So, safaris are awesome (in a literal sense, to all of you fans of semantics). Sunrises, early morning game drives, camping by the Nile (with a view of the Blue Mountains of Congo) or at the top of a waterfall, observing some incredible animals from just a few metres away - it all gives you a bit of a surreal feeling, like you're watching a documentary....but not....because you're actually there.
Friday was Rhinos: Incredible creatures.
We were told we'd have to walk at least 20 minutes through "the bush" (which posed a problem for me as I hadn't packed trousers or shoes) in order to track-down the beasts. In reality we rounded a corner after less than 5 minutes and there they were, just chillin' out. There was a male, female and a wee baby. Out of the three the female (Bella) was the most amorous and seemed very interested in coming over for a chat. The rangers that were with us had to continually say "Bella, cool." or "Back Bella, back". I later asked if the Rhinos spoke English. He told me they did.
In any event I was happy he was there because there were a couple of occasions when dearest Bella tried to outflank us unawares and we had to high-tail it out of there. As Charlie pointed out though, it was like a rubbish slow-motion car chase because we were told never to run; so we just plodded through the bush, occasionally glancing backwards to make sure she hadn't caught up.
Saturday was on to Murchison Falls National Park: B-e-a-yoooo-tiful.
We crossed the Victoria Nile and headed towards the Albert Nile, where we would camp for the night. For this part of the journey our "over-land truck" did a kind of Transformers act (in fact all they did was take the tarpaulin off the roof and let us sit on the balcony/viewing deck) to enable us some better views of the wildlife and scenery. Along the way we saw Ugandan Kobs, Antelopes, Hippos, Buffalo, loads of birds and, most impressively, giraffes. The bumpy ride made it hard to take pictures, but we stopped a few times, which made observing and photographing a lot easier. The highlight was definitely stopping for about 10 minutes to watch 10 or so giraffes hanging about, drinking water very close to the truck.
Set up camp by the Nile, had some tasty grub around a campfire and went to bed.
Sunday meant an early start for a game drive and a boat trip to Murchison Falls: Mighty waters.
The early morning game drive brought us some close up views of elephants, a load more giraffes, monkeys, baboons a whole herd of buffalo and...a lion! Just one and it was a fair distance away, but at least we saw one! A swift breakfast and then back to the Victoria Nile for our boat trip.
We travelled up-stream heading towards the waterfall. Along the way we saw loads of hippos chillin', fightin' and some even running at a fair pace and diving into the water; a few crocogators sitting perfectly still by the river bank in that eerie way they do; and a good deal more birds.
On reaching the falls we had about two minutes to take pictures (although by this time my useless excuse for a camera had died) and then we were thrown overboard to fend for ourselves. Well, we had to find our own way to the camp site at any rate. A sweaty twenty or so minutes later saw us arrive at the top of the falls and saw a most spectacular sight. The "falls" don't so much fall as they do chuck themselves downwards as if angry at the pace of the river preceding it. It reminded me of the Seoul subway at rush hour - everyone jostling for some semblance of space and willing to batter those around them to gain it.
We spent the night at the top of the falls and had one of the best meals I've had in Uganda - I even got the recipe and intend to cook a big pot of whence I return.
Monday was the journey back: bumpy.
So that's that. Enjoy the pictures and I'll see some of ya'll on Thursday!
Weeraba (goodbye)!
Tuesday 13 April 2010
Thursday 8 April 2010
Kampala, Kampala, Kampala!
This is the cry from the "conductors" of the Matatus around Jinja. These small, minibus style vehicles are the only cheap way to travel from city to city; very handy but you certainly get what you pay for. Want to share three seats with five people? Want to fly over speed bumps at 80km an hour? Want to stop every 10 minutes to pick someone up? Hop aboard a Matatu! Jinja to Kampala in 2 hours for just over a pound though works for me - I didn't come here expecting extreme comfort after all.
