As some of you may know, and for reasons I'm not going into here, I'm at home in Wales. At the moment, I intend to fly back to Africa next Thursday (5th) to start my trip.
To cut a long story short, I have more luggage allowance than I need.
I want to use the additional allowance for children's clothes and shoes which I intend to give to a charity based in the Namatala slums area of Mbale.
I know I have spoken about the corruption that exists in Uganda which may make some of you question why, but I can hand on heart say I trust the people who run this 100%.
Please see here for further info - http://www.childofhopeuganda.org/activities
So I'm asking for children's clothes and shoes in good condition that range from about six months old to 12 years old.
If anyone from work has anything to donate, please can you give them to Luke Merlini (Corporate Services, Rivers) or Kira Hutchinson (Comms, 4th floor, Ty Cambria) by no later than midday on Wednesday 4th as that's when I'll be collecting them.
If non work people anything to donate, please let me know. However, I'm only using my UK WORK mobile number at the moment (the one that ends in 94). Otherwise, drop me an email or Facebook message. Only problem is, I haven't got a car here so I'm afraid you'll have to get stuff to me.
Once I've collected everything, I'll select a mixture of girls and boys clothes in a variety of sizes. I will split any surplus between a local charity shop and a local organisation that works with underprivileged families.
If you are kind enough to make a clothing donation, please can you consider the conditions over there.
Summer clothes would be best but if you have any lightweight cardigans etc, that would be great too.
Dark clothes would be better as they won't show the dirt so much.
Some people have asked me about making financial donations to charities here, particularly after the fire. This site has a donation facility so if you want to, you could give via this. No pressure but if you can, I am confident funds will go directly to those that need it the most.
You can see more about financial donations (and hopefully be reassured your money will be used properly here -
http://www.childofhopeuganda.org/about-coh/great-facts
Thank you in advance, particularly to Luke and Kira who I've just dumped this on without asking them first!
X
Saturday 31 March 2012
Wednesday 28 March 2012
Very long and disjointed blog entry that ends with a true story
(Second blog of the day, but only because the electricity was off last night)
So many amazing things have happened to me since being here that it's only when I look back on photos that I think, 'Wow, how did I forget about that? That experience / conversation / pool party was brilliant / totally random / like a scene out of an RnB video!'
I'm getting concerned that the more I do, the more I'll forget.
When I get back, I'm going to print all of my blogs and favourite photos into a photo book as a reminder of my time here, so the next few posts are going to be very long, self indulgent and focus on things that mean something to me but will probably mean diddly squat to you!
(Don't say I didn't warn you! Chris, I wouldn't bother if I were you!)
Here goes with some stuff that I don't think I've mentioned in previous blogs.
* Greeting is big and pretty consistent in Uganda
I probably have the following conversation with random adults anywhere between 20 - 30 times a day.
Them : Muzungo, how are you?
Me : I am good. How are you?
Them: I am good. How is life?
Me : Life is good. How is life?
Them : Life is good. (Smiles at you, not saying anything else)
Me : Ok, well it was nice talking to you. Bye.
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye! (Stands there, still smiling as you walk off with a wave)
The following conversation happens at the same frequency, only with children.
Them : Hi Muzungo, hi!
Me : Hi!
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye!
Me : Bye!
I was told this would start to get on my nerves after a few weeks, but to be honest, I haven't tired of it yet because :
a. It makes me feel like a minor celebrity and
b. The monotony and predictability of such conversations genuinely amuses me.
* "Look, there's a kid with that condition - what's it called again?"
"Umm, I think you'll find that's Gerry, not an albino"
* The Kitchen Drawers of Doom, so named because every time you'd open them, a little surprise (usually a cockroach) would run out towards you.
In a similar vein, I have learned the hard way to wear flip flops at all times - including when I get up in the middle of the night for a wee. Squishing a cockroach under my bare foot wasn't pleasant.
* Despite it being very much frowned upon for men and women to show any sign of affection towards each other in public and the horrendous attitudes towards gay people here, male friends holding hands is a very common sight. The first time I saw it, I thought people were making a stand against the prejudice, but no, sadly not.
* We've ended up spending far too much time and money in a restaurant called Delicious Dishes (Delicious Delights according to Sue!). Despite having the charisma of the Nantgarw Makro, it is one of the few places that makes tasty food in the whole town. I thoroughly recommend anyone staying in Mbale visits there, Nurali's or Chat n Chino sooner rather than later.
* In some ways, western culture has infected even the most remote of places. In the middle of villages with horrendously pot-holed dust track roads, mud huts and people collecting drinking water from stagnant lakes, you'll suddenly see a brick house or shop painted bright red with the Coke logo emblazoned all over it or a lurid yellow building encouraging people to sign up to an MTN mobile phone contract.
It really is strange to see ugly advertising that is so at odds with its surroundings.
* This is something I'd never thought of before, but condoms here are black!
And before anyone jumps to any conclusions, I received this information second hand!
Alex went to a club that had a promotion where you buy a beer and get a pack of three 'The Big O' condoms free. And as the dipstick was running low on clean tops, he bought a t shirt with The Big O written all over it.
"What do you mean I can't wear it when I'm around you? It's only a brand name. Outside of Uganda, nobody will know what a Big O is. What's the problem?"
Poor, naive Alex!
* "Bloody hell! Look at the size of that goat's balls - they're massive!"
* Women carry babies in the cutest of ways so that they can carry on with their everyday lives. They basically strap a piece of cloth around their back, tied at the front and bundle the babies into it. None of this BabyBjorn, BabaSling or Papoose nonsense, just a flimsy, threadbare piece of cloth. And do you know what? It does the job perfectly!
(Man, how the hell do I know about different types of baby carriers? I need more childless friends!)
* I'm going to end this blog with one of my (in a weird way) favourite stories.
One of the girls we've met over here is half Indian / Ugandan. Her mother (who was born here) and her family were thrown out of Uganda under Idi Amin's rule. The family was friends with a very successful businessman who was also given a matter of days to pack up whatever possessions he could and move his family out of the country or they would probably have been killed.
The businessman gave away vast sums of money, possessions and property to his workers in the days before he left as he knew Amin would keep the money for himself and decimate the businesses he and his family had spent so many years building.
As anticipated, Amin destroyed a lot of his factories, but whenever he would stay in the area, he would use the family home as his own.
During Amin's reign, the Indian businessman would risk his life by travelling back to Uganda every so often to keep an eye on what was happening to the country and to make sure his workers were ok. This happened for years.
When Amin was overthrown, the businessman returned to the area within a few days to reclaim his property and land.
Over time, he rebuilt his businesses and is once again exceedingly successful with a very well known business (I'm not naming it as this isn't my story to tell).
He again employs thousands of people and provides them with housing, medical care and a school for their children.
How inspirational is that?
Am not going to apologise for the War and Peace style blog - I did warn you!
Expect more long and rushed self indulgent blogs to act as a memory jog within the next few days!
So many amazing things have happened to me since being here that it's only when I look back on photos that I think, 'Wow, how did I forget about that? That experience / conversation / pool party was brilliant / totally random / like a scene out of an RnB video!'
I'm getting concerned that the more I do, the more I'll forget.
When I get back, I'm going to print all of my blogs and favourite photos into a photo book as a reminder of my time here, so the next few posts are going to be very long, self indulgent and focus on things that mean something to me but will probably mean diddly squat to you!
(Don't say I didn't warn you! Chris, I wouldn't bother if I were you!)
Here goes with some stuff that I don't think I've mentioned in previous blogs.
* Greeting is big and pretty consistent in Uganda
I probably have the following conversation with random adults anywhere between 20 - 30 times a day.
Them : Muzungo, how are you?
Me : I am good. How are you?
Them: I am good. How is life?
Me : Life is good. How is life?
Them : Life is good. (Smiles at you, not saying anything else)
Me : Ok, well it was nice talking to you. Bye.
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye! (Stands there, still smiling as you walk off with a wave)
The following conversation happens at the same frequency, only with children.
Them : Hi Muzungo, hi!
Me : Hi!
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye!
Me : Bye!
I was told this would start to get on my nerves after a few weeks, but to be honest, I haven't tired of it yet because :
a. It makes me feel like a minor celebrity and
b. The monotony and predictability of such conversations genuinely amuses me.
* "Look, there's a kid with that condition - what's it called again?"
"Umm, I think you'll find that's Gerry, not an albino"
* The Kitchen Drawers of Doom, so named because every time you'd open them, a little surprise (usually a cockroach) would run out towards you.
In a similar vein, I have learned the hard way to wear flip flops at all times - including when I get up in the middle of the night for a wee. Squishing a cockroach under my bare foot wasn't pleasant.
* Despite it being very much frowned upon for men and women to show any sign of affection towards each other in public and the horrendous attitudes towards gay people here, male friends holding hands is a very common sight. The first time I saw it, I thought people were making a stand against the prejudice, but no, sadly not.
* We've ended up spending far too much time and money in a restaurant called Delicious Dishes (Delicious Delights according to Sue!). Despite having the charisma of the Nantgarw Makro, it is one of the few places that makes tasty food in the whole town. I thoroughly recommend anyone staying in Mbale visits there, Nurali's or Chat n Chino sooner rather than later.
* In some ways, western culture has infected even the most remote of places. In the middle of villages with horrendously pot-holed dust track roads, mud huts and people collecting drinking water from stagnant lakes, you'll suddenly see a brick house or shop painted bright red with the Coke logo emblazoned all over it or a lurid yellow building encouraging people to sign up to an MTN mobile phone contract.
It really is strange to see ugly advertising that is so at odds with its surroundings.
* This is something I'd never thought of before, but condoms here are black!
