a lid to steam the matoke ; still another woman bends to sweep the hard-packed dirt around her door with a broom made of long grass she has collected. Several children stand around the water pump waiting their turn to fill jerry cans and some are walking back to their homes with the yellow jerry cans balanced on their heads. Children walk to school wearing brightly coloured uniforms in various states of repair. Everyone seems to be doing something—even if it is just sitting in a doorway watching people or vehicles pass.

A further inspection of this scene would show that animals are an integral part of village life. One goat is tied to a spindly tree, while two others wander freely through the street. Chickens dart here and there narrowly avoiding being hit by the passing motorcycles or trucks. A man, holding a stick, drives his herd of Ankole cattle with their characteristically long, curved horns to a nearby field to graze. These animals make themselves at home practically anywhere throughout the village.

I love seeing this sort of scene as I drive from place to place, and, while my specific context at the moment is a bit more “urban” than this particular depiction, I wanted to take the opportunity to describe what is most typical throughout the country and the kind of thing I see every day so that you can picture a bit of what life looks like here. The urban street is a whole other scene to be described at a later date, perhaps!

By Way of Introduction

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a developing world taxi driver/mechanic/hotel clerk in want of a tourist’s money, must be in possession of the phrase “Is no problem.” I have observed this phrase employed to answer practically any question asked of them.

“Do you know this place?”

“Can you fix this?”

“Can I arrange a wake-up call?”

“Do you understand?”


The phrase is stated with such conviction that the tourist feels that he can get in the taxi, authorize the repairs or go to bed confident that his wishes have been communicated clearly. It is only after driving in circles, hours of waiting at the shop or nearly missing a plane that the tourist begins to understand that blind faith in the phrase “Is no problem” has the potential to create a few...well...problems. The taxi driver/mechanic/hotel clerk, however, continues undaunted, unapologetic and unconcerned by the situation and will answer the same to the next person who asks.

I have just arrived in Uganda charged with starting a school, and as I consider the task at hand, I rather envy the assurance these people have to answer “Is no problem” to any challenge put before them. For that reason, I have adopted the phrase as a theme for myself as I embark on this adventure.

“Do you understand the Ugandan curriculum?”

“Can you hire staff?”

“Can you recruit students?”

“Have you ever written a policy manual for a boarding school dorm?”

When it comes time for me to address each of these issues, I shall confidently declare:

IS NO PROBLEM!

I plan to record my impressions, stories, lessons and struggles in this blog from time to time, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I’ll enjoy writing it.

By the way.... on a related note: If a developing world taxi driver/mechanic/hotel clerk looks you in the eye and says “Is problem.” Take that as your cue to be afraid; be very afraid!