Upon arriving in the capital you can immediately feel the difference between the sleepy, colonial-style town that is Jinja and the bustling, almost manic, atmosphere of Kampala. It's a good change of pace....for a while at least. As I have learnt from my travels, the key to a successful day is plenty of assigned rest periods involving at least one cup of tea, some water and perhaps even some food. If you're feeling especially fruity you can even have a beer or two. With this rule in mind I suggested that our posse (Mike, Debi and me. Is that enough for a posse?) jump into the nearest cafe before we even started the day. Our chosen cafe was a nice enough place - quite modern by Ugandan standards - and we settled down to some tea and toast. Having ordered English tea, real tea, I was quite surprised to find it smelling distinctly like cinnamon and served with hot milk. I may have commented to my amigos (big on the Spanish theme today) that it was "a bit weird", to say the least, having hot milk and cinnamon with real, quality, British tea. In fact, now I think about it, I probably remonstrated quite audibly about the quality of the beverage served to me. The waiters picked up on this and asked if everything was satisfactory, and in true British fashion I answered "Yes, everything is just splendid, thanks". Unfortunately my initial complaints had caused an atmosphere between us and the staff. One waiter asked me four or five times if everything was okay, but said it in a manner which suggested that he'd rather things weren't alright at all and, indeed, wished me to choke on my cinnamon and hot-milk tea. There were other incidences throughout our brunch, involving cutlery and ketchup, that led it to become less than civilized and as we left I had to assure the staff that we had enjoyed our beverages and that I would blog favourably about the cafe (hence this overly long reminiscence).
Fully replenished, we headed towards the Parliament area of the city to see some government buildings and the like. Along the way Debi was in "Japanese tourist mode" as she calls it and snapping away with relish. Mike and I spotted a police van and, after our experience at Mandela stadium, began warning Debi to put her camera away. She seemed not especially bothered by our sound advice and continued taking pictures, even managing to point the camera directly at Mike's face - which happened to be right in front of the van. Only afterwards when Mike and I asked why she had done such a thing did she realize what had happened. "There were police there?! I took a picture of them?! Oh, scheisse!", was her response.
After checking out the parliament buildings (not especially exciting) and visiting the craft market (bought Mum and Fern some stuff) we went to get a couple of Bodas to take us across town to the Anglican cathedral. The usual haggling over price ensued, but we were soon off, holding on for dear life. It was an interesting experience to say the least - we saw the presidential convoy working its way through the city, saw some guys scrapping, another group of guys being chased down the street, dodged our way past cars and had a mid-Boda-ride high-five. Sorry mum. Our only regret was that we didn't film it.
The Anglican cathedral was nice, but we spent only about ten minutes there. After which we headed down towards the old town where lies the recently completed mosque, funded by the one, the only Colonel Gaddafi. It was a stunning building and we got to have a wee tour around it; only after Debi had kitted herself out in veil and leg coverings. Turns out it was started by Idi Amin (if you don't know who he was, look him up) way back in the day (70s) and sat unfinished as a concrete eye-sore until 2003. The Muslims within Uganda wrote to Gaddafi asking for his assistance who promptly came in, ripped down the original structure and built what is standing now. Good on the ol' psycho.
Another rest, and a cheeky beer saw us ready to leave this busy, behemoth of a city. Before that we decided to quickly have a look at the old-town fort: turned out it doesn't exist (or so we told ourselves after half an hour walking around looking for it).
The "taxi-parks" in Kampala are not places you want to be - about 20million people, a lot of mud and exhaust fumes. After trying the "new" taxi park (didn't look that new to me) without any luck, we headed to the old taxi park in search of a Jinja-bound Matatu. After some arguments about price (Easter rates mean more than double the price it seems) we were away and fairly content to be heading back to our beloved Jinja Township.
My Easter weekend was very nice, but I don't have the energy to write about it now and I'm sure you good people are just about spent in terms of blogage. I very much hope everyone's easter was lovely - do feel free to tell me about it if the mood takes you.
Going on safari tomorrow, back on Monday, fly back to Blighty on Wednesday.
Much love mon amigos x
Thursday 1 April 2010
The Discovered Country
I found him. He sits atop a hillock on the western bank of the Nile. He has a pink obelisk and a tatty looking sign confirming that on the 28th July 1862 he discovered the source of the Nile. The search for Speke is over.
In the past two weeks I have been enjoying cups of tea made using a kettle and cold milk, having showers in a beautifully tiled bathroom and reading by an electric light hanging proudly from the ceiling - In short, I sold out. I abandoned the warm, friendly life of Moses' compound for a two-bedroom house and a shorter ride into Jinja.