And before anyone jumps to any conclusions, I received this information second hand!
Alex went to a club that had a promotion where you buy a beer and get a pack of three 'The Big O' condoms free. And as the dipstick was running low on clean tops, he bought a t shirt with The Big O written all over it.
"What do you mean I can't wear it when I'm around you? It's only a brand name. Outside of Uganda, nobody will know what a Big O is. What's the problem?"
Poor, naive Alex!
* "Bloody hell! Look at the size of that goat's balls - they're massive!"
* Women carry babies in the cutest of ways so that they can carry on with their everyday lives. They basically strap a piece of cloth around their back, tied at the front and bundle the babies into it. None of this BabyBjorn, BabaSling or Papoose nonsense, just a flimsy, threadbare piece of cloth. And do you know what? It does the job perfectly!
(Man, how the hell do I know about different types of baby carriers? I need more childless friends!)
* I'm going to end this blog with one of my (in a weird way) favourite stories.
One of the girls we've met over here is half Indian / Ugandan. Her mother (who was born here) and her family were thrown out of Uganda under Idi Amin's rule. The family was friends with a very successful businessman who was also given a matter of days to pack up whatever possessions he could and move his family out of the country or they would probably have been killed.
The businessman gave away vast sums of money, possessions and property to his workers in the days before he left as he knew Amin would keep the money for himself and decimate the businesses he and his family had spent so many years building.
As anticipated, Amin destroyed a lot of his factories, but whenever he would stay in the area, he would use the family home as his own.
During Amin's reign, the Indian businessman would risk his life by travelling back to Uganda every so often to keep an eye on what was happening to the country and to make sure his workers were ok. This happened for years.
When Amin was overthrown, the businessman returned to the area within a few days to reclaim his property and land.
Over time, he rebuilt his businesses and is once again exceedingly successful with a very well known business (I'm not naming it as this isn't my story to tell).
He again employs thousands of people and provides them with housing, medical care and a school for their children.
How inspirational is that?
Am not going to apologise for the War and Peace style blog - I did warn you!
Expect more long and rushed self indulgent blogs to act as a memory jog within the next few days!
Matatus & Seven Waving Willies
(Posted today as electricity was off yesterday. Connection is slow so will try to load photos when it improves)
The local buses here are known as matatus. I think I've written about them before but I can't be bothered to check as the internet connection here is SLOOOOW today and the electricity is so intermittent, it may as well have been off all day.
Matatus are basically blue and white battered up old minibuses that have seen better days. They are officially licensed to carry 14 passengers.
However, this being Africa and all, they frequently carry 21 passengers, possibly up to 30 if you include live chickens and goats that can travel on the roof.
Sue and Alex are a bit more savvy on how to bag the best seats as they catch them a lot more than I do.
Unfortunately for me, the last time we all travelled together, they took full advantage of their insight and my matatu-related ignorance by jumping straight (whilst whispering, giggling and nudging each other) into the comfortable, one person per seat front seats, leaving me to negotiate a three seater row with four others in a most undignified manner for the next five hours.
Despite the fact I spent four of those hours next to a man with an exceptionally bad BO problem whilst sitting on my left bum cheek with my neck on the wonk, my head and right arm hanging out of the window like some sort of labrador, my hair flapping about in the wind and hitting me in the face, my upper left arm nestled diagonally in between my boobs with my hand holding onto the outside of the minibus window for dear life, Sue and Alex insisted I had been lucky and that wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I disagreed. Strongly.
Every now and again, I'd catch Sue and Alex's eye as they were looking back at me in the mirror and their shoulders would start shaking uncontrollably whilst laughing at both my misfortune and the mouthed profanities and scowls directed at them from underneath the wind swept hair hanging out of the window.
(I think the little shits may have had a point about it not being too bad actually. The matatu the girls caught back was carrying a woman in the full sing of labour - the bus just stopped and left her there at the side of the road, just crowning away!)
This particular matatu ride home was pretty similar to the taxi ride we experienced on the way to Sipi Falls (see previous blog) - just as perilous but luckily, this time we had God on our side.
Most matatus have little slogans written across the top of the window, most of them religious. Ours encouraged us to Trust in God.
To be honest, I didn't have much choice but to trust in Him as I didn't have an abundance of faith in the brakes, suspension or tyre tread.
Some of my other favourite slogans include :
* This taxi is protected by the blood of Jesus (me neither)
* Second chance (judging by the look of most matatus, they are more like cats, going though nine lives rather than two)
* No gain, no pain (?! - I can't decide if that philosophy is fundamentally flawed or spot on!)
* God is AWESOME!
Whereas others just have Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea emblazoned across them.
Well, footballers are practically deities here so I guess it makes sense in an Only In Africa kind of way!
One of the benefits of sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long is that you have no option but to take your mind off the pain and discomfort and concentrate on soaking up the scenery and atmosphere.
(Elin, Rhian, Del and Caroline - roedd rhaid i fi ddysgu ymdopi a theithiau hir ers siwrne'r Traws Cambria 'na nol ym 1998!)
Some of the more common scenes you see whilst driving though cities and villages alike are :
* Cow or goat carcasses hanging (often still dripping) from wooden shacks at the side of the road. Ych, they make my stomach churn every time I see them all covered in flies and dust.
(I tell people I'm a vegetarian as the meat really does look so awful. Someone said to me the other day, "You're a vegetarian? Really? I thought only Germans were vegetarian"!)
* Boys and men sitting at the side of the road chipping at large rocks to create aggregate to sell. They sit there ALL day, just chip, chip, chipping away.
* School kids running round in luminous school uniforms that clash so badly with the natural landscape. I'll try to post of photos of the school uniforms. They are truly revolting, but somehow kids manage to look great!
A less common scene is having seven boys, between eight and twelve who had just been swimming in the river, waving at you excitedly from the roadside.
Nothing unusual about that - except they were totally naked and their bits were waving as much as their hands!
Not much surprises me here any more - after all, TIA!
* * *
This was my view before the bus filled up. I didn't have room to manoeuvre and get my camera out by the time it had filled up.
The local buses here are known as matatus. I think I've written about them before but I can't be bothered to check as the internet connection here is SLOOOOW today and the electricity is so intermittent, it may as well have been off all day.
Matatus are basically blue and white battered up old minibuses that have seen better days. They are officially licensed to carry 14 passengers.
However, this being Africa and all, they frequently carry 21 passengers, possibly up to 30 if you include live chickens and goats that can travel on the roof.
Sue and Alex are a bit more savvy on how to bag the best seats as they catch them a lot more than I do.
Unfortunately for me, the last time we all travelled together, they took full advantage of their insight and my matatu-related ignorance by jumping straight (whilst whispering, giggling and nudging each other) into the comfortable, one person per seat front seats, leaving me to negotiate a three seater row with four others in a most undignified manner for the next five hours.
Despite the fact I spent four of those hours next to a man with an exceptionally bad BO problem whilst sitting on my left bum cheek with my neck on the wonk, my head and right arm hanging out of the window like some sort of labrador, my hair flapping about in the wind and hitting me in the face, my upper left arm nestled diagonally in between my boobs with my hand holding onto the outside of the minibus window for dear life, Sue and Alex insisted I had been lucky and that wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I disagreed. Strongly.
Every now and again, I'd catch Sue and Alex's eye as they were looking back at me in the mirror and their shoulders would start shaking uncontrollably whilst laughing at both my misfortune and the mouthed profanities and scowls directed at them from underneath the wind swept hair hanging out of the window.
(I think the little shits may have had a point about it not being too bad actually. The matatu the girls caught back was carrying a woman in the full sing of labour - the bus just stopped and left her there at the side of the road, just crowning away!)
This particular matatu ride home was pretty similar to the taxi ride we experienced on the way to Sipi Falls (see previous blog) - just as perilous but luckily, this time we had God on our side.
Most matatus have little slogans written across the top of the window, most of them religious. Ours encouraged us to Trust in God.
To be honest, I didn't have much choice but to trust in Him as I didn't have an abundance of faith in the brakes, suspension or tyre tread.
Some of my other favourite slogans include :
* This taxi is protected by the blood of Jesus (me neither)
* Second chance (judging by the look of most matatus, they are more like cats, going though nine lives rather than two)
* No gain, no pain (?! - I can't decide if that philosophy is fundamentally flawed or spot on!)
* God is AWESOME!
Whereas others just have Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea emblazoned across them.
Well, footballers are practically deities here so I guess it makes sense in an Only In Africa kind of way!
One of the benefits of sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long is that you have no option but to take your mind off the pain and discomfort and concentrate on soaking up the scenery and atmosphere.
(Elin, Rhian, Del and Caroline - roedd rhaid i fi ddysgu ymdopi a theithiau hir ers siwrne'r Traws Cambria 'na nol ym 1998!)
Some of the more common scenes you see whilst driving though cities and villages alike are :
* Cow or goat carcasses hanging (often still dripping) from wooden shacks at the side of the road. Ych, they make my stomach churn every time I see them all covered in flies and dust.
(I tell people I'm a vegetarian as the meat really does look so awful. Someone said to me the other day, "You're a vegetarian? Really? I thought only Germans were vegetarian"!)
* Boys and men sitting at the side of the road chipping at large rocks to create aggregate to sell. They sit there ALL day, just chip, chip, chipping away.
* School kids running round in luminous school uniforms that clash so badly with the natural landscape. I'll try to post of photos of the school uniforms. They are truly revolting, but somehow kids manage to look great!
A less common scene is having seven boys, between eight and twelve who had just been swimming in the river, waving at you excitedly from the roadside.
Nothing unusual about that - except they were totally naked and their bits were waving as much as their hands!
Not much surprises me here any more - after all, TIA!
* * *
This was my view before the bus filled up. I didn't have room to manoeuvre and get my camera out by the time it had filled up.
Sunday 25 March 2012
Lessons Learned & Drinking Games
Since being here, I've learned, done and seen lot of things that have changed my outlook on life and will probably have huge implications on both my personality and career (There I go, being all hippy dippy again).
I'm pretty confident that a lot of these leanings will stay with me for life, but there are certain things I have to write down in order to remember them.
One of these is a drinking game called Kings that we've played far too often for my liking - mainly thanks to Nathan, Rachel and Tenille. I'd never heard of it before which is surely evidence of my sheltered tee-total life?
I've had to write the rules down so I remember them for future drinking sessions. I couldn't remember the rules at the start of the game so I had no chance of remembering them by the end!
So this blog entry can act as a rule book for my return from Africa / Cath's First Drinking Session Since Having Baby Danielle / Daniel session!
You need an empty glass and a pack of cards.
Every player pours some of their drink into a glass in the middle of the table. This known as the King's Cup.
The cards are shuffled and put into the middle of the table and one person starts off by picking the top card. Each card has an action associated with it which are listed below.
Ace - Waterfall. Everyone starts to drink. The player to the left of the person that picked that card has to drink until the picker stops. This continues around the table
Two - Whoever picks this card can make any other player drink two fingers worth of drink
Three - Whoever picks this card must drink three fingers worth of their own drink
Four - Dicks. Ie, all blokes drink
Five - Rhyme Time. Whoever picks this card picks a word. To the left, the other players must say something that rhymes. If they take longer than three seconds, they must drink.
Six - Chicks. Ie, all girls drink
Seven - Sevens. The person that picks this card starts off counting. For numbers including seven and multiples of seven, you must clap. If you get it wrong, you must drink (Thisone in particular ain't my forte)
Eight - Thumbs. At any time in the game, this players can place a thumb of the table. The last person to notice this and copy has to drink
Nine - Free Pass. Whoever picks this card has a free pass which means they can go to the toilet whenever they want
Ten - Rule. Whoever picks this card can make up a new rule for the game. Eg. All British people have to drink on all red cards
(Harsh rule, Tenille, harsh rule! And I'm Welsh first so I shouldn't have had to drink!)
Jack - the person to your right has to drink
Queen - the person to your left has to drink
King - whoever draws a king card has to drink a quarter of the vile concoction in the middle of the table.
No wonder I've been so pissed!
I'm pretty confident that a lot of these leanings will stay with me for life, but there are certain things I have to write down in order to remember them.
One of these is a drinking game called Kings that we've played far too often for my liking - mainly thanks to Nathan, Rachel and Tenille. I'd never heard of it before which is surely evidence of my sheltered tee-total life?
I've had to write the rules down so I remember them for future drinking sessions. I couldn't remember the rules at the start of the game so I had no chance of remembering them by the end!
So this blog entry can act as a rule book for my return from Africa / Cath's First Drinking Session Since Having Baby Danielle / Daniel session!
You need an empty glass and a pack of cards.
Every player pours some of their drink into a glass in the middle of the table. This known as the King's Cup.
The cards are shuffled and put into the middle of the table and one person starts off by picking the top card. Each card has an action associated with it which are listed below.
Ace - Waterfall. Everyone starts to drink. The player to the left of the person that picked that card has to drink until the picker stops. This continues around the table
Two - Whoever picks this card can make any other player drink two fingers worth of drink
Three - Whoever picks this card must drink three fingers worth of their own drink
Four - Dicks. Ie, all blokes drink
Five - Rhyme Time. Whoever picks this card picks a word. To the left, the other players must say something that rhymes. If they take longer than three seconds, they must drink.
Six - Chicks. Ie, all girls drink
Seven - Sevens. The person that picks this card starts off counting. For numbers including seven and multiples of seven, you must clap. If you get it wrong, you must drink (Thisone in particular ain't my forte)
Eight - Thumbs. At any time in the game, this players can place a thumb of the table. The last person to notice this and copy has to drink
Nine - Free Pass. Whoever picks this card has a free pass which means they can go to the toilet whenever they want
Ten - Rule. Whoever picks this card can make up a new rule for the game. Eg. All British people have to drink on all red cards
(Harsh rule, Tenille, harsh rule! And I'm Welsh first so I shouldn't have had to drink!)
Jack - the person to your right has to drink
Queen - the person to your left has to drink
King - whoever draws a king card has to drink a quarter of the vile concoction in the middle of the table.
No wonder I've been so pissed!
Saturday 24 March 2012
Site visits & black albinos
Over the past few days, I’ve been out and about and ‘in the field’. Only this time, I accompanied Rebecca on spot check visits of how our beneficiary organisations are spending TACC money and the progress they have made.
As I’ve mentioned on many previous occasions, the roads here are terrible. Being in a 4x4 with a careful driver makes barely any difference – I was being tossed about like a rag doll despite wearing a seatbelt.
It was like going white water rafting where you’re bouncing all over the shop with no control over what your limbs do or where they go but I loved it! I was constantly chuckling away to myself in the back whilst the others thought I was mental. When I told them people at home pay a lot of money to go 4x4 driving like this, they thought we were all mental.
One of the organisations we visited was ARDI (African Rural Development Initiative) based in Manafwa. I’d been there a few weeks earlier when I was on my fact finding tour and got renamed Nasimiyu (see previous blog). The welcome I had there was wonderful. I was greeted with open arms, cwtches, kisses, never-ending handshakes, cheers, welcome back prayers, the whole shebang, like some sort of long lost daughter!
They were very impressed with the Lugisu I have learned since my last visit. I could say the equivalent of “Alright butt, what’s occurring?” to men, women, children and friends, ask them, “What’s the gossip” and say “See ya tomorrow” which I did by mistake. I was supposed to say “See ya soon”.
Dammit.
Going back there reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to mention. ARDI is one of the great Community Based Organisations here. It started in 1999 as a home for pregnant young girls (some as young as 12).
If a girl gets pregnant out of wedlock, regardless of any tragic circumstances surrounding her pregnancy, they are usually thrown out by their families so have nowhere to go and no income to live off.
As a result, many turn to all sorts to get money, including prostitution.
ARDI pretty much takes them in and looks after them and their babies whilst the young mothers learn a trade, such as tailoring, and continue with ‘life skills’ education.
But it’s not just a place for single young mothers now. It’s grown significantly and morphed into a much bigger operation with many programmes, one of which is a school. The school takes in children whose parents can’t afford to look after them or that, put frankly, are not wanted by their parents.
The first time I went to ARDI, I had a tour of the school and noticed that in every class, there was at least one albino child in each classroom, sometimes two and on one occasion three.
Some of these albino children have been abandoned by their parents because of the perceived social shame of having a ‘different’ child, whilst some are raised in dire poverty by single mothers because the father believed she had an affair with a white man.
With next to no understanding of genetic conditions and medical issues here, black albinos tend to be socially ostracised and discriminated against (some even believe it is a waste of money to send them to school as they are considered mentally ill or retarded) just because of a condition they happen to have been born with.
Seeing those beautiful little albino children running around laughing and smiling and happily waving at me because they’ve seen someone who has the same skin colour as them makes my heart bleed.
Life is tough enough here for people as it is. Because they are so young, they have no idea about the additional challenges they will face in their future.
It reminded me again of the ugly side of Africa that sits so uncomfortably next to its beauty and generosity.
* * *
Photos:
1. Buying pineapples at a roadside shack. I got three for 75p!
2. TACC staff and driver 'in the field'
3. Me in front of a real life growing pineapple. Note pineapples don't grow on trees!
4. Caro (TACC admin officer), Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) and I during our spot check inspections.
As I’ve mentioned on many previous occasions, the roads here are terrible. Being in a 4x4 with a careful driver makes barely any difference – I was being tossed about like a rag doll despite wearing a seatbelt.
It was like going white water rafting where you’re bouncing all over the shop with no control over what your limbs do or where they go but I loved it! I was constantly chuckling away to myself in the back whilst the others thought I was mental. When I told them people at home pay a lot of money to go 4x4 driving like this, they thought we were all mental.
One of the organisations we visited was ARDI (African Rural Development Initiative) based in Manafwa. I’d been there a few weeks earlier when I was on my fact finding tour and got renamed Nasimiyu (see previous blog). The welcome I had there was wonderful. I was greeted with open arms, cwtches, kisses, never-ending handshakes, cheers, welcome back prayers, the whole shebang, like some sort of long lost daughter!
They were very impressed with the Lugisu I have learned since my last visit. I could say the equivalent of “Alright butt, what’s occurring?” to men, women, children and friends, ask them, “What’s the gossip” and say “See ya tomorrow” which I did by mistake. I was supposed to say “See ya soon”.
Dammit.
Going back there reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to mention. ARDI is one of the great Community Based Organisations here. It started in 1999 as a home for pregnant young girls (some as young as 12).
If a girl gets pregnant out of wedlock, regardless of any tragic circumstances surrounding her pregnancy, they are usually thrown out by their families so have nowhere to go and no income to live off.
As a result, many turn to all sorts to get money, including prostitution.
ARDI pretty much takes them in and looks after them and their babies whilst the young mothers learn a trade, such as tailoring, and continue with ‘life skills’ education.
But it’s not just a place for single young mothers now. It’s grown significantly and morphed into a much bigger operation with many programmes, one of which is a school. The school takes in children whose parents can’t afford to look after them or that, put frankly, are not wanted by their parents.
The first time I went to ARDI, I had a tour of the school and noticed that in every class, there was at least one albino child in each classroom, sometimes two and on one occasion three.