In truth I made the decision mainly due to fiscal reasons as I have found myself a little worse-for-wear on this front. It turns out that sitting around drinking beer in your underwear for seven weeks in England and then going to Africa for two months leaves you short in the pocket. Who’d have thought?
I’m now working at another primary school called St Moses (see website). The compound I live on is an orphanage/care centre for children in the area and it’s reet nice. I’ve gone back to my roots and have been teaching English to a couple of classes, which has been more than enjoyable. Somehow I only have a single, solitary day of teaching remaining though – Easter and a trip away are to blame.
Outside of teaching I have been keeping myself busy playing and watching football, hanging around in Jinja for extended periods of time and getting my face roasted off in the midday sun on the Nile.
Let me start from the beginning (as is logical)…I recently played football just outside Jinja with a fellow Mzungu (who befriended me without asking) called Michael. He’s “in” with the local football team Mpumadde F.C. and we were invited along for training last Thursday. I was looking forward to playing a real game of football for the first time in many years, but a little worried that I’d be shown up by these giant, healthy Ugandan men. It turned out that I was in better shape than I expected and I held my own reasonably well, even managing a conciliatory goal for our team. The next few days, however, brought pain in so many new and varied points on my body that I struggled to get on and off a motorbike or even stand up from a chair. I think it will be another four years before I play footy again.
On Saturday we went to see the mighty Uganda Cranes (how many national teams do you know with a name like this?) at the Mandela stadium near Kampala. To summarize: The first half was a bit crap; half time saw a conversation with the police resulting in a bribe; and the second half was better. I don’t know how many of you already know about my brush with the law, but it’s worth a swift retelling….We had gone for a wander at half time in search of the necessaries (beer and food) and as Debi and I sat down to consume our rolex (lovely food: chapatti, egg and, if you’re lucky, avocado) we realized that our other companion (Mike) was currently engaged in a conversation with the law. I was quite content to leave him to it and finish my greasy snack, but he waved me over and I would have felt reticent in my duties as the eldest, and most responsible of course, if I didn’t immediately jump to the lads aid. Upon reaching the vehicle the two officers in the front announced that they were going to arrest young Michael for taking a picture of a turnstile; I voiced my displeasure at this particular train of thought and asked what could be done to change the situation. After some debate and what, to the casual observer, could be considered friendly “banter” between myself, Michael and the policemen we came to an agreement as to how best bring the matter to a conclusion. I agreed to give the driver and his colleagues some 20,000 shillings, which works out to be about 7 pounds. I gave him the money, he shook my hand and wished me a good day and drove away. T.I.A.
Yesterday we went fishing, or at least attempted a close approximation of it. We walked to the river, found a guy, requested the use of his expertise and his boat and set off on our way. What we hadn’t considered was the time of day. It was about 11.45 at the time of boarding that little blue boat and by 12.30 we were all ready to return to dry land and find some shade (N.B. Charlie fell apart first – these public school boys and their lack of stamina). I caught three snails, Mike caught a lot of worms, Debi caught less than us and Charlie gave up after 5 minutes and just dangled his rod in the water. It was an enjoyable time, but today I am redder than the red part of the Swiss flag (hope you enjoy that reference Debi) and I can’t be out in the sun longer than two minutes; ah the joys.
I’m going to go and have a cold shower and then rub after-sun all over myself. Kampala on the morrow all being well =)
Thanks to all for continued readership and commentings.
PLBH
Wednesday 24 March 2010
T.I.A
T.I.A – This is Africa - A phrase commonly used when on the continent of Africa; usually in conjunction with a resigned shrug of the shoulders and a knowing look on your face. Best used when something has gone slightly awry or somebody demonstrates the use of “African time”.
Examples of good usage:
1. When the organizer of a trip tells you on the phone, "Be here at 6am. 6-A-M. Not 7. Not 6.30. 6! We do things by Mzungu time here!". The morning of the trip having arrived one, of course, feels the need to jump out of bed at 5 and hot-foot it to the meeting place for 6 on the dot expecting to see vans packed-up and waiting to go. In reality the vans will not arrive for another hour and we won't depart until 45 minutes after that. Having set off one needs to expect further hours spent playing "who sits where in the van?", "shall we stop at this garage?" and "is the big barrel of beans still upright?"; all excellent fun and a great time to sit back and say "TIA".