Some of these albino children have been abandoned by their parents because of the perceived social shame of having a ‘different’ child, whilst some are raised in dire poverty by single mothers because the father believed she had an affair with a white man.
With next to no understanding of genetic conditions and medical issues here, black albinos tend to be socially ostracised and discriminated against (some even believe it is a waste of money to send them to school as they are considered mentally ill or retarded) just because of a condition they happen to have been born with.
Seeing those beautiful little albino children running around laughing and smiling and happily waving at me because they’ve seen someone who has the same skin colour as them makes my heart bleed.
Life is tough enough here for people as it is. Because they are so young, they have no idea about the additional challenges they will face in their future.
It reminded me again of the ugly side of Africa that sits so uncomfortably next to its beauty and generosity.
* * *
Photos:
1. Buying pineapples at a roadside shack. I got three for 75p!
2. TACC staff and driver 'in the field'
3. Me in front of a real life growing pineapple. Note pineapples don't grow on trees!
4. Caro (TACC admin officer), Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) and I during our spot check inspections.
Thursday 22 March 2012
Work update
For those of you that seem to think I’m having a jolly old time here in Mbale ... well, to be honest, I am!
I love it to bits and want come back again and again and again.
(When I get back, I’m planning on telling everyone in the Welsh public sector how horrendous this experience was so I can apply again in an attempt to come back!)
But I’m also working hard, I promise! My flexi is almost as high as it was this time last year (this time last year I was working on the C word and could barely go two hours without speaking to Andy G or Norman, poor dabs!).
Stuff I’ve been working on includes a comms strategy and action plan, writing some documents that explain what the project is about and working with web designers to create a TACC website. I’ve also created a number of resources for organisations to use when they’re educating people about how to adapt to climate change.
Despite how it apparently seems from this blog, life here is bloody hard work, exceedingly frustrating and at times downright infuriating. On a number of occasions, I’ve been catapulted well outside my comfort zone and I’ve had to remind myself that’s exactly what I wanted from this experience. I didn’t for one minute expect things to be easy, but I also didn’t expect some things to be quite so hard.
I think this blog has been giving people the wrong impression of what ‘real’ life is like here. When I tell people how tough I’ve been finding things, a lot have seemed surprised. That’s because I mostly write about the good and fun stuff! It constantly surprises me how many of you read this blog - bet none of you would if I moaned constantly!
It’s sod’s law that it’s only now things have clicked and I’m really starting to get it when my assignment ends on the 30th March (Happy Birthday for then Baby Brother / Happy Anniversary for then Nan and Grandad!). That said, I’ve had some lovely feedback from people in the ‘on the ground’ organisations TACC supports on my work.
I’ve also had a gem of an email from a Welsh guy I’ve met that works over here for half the year. He said, “Lots of people have noticed that about Uganda - that things start to happen just when you have nearly given up hope. Things move to a different rhythm here and it does our western heads in.”
His observation is totally right of course, but just seeing his words pop up on my computer screen made me feel relieved that it wasn’t just me that was on the verge of giving up hope of a productive assignment. The only advice I can give to people who may come over in the future is don’t expect Western ways to work in Uganda, but that persistence, perseverance and sheer doggedness will pay off - eventually!
Anyway, I only have six work days left in which to finish everything before I leave then I’m off on my travels and it’s Cape Town here I come!
For those of you interested in knowing more about Mbale TACC, go to www.taccmbale.org. It should be www.mbaletacc.org but we’re working to get this changed so who knows what it'll be this time next week... After all, TIA!
It's still not perfect and I'm waiting for a last set of amends, but it'll give you an idea of what we're trying to do.
Ps. I have to write and provide photos for a Meet a Colleague piece for the intranet. How do I do that without sounding like an utter tool?!
Pps. How many people know how pineapples grow without googling it? Da iawn Michelle, bad luck Ki! X
* * *
Photos:
1. Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) doing a spot check on one of the projects receiving a TACC grants for tree planting
2. Deforestation is a huge problem in the Mbale region. I've been working on education resources for organisations to use when they explain the reasons and impacts of climate change
3. Rainwater harvesting, another one of TACC's priority areas
4. Me in the TACC office.
I love it to bits and want come back again and again and again.
(When I get back, I’m planning on telling everyone in the Welsh public sector how horrendous this experience was so I can apply again in an attempt to come back!)
But I’m also working hard, I promise! My flexi is almost as high as it was this time last year (this time last year I was working on the C word and could barely go two hours without speaking to Andy G or Norman, poor dabs!).
Stuff I’ve been working on includes a comms strategy and action plan, writing some documents that explain what the project is about and working with web designers to create a TACC website. I’ve also created a number of resources for organisations to use when they’re educating people about how to adapt to climate change.
Despite how it apparently seems from this blog, life here is bloody hard work, exceedingly frustrating and at times downright infuriating. On a number of occasions, I’ve been catapulted well outside my comfort zone and I’ve had to remind myself that’s exactly what I wanted from this experience. I didn’t for one minute expect things to be easy, but I also didn’t expect some things to be quite so hard.
I think this blog has been giving people the wrong impression of what ‘real’ life is like here. When I tell people how tough I’ve been finding things, a lot have seemed surprised. That’s because I mostly write about the good and fun stuff! It constantly surprises me how many of you read this blog - bet none of you would if I moaned constantly!
It’s sod’s law that it’s only now things have clicked and I’m really starting to get it when my assignment ends on the 30th March (Happy Birthday for then Baby Brother / Happy Anniversary for then Nan and Grandad!). That said, I’ve had some lovely feedback from people in the ‘on the ground’ organisations TACC supports on my work.
I’ve also had a gem of an email from a Welsh guy I’ve met that works over here for half the year. He said, “Lots of people have noticed that about Uganda - that things start to happen just when you have nearly given up hope. Things move to a different rhythm here and it does our western heads in.”
His observation is totally right of course, but just seeing his words pop up on my computer screen made me feel relieved that it wasn’t just me that was on the verge of giving up hope of a productive assignment. The only advice I can give to people who may come over in the future is don’t expect Western ways to work in Uganda, but that persistence, perseverance and sheer doggedness will pay off - eventually!
Anyway, I only have six work days left in which to finish everything before I leave then I’m off on my travels and it’s Cape Town here I come!
For those of you interested in knowing more about Mbale TACC, go to www.taccmbale.org. It should be www.mbaletacc.org but we’re working to get this changed so who knows what it'll be this time next week... After all, TIA!
It's still not perfect and I'm waiting for a last set of amends, but it'll give you an idea of what we're trying to do.
Ps. I have to write and provide photos for a Meet a Colleague piece for the intranet. How do I do that without sounding like an utter tool?!
Pps. How many people know how pineapples grow without googling it? Da iawn Michelle, bad luck Ki! X
* * *
Photos:
1. Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) doing a spot check on one of the projects receiving a TACC grants for tree planting
2. Deforestation is a huge problem in the Mbale region. I've been working on education resources for organisations to use when they explain the reasons and impacts of climate change
3. Rainwater harvesting, another one of TACC's priority areas
4. Me in the TACC office.
Wednesday 21 March 2012
Lost in translation
I thought a lot of my communication and cultural awareness problems would be with the local people of Mbale who speak Lugisu as a first language, not Americans and Canadians who speak English as a first language.
The barriers and breakdown in communications we’ve had with them have been almost as entertaining as the ones I’ve had with the locals.
Since being here, I’ve buttied up with a number of people, including two Canadians (Melissa and Rachel who are doing a work placement at two of the local hospitals) and an American (Tenille is on a placement at CURE learning how to be a brain surgeon – I've taken my friends up an academic notch or two!!)
One of my favourite all time moments of being in Uganda was when we took the girls to see a rugby match. After roughly explaining the rules and scoring system, Tenille pointed at one of the players wearing a scrum cap asking, “Why is he wearing a beany? Is it because he’s in goal?”
Awww. Bless!
And as for cwtching, snogging, swotting or calling someone fit – forget it - you'll get nothing but blank faces all round. And we thought we spoke the same language!
There have been lots of funnier scenarios with the locals too.
The other day, I was either told or asked if I was 'reducing' because I walk to work and back every day. I’d like to think I was told, but my indicator trousers (which fitted me last summer - grrr!) still leave red marks on my belly which suggests it was a question rather than a statement.
(Dam that two month Christmas party period and those many January ‘Goodbye Until July” meals)
Others include an unfortunate choice of words when I was asked to look like I was cooking on an energy efficient stove for a photograph (They love taking photos of the token whitie in town!). I looked up confused and shrugged my shoulders at my host, eyes pleading as if to say, “Cook? On this? How??” only to be told, “Go down, touch my wood and then smile when you look at me”.
(Childish snigger!)
And I had to try really hard not to laugh when Alex pointed at the menu to order Fusilli Carbonara at the pool bar only for the waitress to stand there for a minute looking confused before taking the menu off him and scanning the drinks cabinet.
When he told her it wasn’t a beer, she looked thankful and instead started looking in the freezer! It took about 5 minutes to explain that we were ordering food, not a drink.
But my all time favourite Lost In Translation moment has to be from last month when I went to Bududa for the day with Matthew and Gerry. Walking back to the school, a local man lifted his shirt up and shouted at me, “Hey lady, flash me!”
I turned round to Matthew, taken aback and slightly outraged at what this guy had just said to me. All Ugandans I’d met until then had been exceedingly polite and unassuming. How very rude!
“Did you hear what he just said to me? He just asked me to flash him” (I said in outraged manner and raised indignant voice)
“What? Who? Which one? Him …?” (looks over to the men then begins to laugh uncontrollably)
“Oh Dani! He means take his photo – make your flash go off!”
“Oh, right. Ok then. Well in that case, I’ll take his bloody photo now”
(Shuffles off slightly miffed as it turned out he wasn’t desperate to see my boobs after all)
One thing that definitely wasn't lost in translation was a conversation I had with Alex last weekend. I said, "Alex, you'll have to take another photo. I look like a truck in front of that truck".
His response?
"Dani, it's a camera, not photoshop".
Charming!
Photos :
* Me trying to look like I’m cooking whilst touching wood and trying not to choke with laughter
* "Hey lady, flash me!" man
The barriers and breakdown in communications we’ve had with them have been almost as entertaining as the ones I’ve had with the locals.
Since being here, I’ve buttied up with a number of people, including two Canadians (Melissa and Rachel who are doing a work placement at two of the local hospitals) and an American (Tenille is on a placement at CURE learning how to be a brain surgeon – I've taken my friends up an academic notch or two!!)
One of my favourite all time moments of being in Uganda was when we took the girls to see a rugby match. After roughly explaining the rules and scoring system, Tenille pointed at one of the players wearing a scrum cap asking, “Why is he wearing a beany? Is it because he’s in goal?”
Awww. Bless!
And as for cwtching, snogging, swotting or calling someone fit – forget it - you'll get nothing but blank faces all round. And we thought we spoke the same language!
There have been lots of funnier scenarios with the locals too.
The other day, I was either told or asked if I was 'reducing' because I walk to work and back every day. I’d like to think I was told, but my indicator trousers (which fitted me last summer - grrr!) still leave red marks on my belly which suggests it was a question rather than a statement.
(Dam that two month Christmas party period and those many January ‘Goodbye Until July” meals)
Others include an unfortunate choice of words when I was asked to look like I was cooking on an energy efficient stove for a photograph (They love taking photos of the token whitie in town!). I looked up confused and shrugged my shoulders at my host, eyes pleading as if to say, “Cook? On this? How??” only to be told, “Go down, touch my wood and then smile when you look at me”.
(Childish snigger!)
And I had to try really hard not to laugh when Alex pointed at the menu to order Fusilli Carbonara at the pool bar only for the waitress to stand there for a minute looking confused before taking the menu off him and scanning the drinks cabinet.
When he told her it wasn’t a beer, she looked thankful and instead started looking in the freezer! It took about 5 minutes to explain that we were ordering food, not a drink.
But my all time favourite Lost In Translation moment has to be from last month when I went to Bududa for the day with Matthew and Gerry. Walking back to the school, a local man lifted his shirt up and shouted at me, “Hey lady, flash me!”
I turned round to Matthew, taken aback and slightly outraged at what this guy had just said to me. All Ugandans I’d met until then had been exceedingly polite and unassuming. How very rude!
“Did you hear what he just said to me? He just asked me to flash him” (I said in outraged manner and raised indignant voice)
“What? Who? Which one? Him …?” (looks over to the men then begins to laugh uncontrollably)
“Oh Dani! He means take his photo – make your flash go off!”
“Oh, right. Ok then. Well in that case, I’ll take his bloody photo now”
(Shuffles off slightly miffed as it turned out he wasn’t desperate to see my boobs after all)
One thing that definitely wasn't lost in translation was a conversation I had with Alex last weekend. I said, "Alex, you'll have to take another photo. I look like a truck in front of that truck".
His response?
"Dani, it's a camera, not photoshop".
Charming!
Photos :
* Me trying to look like I’m cooking whilst touching wood and trying not to choke with laughter
* "Hey lady, flash me!" man
Tuesday 20 March 2012
Stuff I’m not so keen on about Uganda
Stuff I'm not so keen on about Uganda in no particular order…
• They drink their beer at room temperature which here means warm, even when there’s a choice of that or cold beer. Why? WHY?! Don’t get it. Don’t get it at all.
• ‘Toilets’. Only a small minority of places have toilets as we know them. As for the rest, you just have to squat and aim in the latrines. My quads haven’t had this much of a workout since Chamonix!
• Dust and diesel fumes. Coaches, lorries, van and pick ups cough and splutter their way through town belching out thick black lingering clouds of diesel and throwing up bright orange dust behind them.
• The heartbreaking poverty on every street. As easily as Uganda can take my breath away with its beauty, it can shock me with its inequalities and injustices. Some people live in opulence whilst the vast majority suffer and struggle to survive on a daily basis.
• Loud cheeping, chirping, sleep depriving, sodding, shitty crickets. Fry them all I say.
• The sheer volume of rubbish discarded on the streets. And if it annoys me, imagine what it would do to Rhys Hughes, Rivers people – he’d have a shit fit (Environmental Crime Team Leader from work who has similar feelings on littering as I do on crickets, possibly stronger).
• However many times you wash in one day, your feet will NEVER be clean.
My Anal in Africa spreadsheet didn’t include nail brush or pumice stone - I’m a packing failure ***hangs head in shame***.
(That said, those of you who mocked me for bringing waxing strips, I’ll have you know I have used them all- turning into a hippy is bad enough, turning into a hairy legged hippy is not an option!)
• Timekeeping is an alien concept, which for Type A’s like me can be wholly frustrating. Five minutes means anything between an hour or tomorrow.
What I guarantee it does NOT mean, however, is five minutes.
• Ugandans seriously a love power ballad (But they’d never heard of Steps, Stereophonics or Tom Jones until last week. They weren’t fans).
I have never heard so much wailing from Celine, Mariah, Foreigner or Glen Madeiros since I went out with a lovely boy in the 90s with a silver E reg metro and Love Anthems on tape!
• Monotony and blandness of food. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that I’m no Deliah. When I cook for myself, I’m resigned to super noodles, omelettes or pasta.
If we eat out, they’ve usually run out of half the stuff on the menu - to get your first choice is a rarity!
As soon as I get home, I’m heading straight to The Italian Way, Potted Pig or Oscars and ordering two of everything on the menu.
• Despite the bland mingingness of food here, Operation S ain’t on track as I hoped it would be. You’d have thought I’d have caught something over here to make me skinny, but oh no – not me!
Just my luck to stay perfectly sodding healthy!
• People approaching me in the street and asking for money.
Yesterday, a fairly well dressed man about my age who had been hanging round motorbikes laughing and joking with his friends just came up to me on the street and said (with a bad attempt at puppy dog eyes), “Excuse me. I have a problem, My father died in 1994 and I must leave school so I have no education. I have many womans I impregnised but no money for my education. Can you help me?”
I was very tempted to snap back, “Yes I can help you but with advice, not money. Stop shagging ‘many womans’, keep it in your trousers and concentrate on providing for your families or at least helping your ‘many womans’ with the chores instead of hanging round bikes with your mates and asking random white people for money. Dick.”
I didn’t though. I just said no.
• I swear there is some sort of parallel universe thing going on here - that time is rocketing by and I’ll be back home and in work in July in no time.
Poor me.
* * *
Photos :
* Banana (Well, matoke) man photo as requested. Will try to get a front shot before I leave.
* Burning rubbish at the side of the street. If you can zoom in, you can see the Mbale approach to enforcement - a sign saying 'No dumping of rubbish here'.
* Club beer, nice and cold as it should be!
• They drink their beer at room temperature which here means warm, even when there’s a choice of that or cold beer. Why? WHY?! Don’t get it. Don’t get it at all.
• ‘Toilets’. Only a small minority of places have toilets as we know them. As for the rest, you just have to squat and aim in the latrines. My quads haven’t had this much of a workout since Chamonix!
• Dust and diesel fumes. Coaches, lorries, van and pick ups cough and splutter their way through town belching out thick black lingering clouds of diesel and throwing up bright orange dust behind them.
• The heartbreaking poverty on every street. As easily as Uganda can take my breath away with its beauty, it can shock me with its inequalities and injustices. Some people live in opulence whilst the vast majority suffer and struggle to survive on a daily basis.
• Loud cheeping, chirping, sleep depriving, sodding, shitty crickets. Fry them all I say.
• The sheer volume of rubbish discarded on the streets. And if it annoys me, imagine what it would do to Rhys Hughes, Rivers people – he’d have a shit fit (Environmental Crime Team Leader from work who has similar feelings on littering as I do on crickets, possibly stronger).
• However many times you wash in one day, your feet will NEVER be clean.
My Anal in Africa spreadsheet didn’t include nail brush or pumice stone - I’m a packing failure ***hangs head in shame***.
(That said, those of you who mocked me for bringing waxing strips, I’ll have you know I have used them all- turning into a hippy is bad enough, turning into a hairy legged hippy is not an option!)
• Timekeeping is an alien concept, which for Type A’s like me can be wholly frustrating. Five minutes means anything between an hour or tomorrow.
What I guarantee it does NOT mean, however, is five minutes.
• Ugandans seriously a love power ballad (But they’d never heard of Steps, Stereophonics or Tom Jones until last week. They weren’t fans).
I have never heard so much wailing from Celine, Mariah, Foreigner or Glen Madeiros since I went out with a lovely boy in the 90s with a silver E reg metro and Love Anthems on tape!
• Monotony and blandness of food. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that I’m no Deliah. When I cook for myself, I’m resigned to super noodles, omelettes or pasta.
If we eat out, they’ve usually run out of half the stuff on the menu - to get your first choice is a rarity!
As soon as I get home, I’m heading straight to The Italian Way, Potted Pig or Oscars and ordering two of everything on the menu.
• Despite the bland mingingness of food here, Operation S ain’t on track as I hoped it would be. You’d have thought I’d have caught something over here to make me skinny, but oh no – not me!
Just my luck to stay perfectly sodding healthy!
• People approaching me in the street and asking for money.
Yesterday, a fairly well dressed man about my age who had been hanging round motorbikes laughing and joking with his friends just came up to me on the street and said (with a bad attempt at puppy dog eyes), “Excuse me. I have a problem, My father died in 1994 and I must leave school so I have no education. I have many womans I impregnised but no money for my education. Can you help me?”