2. When you spend an hour preparing a class for a Monday morning only to arrive at school and be told "scrap that old chap, your going to teach a different class and there's nothing for you to do until Thursday".
3. When a town not 3km from a massive hydroelectric Power Station has no power for five days.
4. When a town not 4km from a massive hydroelectric Power Station has no power at all.
5. When a Matatu (mini-bus-come-taxi) to Kampala costs the same as a beer in the Mzungu-heavy bar I'm in right now.
6. When a policeman (who I had only known for 10 minutes at most) starts a long oratory about Jesus and how I really should have him (Jesus, that is, not the policeman) in my life.
7. When 5 people on one motorbike seems almost normal.
8. Learning that it's genuinely acceptable to respond to "Mzungu" (white dude) with "Mudugavu" (black dude). Sample conversation: "Mzungu, bye!", "Mudugavu, bye!".
Next time I'll perhaps talk about the change of schools which happened (somewhat out of the blue) last week. As for now I have to give a "shout-out" to my "Ugandan" friends; in large part because they keep complaining that they're not included in my blogs. So, here we go then: Hello, Charles. Jambo, Michael. Guten Tag Debi. Done.
Bye for now and always keep in mind: T.I.A
Sunday 14 March 2010
Bududa
Yesterday I travelled to the small town of Bududa in the east of the country. About two weeks ago there was a mudslide in this region which caused the deaths of at least a hundred people and has left many more missing or displaced.
Due to the fact that I have no access to either TV or internet where I'm staying I had to rely on you good folks outside of the country for any news about the disaster. In fact, it was a correspondent in Canada who first reported the incident to me (thanks Frannie). Since then I have tried to find out as much as possible from any newspapers I could get hold of and word of mouth from Moses and anyone else claiming to know something.
During the middle of last week Moses came to me and told me about a charity based nearby called "Soul" who were planning to head out to the affected area and lend a hand. He asked me if I wanted to go along and see if I could help them in their efforts. I responded in the affirmative. We were to set off early in the morning Saturday and spend the day there providing some pre-prepared food and whatever other assistance we could provide.
We set off from Moses' compound at about 5.30 in the morning aiming to arrive at the Soul project building at 6. As we arrived we were introduced to Brooke Stern, a rather nice lady from New York, who is the co-founder of the charity. She told us what we could expect to be doing once we were there (handing out food, putting up tents and digging in the main) and told us a bit about what they do when they're not rushing off to sites of natural disasters (funding students in the area). We also met some of the lads which were to be accompanying us there; mainly boys from the local football team.
We set off a mere hour and a half behind schedule (a great example of African time) in two mutatus (minibuses) full of people and food. The roads there were, for the most part, clear and flat so we made good time towards the nearest city of Mbale. Once there we got some more supplies of bread, sugar, tea as well as some spades and gloves for digging.
The roads from Mbale through to Bududa were not quite so forgiving as we got tossed around in the ancient little Chinese-hand-me-down vans. We pulled into the temporary camp (set up mainly by Unicef) at around midday and all piled out of the minibuses ready to do some good. The camp looked strangely like a large-scale festival and, at first glance, it seemed pointless us being there because there was such a large aid agency presence already. I soon realized that there was still plenty left to do and a chat with one of the Ugandan soldiers there shed some light on the continuing problems. The people in the camps are not only those from the affected area, but also people who have been evacuated from surrounding areas. This means that there are close to 3000 people in a camp originally designed for about half that number. This has led to a concern over how much food can be provided each day. We also learnt that a lot of the aid coming into the area is being sold off for a profit by the officials in charge of the relief effort.
We left the soldier to have a wander around the camp and see what use we could be. We found some lovely Red Cross people who showed us what kind of things they were working on. We came across some people building a structure of some sort and we were told that it was to be a kitchen. We dutifully rolled up our sleeves and got down to some work as Moses put on his leader's cap and started barking orders. He had to do this primarily in English because the language in this region is different to the one spoken in Jinja. We managed to get something resembling a building, with four walls and a roof, up in less than two hours-pretty good going I thought. Perhaps it was the hard working mzungus; or maybe the non-African style of leadership that Moses brought.