I was very tempted to snap back, “Yes I can help you but with advice, not money. Stop shagging ‘many womans’, keep it in your trousers and concentrate on providing for your families or at least helping your ‘many womans’ with the chores instead of hanging round bikes with your mates and asking random white people for money. Dick.”
I didn’t though. I just said no.
• I swear there is some sort of parallel universe thing going on here - that time is rocketing by and I’ll be back home and in work in July in no time.
Poor me.
* * *
Photos :
* Banana (Well, matoke) man photo as requested. Will try to get a front shot before I leave.
* Burning rubbish at the side of the street. If you can zoom in, you can see the Mbale approach to enforcement - a sign saying 'No dumping of rubbish here'.
* Club beer, nice and cold as it should be!
Sunday 18 March 2012
AfriDan & Grand Slam
Despite the lovely and numerous words of encouragement via facebook, skype and texts, I've decided to give a very generous offer of getting zig zagged corn rows done for free a miss.
As much as I like to think I could easily carry it off on a cool level, the decision whether to have shells or beads at the ends was too big. After all, I wouldn't want to make the wrong decision and end up looking silly.
(Does that make you feel better Cath?! You were the only one not encouraging me to turn into AfriDan - am undecided whether that makes you a good or bad friend!)
That's not to say I'm not embracing the African culture though. Just the other day I got swept away in a moment and bought myself some African get up. I got a lovely traditional, handmade, high neck, over the knee dress that will look lovely in the office - once I've slutified it by chopping 8 inches off the bottom.
The problem with me and this place is that things are so cheap by our standards. But this time, I'm very conscious of doing my usual thing of buying a load of tat, getting home and realise, "What the hell were you thinking, you dick?! Why did you think it was a good idea to buy a two foot tall wooden carving of an African lady, let alone the matching man, child and wall hanging??"
(It wasn't me that bought the carvings btw although I will admit to being very tempted by an African drum set. I was very sensible about the drums though. Even though the colour scheme would have matched my living room perfectly, I didn't buy them. They wouldn't go with my "very subtle Welsh Nash style" (thanks Mam - and Happy Mother's Day by the way!)
And of course, there was no way this Welsh Nash Abroad was going to miss yesterday's event of the year despite being thousands of miles away!
I left the others at Mbale resort to come back and listen to the game online. Luckily, my electricity dance worked and not only was the electric on, but the internet streaming was working perfectly - good omen I thought!
I was getting well into the swing of things and had dinosaur size butterflies in my stomach whilst listening to all the preamble before a snooty BBC voice interrupted, telling me "This programme is unavailable due to commercial reasons".
WHAT?!
WHY?
So how come I could listen to the Scotland match online but not this one momentously important, would sell an organ or at least a limb to be there, one?!
ARGHH!
But by the power of Skype, Hels and Dease, I actually WATCHED the second half. It was quite nice watching the game on the sofa next to Dease and sharing commentary thousands of miles apart!
Me and the Mbale Eight (as we've now become) had our own little UganDisco (da iawn Martyn!) to celebrate the Grand Slam by hitting one of the local clubs. But that's for another blog. It was like the scene in Dirty Dancing where Baby walks in with the water melon! There was a LOT of gyrating and hair flinging. Despite having lessons, me and Alex were rubbish at it, much to the amusement of the locals!
As much as I like to think I could easily carry it off on a cool level, the decision whether to have shells or beads at the ends was too big. After all, I wouldn't want to make the wrong decision and end up looking silly.
(Does that make you feel better Cath?! You were the only one not encouraging me to turn into AfriDan - am undecided whether that makes you a good or bad friend!)
That's not to say I'm not embracing the African culture though. Just the other day I got swept away in a moment and bought myself some African get up. I got a lovely traditional, handmade, high neck, over the knee dress that will look lovely in the office - once I've slutified it by chopping 8 inches off the bottom.
The problem with me and this place is that things are so cheap by our standards. But this time, I'm very conscious of doing my usual thing of buying a load of tat, getting home and realise, "What the hell were you thinking, you dick?! Why did you think it was a good idea to buy a two foot tall wooden carving of an African lady, let alone the matching man, child and wall hanging??"
(It wasn't me that bought the carvings btw although I will admit to being very tempted by an African drum set. I was very sensible about the drums though. Even though the colour scheme would have matched my living room perfectly, I didn't buy them. They wouldn't go with my "very subtle Welsh Nash style" (thanks Mam - and Happy Mother's Day by the way!)
And of course, there was no way this Welsh Nash Abroad was going to miss yesterday's event of the year despite being thousands of miles away!
I left the others at Mbale resort to come back and listen to the game online. Luckily, my electricity dance worked and not only was the electric on, but the internet streaming was working perfectly - good omen I thought!
I was getting well into the swing of things and had dinosaur size butterflies in my stomach whilst listening to all the preamble before a snooty BBC voice interrupted, telling me "This programme is unavailable due to commercial reasons".
WHAT?!
WHY?
So how come I could listen to the Scotland match online but not this one momentously important, would sell an organ or at least a limb to be there, one?!
ARGHH!
But by the power of Skype, Hels and Dease, I actually WATCHED the second half. It was quite nice watching the game on the sofa next to Dease and sharing commentary thousands of miles apart!
Me and the Mbale Eight (as we've now become) had our own little UganDisco (da iawn Martyn!) to celebrate the Grand Slam by hitting one of the local clubs. But that's for another blog. It was like the scene in Dirty Dancing where Baby walks in with the water melon! There was a LOT of gyrating and hair flinging. Despite having lessons, me and Alex were rubbish at it, much to the amusement of the locals!
Thursday 15 March 2012
Fire at Mbale market
Last night there was a fire at Mbale fruit and veg market. The market is only about 200 metres as the crow flies from the hospital so it was very scary to see such a large and out of control fire so close. There is a petrol station next to the market and people were suggesting that may blow up if the fire spread any further. That made it even more frightening as we had no idea how far an explosion could go so we stayed and helplessly watched from the guest house until the fire eventually started to subside a few hours later.
Hearing the screams, sirens and commotion from the market area was even worse than the fear though. It was bad enough just imagining the scenes of a place I've got to know so well and that I'm so fond of being destroyed let alone hearing the destruction first hand.
As I’ve mentioned, Mbale is a very poor region and resources are almost non existent. Apparently, the whole of the Mbale district only has one fire engine. The nearest support vehicle had to come from Jinja which is over 2 hours away so it's not surprising how the fire escalated.
Without wanting to do any disservice to the fire service here (which also doubles up as the police force), I can’t imagine they have anything like the slick operation ours has.
To be able to have a stall at the market, many people take out loans to pay for the timber to construct their stands and pay it back with any profit their produce earns.
It was a really endearing, higgledy piggledy place with wooden shacks piled on top of each other selling everything and anything you can grow or slaughter.
In between the fruit and veg though, you’d find stalls selling homewares, including coke bottles and jerry cans of oil, diesel, paraffin and petrol.
Luckily, it wasn't as bad as people initially feared. According to local reports, most of the fire was contained within the square so even though the marketplace itself has been utterly decimated, the surrounding buildings are mostly ok and still structurally sound.
Nobody is sure what started the fire yet – there are all sorts of rumours which range from electrical faults, to spilled cooking stoves to arson attacks to hide theft and insurance claims.
Whatever it was though, the lives of the stall holders have changed forever.
There is very, very rarely any form of government support for those living in poverty or that are affected by disasters and tragedies. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the only help they get (if any) will be from NGOs and CBOs (Community Based Organisations).
People have to fend for themselves and somehow deal with whatever life throws at them. To make matters worse, this is the third time it’s happened in the same market.
I keep thinking about what this means for my mango man, my avocado lady and my wizened old tomato woman.
My mango man ripped me off once by charging muzungo prices once but ended up giving me the wrong change.
Since I told him he’d given me far too much money back, he picks me out a nice mango and charges me local prices.
And my avocado lady that works there day in, day out, with a baby boy strapped tightly to her back.
She always greets me with a wonderful smile, knows the type of avocado I like and waves me off with a cheerful “thank you madame – calay” (see you soon).
And my tomato lady that looks as old as the hills she tends.
She speaks no English and me no Lugisu so we’ve never had a proper conversation but I’m a regular customer, so every now and again she’ll pop another tomato into my bag with a cheeky smile, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears and grinning at me like an excited small child.
It makes me really sad to think I’ll probably never see them again now and it makes me even sadder to think what this fire has done to them and their families.
Hearing the screams, sirens and commotion from the market area was even worse than the fear though. It was bad enough just imagining the scenes of a place I've got to know so well and that I'm so fond of being destroyed let alone hearing the destruction first hand.
As I’ve mentioned, Mbale is a very poor region and resources are almost non existent. Apparently, the whole of the Mbale district only has one fire engine. The nearest support vehicle had to come from Jinja which is over 2 hours away so it's not surprising how the fire escalated.
Without wanting to do any disservice to the fire service here (which also doubles up as the police force), I can’t imagine they have anything like the slick operation ours has.
To be able to have a stall at the market, many people take out loans to pay for the timber to construct their stands and pay it back with any profit their produce earns.
It was a really endearing, higgledy piggledy place with wooden shacks piled on top of each other selling everything and anything you can grow or slaughter.
In between the fruit and veg though, you’d find stalls selling homewares, including coke bottles and jerry cans of oil, diesel, paraffin and petrol.
Luckily, it wasn't as bad as people initially feared. According to local reports, most of the fire was contained within the square so even though the marketplace itself has been utterly decimated, the surrounding buildings are mostly ok and still structurally sound.
Nobody is sure what started the fire yet – there are all sorts of rumours which range from electrical faults, to spilled cooking stoves to arson attacks to hide theft and insurance claims.
Whatever it was though, the lives of the stall holders have changed forever.
There is very, very rarely any form of government support for those living in poverty or that are affected by disasters and tragedies. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the only help they get (if any) will be from NGOs and CBOs (Community Based Organisations).
People have to fend for themselves and somehow deal with whatever life throws at them. To make matters worse, this is the third time it’s happened in the same market.
I keep thinking about what this means for my mango man, my avocado lady and my wizened old tomato woman.
My mango man ripped me off once by charging muzungo prices once but ended up giving me the wrong change.
Since I told him he’d given me far too much money back, he picks me out a nice mango and charges me local prices.
And my avocado lady that works there day in, day out, with a baby boy strapped tightly to her back.
She always greets me with a wonderful smile, knows the type of avocado I like and waves me off with a cheerful “thank you madame – calay” (see you soon).
And my tomato lady that looks as old as the hills she tends.
She speaks no English and me no Lugisu so we’ve never had a proper conversation but I’m a regular customer, so every now and again she’ll pop another tomato into my bag with a cheeky smile, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears and grinning at me like an excited small child.
It makes me really sad to think I’ll probably never see them again now and it makes me even sadder to think what this fire has done to them and their families.
Wednesday 14 March 2012
Scaring kids & making a difference
There's a very strong link between the project I'm working on (TACC) and an organisation called Mbale Coalition Against Poverty, known as CAP.
(I can't get away from acronyms, even here!)
TACC stemmed from a partnership between CAP and PONT (Partnership Overseas Networking Trust) which encourages professionals and organisations from Mbale and Ponty to work together.
The environment sector was one of the areas covered by CAP and PONT and to cut a long story short, because of the work they had done, Mbale was nominated to pilot a United Nations Development Programme and thus Mbale TACC was born.
For the past two days, I've escaped from the roasting TACC office and have been spending time with CAP's tree planting coordinator who is called Rogers.
We've been to a few tree planting projects in and around the Mbale region where I've seen for myself how important education resources about tree planting, energy efficient cooking and rainwater harvesting is to the organisations TACC needs to work with.
It's such shame I didn't meet with them sooner as I now know for certain what needs to be done and how. Oh well, at least I'll be really busy for the next 2.5 weeks.
(I seriously cannot believe how quickly time has gone)
One of the projects we visited yesterday was in real out-in-the-sticks rural Uganda that had never seen a white person before.
As always, you have to do the compulsory long winded handshakes with everyone (handshakes can last FOREVER here) and I always make a point of shaking hands with the kids too.
There was one kid who looked particularly suspicious of me so I thought I'd make an extra effort with him and twtied down to say hello.
I have never seen a kid look so petrified, scream so loud or run away so fast in my life! As you'll see below, he didn't warm to me one bit!
Today was even better. For the first time since being here, I felt like I'm making a difference.
As I haven't been out on site much or spoken to many stakeholders, a lot of the knowledge I've gained and the resources I've created have been based on my own thoughts and internet research of what I thought may be needed here, so I was really, really nervous about showing my work to a Ugandan Mr Big Cheese of one the organisations that should benefit from TACC.
His response to my work made the frustrations of the past weeks vanish in an instant and almost made me want to cry with relief.
Mr Cheese said, "Thank you. I am so pleased you have done this work for us. It will make a big difference. It is exactly what we have wanted and needed for a long time."
That was exactly what I wanted and needed to hear since being here.
:-)
Photos :
(If you ever want to feel like a celebrity, give your camera to a Ugandan - I was being papped all day!)
1. Me and my biggest fan (see far right!)
2. Being taught about tree seedlings. In great, great depth
3. Those corn rows are closer to reality Cath - big zig zaggy ones!
4. Quote of the day. "Dani, there is a drought here until the rains come. Can you water the plants for the photo instead of the path please?"
Luckily, they were all laughing!
5. Seedlings that I've forgotten the name of - don't tell Rogers!
(I can't get away from acronyms, even here!)
TACC stemmed from a partnership between CAP and PONT (Partnership Overseas Networking Trust) which encourages professionals and organisations from Mbale and Ponty to work together.
The environment sector was one of the areas covered by CAP and PONT and to cut a long story short, because of the work they had done, Mbale was nominated to pilot a United Nations Development Programme and thus Mbale TACC was born.
For the past two days, I've escaped from the roasting TACC office and have been spending time with CAP's tree planting coordinator who is called Rogers.
We've been to a few tree planting projects in and around the Mbale region where I've seen for myself how important education resources about tree planting, energy efficient cooking and rainwater harvesting is to the organisations TACC needs to work with.
It's such shame I didn't meet with them sooner as I now know for certain what needs to be done and how. Oh well, at least I'll be really busy for the next 2.5 weeks.
(I seriously cannot believe how quickly time has gone)
One of the projects we visited yesterday was in real out-in-the-sticks rural Uganda that had never seen a white person before.
As always, you have to do the compulsory long winded handshakes with everyone (handshakes can last FOREVER here) and I always make a point of shaking hands with the kids too.
There was one kid who looked particularly suspicious of me so I thought I'd make an extra effort with him and twtied down to say hello.
I have never seen a kid look so petrified, scream so loud or run away so fast in my life! As you'll see below, he didn't warm to me one bit!
Today was even better. For the first time since being here, I felt like I'm making a difference.
As I haven't been out on site much or spoken to many stakeholders, a lot of the knowledge I've gained and the resources I've created have been based on my own thoughts and internet research of what I thought may be needed here, so I was really, really nervous about showing my work to a Ugandan Mr Big Cheese of one the organisations that should benefit from TACC.
His response to my work made the frustrations of the past weeks vanish in an instant and almost made me want to cry with relief.
Mr Cheese said, "Thank you. I am so pleased you have done this work for us. It will make a big difference. It is exactly what we have wanted and needed for a long time."
That was exactly what I wanted and needed to hear since being here.
:-)
Photos :
(If you ever want to feel like a celebrity, give your camera to a Ugandan - I was being papped all day!)
1. Me and my biggest fan (see far right!)
2. Being taught about tree seedlings. In great, great depth
3. Those corn rows are closer to reality Cath - big zig zaggy ones!
4. Quote of the day. "Dani, there is a drought here until the rains come. Can you water the plants for the photo instead of the path please?"
Luckily, they were all laughing!
5. Seedlings that I've forgotten the name of - don't tell Rogers!
Tuesday 13 March 2012
Weekend in Jinja
The Mbale Six (we're like The Sugababes with such frequent line up changes!) ventured to Jinja on the weekend which is seemingly where all the white people in Uganda go at weekends! After only six weeks here, even I had to fight the urge to shout " Muzungo" really loudly and point whenever I saw one!
Sue, Alex, Melissa and Rachel (Mel and Rachel are two Canadian Occupational Therapy students here on a placement) weren't working on Friday so they went up early and Tenille (from America who is doing a neurosurgery placement at CURE) and I joined them there on Saturday morning.
After arriving at the bus stop at 6am to catch the 'Express' bus, we pulled out of Mbale at 7.45. So far, so not express. But at least I didn't fear for my life once during this journey.
I had barely put my bags down when Alex grabbed my arm, frogmarched me over to the bar exclaiming excitedly, "You. You are gonna love this" (forcefully thrusts me in front of giant tv screen)
"Look! Rugby! Even at this time of the morning. They're mad on it. They're showing the Wales Italy game later! (Doesn't wait for a response, grabs my arm and frogmarches me back out)
"And look! Look - rugby people!"
He was looking very pleased with himself and eagerly pointing at the rugbyinafrica.org trucks which were driving down from London to Cape Town teaching rugby along the way whilst jostling me forward in their direction.
This was the second time he'd been right in one weekend. It was my Ugandan Mecca.
Rugby isn't big in Uganda. But considering they're in the Ugandan Rugby Union's top league, it still surprised me that the Jinja Nile team were planning on going ahead with the big game against the Sodolin Mongers (really) with only 11 players!
So after a hasty registration with the Ugandan Rugby Union, the Rugby in Africa lot stepped in and saved the day for the Jinja Niles!
(Apparently they are frequently a few players down for each game but play anyway - there's dedication for you!)
Thirty minutes after the supposed kick off and whilst their opponents and subs were warming up and running round doing very professional looking drills and barely sweating in 30 degree heat, the Jinja Niles were casually tossing a ball around every now and again whilst waiting for one more person to turn up to play for them and complete the team.
Someone did turn up. An Australian called Scott who had never played rugby before - only Aussie Rules!
The game was nothing short of hilarious.The Niles were like the Mighty Ducks!
I don't even think anyone who played knew what the final score was and I don't think anyone particularly cared to be honest. The boys were just glad to be off the pitch and I was glad to be on my way to watch the Wales Italy game.
As I got the beers in, Alex secured prime position seats right in front of the screen and that's pretty much where we stayed for the rest of the night except a quick trip to the chapatti shack outside.
The photos I took suggested the night wasn't sedate.
My headache the next day told me it wasn't.
X
Ps - I still can't work putting photos in order and with captions on this. Any suggestions?
Sue, Alex, Melissa and Rachel (Mel and Rachel are two Canadian Occupational Therapy students here on a placement) weren't working on Friday so they went up early and Tenille (from America who is doing a neurosurgery placement at CURE) and I joined them there on Saturday morning.
After arriving at the bus stop at 6am to catch the 'Express' bus, we pulled out of Mbale at 7.45. So far, so not express. But at least I didn't fear for my life once during this journey.
I had barely put my bags down when Alex grabbed my arm, frogmarched me over to the bar exclaiming excitedly, "You. You are gonna love this" (forcefully thrusts me in front of giant tv screen)
"Look! Rugby! Even at this time of the morning. They're mad on it. They're showing the Wales Italy game later! (Doesn't wait for a response, grabs my arm and frogmarches me back out)
"And look! Look - rugby people!"
He was looking very pleased with himself and eagerly pointing at the rugbyinafrica.org trucks which were driving down from London to Cape Town teaching rugby along the way whilst jostling me forward in their direction.
This was the second time he'd been right in one weekend. It was my Ugandan Mecca.
Rugby isn't big in Uganda. But considering they're in the Ugandan Rugby Union's top league, it still surprised me that the Jinja Nile team were planning on going ahead with the big game against the Sodolin Mongers (really) with only 11 players!
So after a hasty registration with the Ugandan Rugby Union, the Rugby in Africa lot stepped in and saved the day for the Jinja Niles!
(Apparently they are frequently a few players down for each game but play anyway - there's dedication for you!)
Thirty minutes after the supposed kick off and whilst their opponents and subs were warming up and running round doing very professional looking drills and barely sweating in 30 degree heat, the Jinja Niles were casually tossing a ball around every now and again whilst waiting for one more person to turn up to play for them and complete the team.
Someone did turn up. An Australian called Scott who had never played rugby before - only Aussie Rules!
The game was nothing short of hilarious.The Niles were like the Mighty Ducks!
I don't even think anyone who played knew what the final score was and I don't think anyone particularly cared to be honest. The boys were just glad to be off the pitch and I was glad to be on my way to watch the Wales Italy game.
As I got the beers in, Alex secured prime position seats right in front of the screen and that's pretty much where we stayed for the rest of the night except a quick trip to the chapatti shack outside.
The photos I took suggested the night wasn't sedate.
My headache the next day told me it wasn't.
X
Ps - I still can't work putting photos in order and with captions on this. Any suggestions?
Sunday 11 March 2012
Shit
"Dani, you look different. You've stopped looking like Corporate Dani and you've started looking like Backpacker Dani".
Have just downloaded my photos from the weekend and Alex is right. I'm starting to look like a right hippy outside of TACC.
Shit.
I was afraid this would happen when I was away from my straighteners for so long.
(Note to self - never wear ankle bangles. That's a step too far)
Have just downloaded my photos from the weekend and Alex is right. I'm starting to look like a right hippy outside of TACC.
Shit.
I was afraid this would happen when I was away from my straighteners for so long.
(Note to self - never wear ankle bangles. That's a step too far)
Stuff I like & love about Uganda
I can’t be bothered to write anything coherent due to a heavy weekend in Jinja and lack of sleep caused by a Welsh win and the bad influence of the Rugbyinafrica.org lot so here's a list of stuff I like / love about Uganda instead.
They’re in no particular order – just the order of my hangover infested brain…
* It is beautiful here. Some scenery is almost ethereal - overwhelmingly so.
Particularly the mountainous regions which are dominated by lush greenery (Like a tropical version of y Bannau - stupid spell check, no I did not mean banana).
Without wanting to sound like some kind of croc-wearing hippy dippy, I feel so privileged that I’ve seen and experienced such unique and untapped lands.
* The money. At roughly 4,000 shillings to the £1, it’s the only way I’ll ever be a millionaire!
(Well, that conversion isn't totally right, but it’s how I work it out as there are far too many 000's on the end for my liking. Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned it Finance people, but I like words, not numbers – as my forecasts may imply!)
* Versatility and value. Almost everything here has worth – everything can be polished, mended, handed down, used, reused (but I've never seen any recycling), turned into something else, cooked or burned as fuel.
* The Welsh people I keep finding. I certainly didn’t expect to hear, “Wyt ti’n siarad Cymraeg?” at the side of a Ugandan mountain.
Ond doedd hi ddim yn siarad Cymraeg teidi fel i fi yn ddô… Blydi gogs ;-)
* The overwhelming Ugandan happiness and generosity that defies description, even in the most poverty-stricken environments and arduous of circumstances.
Despite this and in the face of such extreme adversity, people here are relentlessly spirited and positive beyond belief. Amazing and inspiring people.
* Vibrancy of natural colours – bright orange dust roads, lush green vegetation, blood red soil, bright blue skies and gleaming white teeth ("Moona moona" – gets ‘em every time, even the moany ones!)
* The markets. Basically, anything that you can grow or slaughter (in fact, they haven’t even got to slaughter it – they sell live chickens with their legs tied together to DIY at home) is sold in the market or at the roadside.
For everything else, there’s the supermarket.
Once you’ve figured out what’s what, there is a fantastic variety of fruit and veg available – mangos and avocados (yeah yeah, old news!), matoke, watermelon, pineapples, passion fruit, peppers, pawpaw, carrots, cabbage, ginger, tomatoes, potatoes, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes (me neither), a huge variety of bananas that come in all different shapes, sizes and names and a load of other stuff I still haven’t figured out.
* They sell alcohol in sachets, like saws coch! Can you imagine the money we could save on nights out if we had these back home? They would pass any bag search on the way into Revs!
* Big, bold, loud African belly laughter - bloody brilliant and instantly infectious
* Animals randomly wandering about.
A chicken waddled into our office the other day – it would have to show its ID card, sign in and complete a H&S risk assessment before it was allowed to enter TC or Rivers (Only kidding – no chicken would dare enter TC / Rivers on Kath / Sian’s watch!).
During the most frustrating of phone calls to CIS (which would normally result in me wanting to launch my computer over Office Junior's head and lob it through the window), I was in fits of uncontrollable giggles trying to hear a broad Brummie accent telling me my issues were 'unresolveable' that was competing with a rooster crowing in complete disharmony with a demented mooing cow.
(On the subject of cows, they look like one humped camels)
* The wonderful friends I’ve made, the experiences and laughter we’ve shared and conversations that have flowed as easily as with some of my closest friends
Awwww, I’m getting all misty eyed and nostalgic writing this and I haven’t even left yet!
I need to do a Stuff That Bugs Me About Uganda* list to balance it out.
That’ll be a blog for later in the week then…
* Some stuff on this list may very well also make its way onto the other list!
Here's a mixture of random photos from the last time I downloaded them.
They’re in no particular order – just the order of my hangover infested brain…
* It is beautiful here. Some scenery is almost ethereal - overwhelmingly so.
Particularly the mountainous regions which are dominated by lush greenery (Like a tropical version of y Bannau - stupid spell check, no I did not mean banana).
Without wanting to sound like some kind of croc-wearing hippy dippy, I feel so privileged that I’ve seen and experienced such unique and untapped lands.
* The money. At roughly 4,000 shillings to the £1, it’s the only way I’ll ever be a millionaire!
(Well, that conversion isn't totally right, but it’s how I work it out as there are far too many 000's on the end for my liking. Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned it Finance people, but I like words, not numbers – as my forecasts may imply!)
* Versatility and value. Almost everything here has worth – everything can be polished, mended, handed down, used, reused (but I've never seen any recycling), turned into something else, cooked or burned as fuel.
* The Welsh people I keep finding. I certainly didn’t expect to hear, “Wyt ti’n siarad Cymraeg?” at the side of a Ugandan mountain.
Ond doedd hi ddim yn siarad Cymraeg teidi fel i fi yn ddô… Blydi gogs ;-)
* The overwhelming Ugandan happiness and generosity that defies description, even in the most poverty-stricken environments and arduous of circumstances.
Despite this and in the face of such extreme adversity, people here are relentlessly spirited and positive beyond belief. Amazing and inspiring people.
* Vibrancy of natural colours – bright orange dust roads, lush green vegetation, blood red soil, bright blue skies and gleaming white teeth ("Moona moona" – gets ‘em every time, even the moany ones!)
* The markets. Basically, anything that you can grow or slaughter (in fact, they haven’t even got to slaughter it – they sell live chickens with their legs tied together to DIY at home) is sold in the market or at the roadside.
For everything else, there’s the supermarket.
Once you’ve figured out what’s what, there is a fantastic variety of fruit and veg available – mangos and avocados (yeah yeah, old news!), matoke, watermelon, pineapples, passion fruit, peppers, pawpaw, carrots, cabbage, ginger, tomatoes, potatoes, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes (me neither), a huge variety of bananas that come in all different shapes, sizes and names and a load of other stuff I still haven’t figured out.
* They sell alcohol in sachets, like saws coch! Can you imagine the money we could save on nights out if we had these back home? They would pass any bag search on the way into Revs!
* Big, bold, loud African belly laughter - bloody brilliant and instantly infectious
* Animals randomly wandering about.
A chicken waddled into our office the other day – it would have to show its ID card, sign in and complete a H&S risk assessment before it was allowed to enter TC or Rivers (Only kidding – no chicken would dare enter TC / Rivers on Kath / Sian’s watch!).
During the most frustrating of phone calls to CIS (which would normally result in me wanting to launch my computer over Office Junior's head and lob it through the window), I was in fits of uncontrollable giggles trying to hear a broad Brummie accent telling me my issues were 'unresolveable' that was competing with a rooster crowing in complete disharmony with a demented mooing cow.
(On the subject of cows, they look like one humped camels)
* The wonderful friends I’ve made, the experiences and laughter we’ve shared and conversations that have flowed as easily as with some of my closest friends
Awwww, I’m getting all misty eyed and nostalgic writing this and I haven’t even left yet!
I need to do a Stuff That Bugs Me About Uganda* list to balance it out.
That’ll be a blog for later in the week then…
* Some stuff on this list may very well also make its way onto the other list!
Here's a mixture of random photos from the last time I downloaded them.
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