With the kitchen nearing completion we were summoned by the Soul folk to help with distributing the "Posho and beans" we had brought. Posho is one of the staple foods in Uganda - it's basically maize-flour and it's pretty good at filling a hungry belly. We had to squeeze through a gate "guarded" by a young looking red-faced Red Cross girl who seemed understandably stressed at the number of people trying to push their way through. Once inside we found that the boys from Soul had done all the hard work, which left us to just hand out some water and talk to any children we could find who spoke English and didn't have a mouthful of Posho. The children and parents alike seemed to enjoy the food, not least because it was the first time for a long time any of them had anything but plain Posho by itself.
With lunch finished we decided that we would head up to the site of the disaster and enlisted one of Moses' cousins that we ran into, by complete chance, in the camp (it seems to happen a lot here - families are big) to show us the way. His house was just on the very edge of the main mudslide and he and his family had managed to escape unscathed despite getting a rather large boulder through their roof. We got two Bodas (the motorbike dudes) up to the base of the mountain and started the climb. It was, we were told, a mere 3 or 4 kilometres walk and we intended to be back at the camp no later than 4 o'clock. It turned out to be about 8 kilometres to get there, the same to get back to the road and then an extra walk once there because there was a severe lack of motorized vehicles. All in all we walked more than 20 kilometres and, in a rush to get back for the bus, we ran a large portion of the return leg. But, we did it.
The site of the disaster came into view around the corner of the fifth or sixth "hillock" we had traversed- it was harrowing and incredible in equal measure. The sheer scale of it is difficult to describe - walking past boulders twice the size of me and realizing that, looking down several feet, I could see the roof of what was once a house. The thought also slowly crept upon me that where we were standing there was once a village and that below us there were almost certainly bodies which had been buried; this made it difficult to remain there for long. I saw debris in the form of school books and children's clothes and wondered if the owners of them had been found alive. I'm not sure if I'll ever make sense of what I saw there.
As I said before we were short on time and the people we had come with were calling us continually and asking where we had got to - they wanted to leave. So, while all I really wanted to do was sit down and attempt to comprehend what I had just seen, we set off at a jog up and down the mountains and across a river or two to ensure we didn't get left behind. Our Boda-men were supposed to have waited for us, but they had obviously got bored and gone home; the walk along the road (which I hadn't told my brain or my legs to expect) was not a lot of fun at all.
We got back to the main road just as our convoy was driving towards us, all set to leave us there. They graciously stopped to pick us up. On the journey home I had a chance to think about the long day filled with a hundred contrasting images. I realized that I could take some solace in the fact that there were a lot of survivors, and they are living in just about acceptable conditions for the time being. I also decided that I will never again go to the actual site of a disaster, natural or otherwise, because it serves no purpose. In the camps which are set up there is something which can be done; at the site of the disaster (especially a week after it happens) there is a feeling of pointlessness, of feeling powerless to do anything or change anything.
Thank you all for reading what has certainly not been my most cheery of blogs. If you have any more time I have put a link to the charity I went with at the side. As I said they mainly deal with education initiatives in the area, but donations would go to planning another trip like the one I went on. There is also a link to my pictures at the top; some from the camp and some from the site.
I hope everyone is well and all the mothers out there had a lovely day on Sunday =)
Due to the fact that I have no access to either TV or internet where I'm staying I had to rely on you good folks outside of the country for any news about the disaster. In fact, it was a correspondent in Canada who first reported the incident to me (thanks Frannie). Since then I have tried to find out as much as possible from any newspapers I could get hold of and word of mouth from Moses and anyone else claiming to know something.
During the middle of last week Moses came to me and told me about a charity based nearby called "Soul" who were planning to head out to the affected area and lend a hand. He asked me if I wanted to go along and see if I could help them in their efforts. I responded in the affirmative. We were to set off early in the morning Saturday and spend the day there providing some pre-prepared food and whatever other assistance we could provide.
We set off from Moses' compound at about 5.30 in the morning aiming to arrive at the Soul project building at 6. As we arrived we were introduced to Brooke Stern, a rather nice lady from New York, who is the co-founder of the charity. She told us what we could expect to be doing once we were there (handing out food, putting up tents and digging in the main) and told us a bit about what they do when they're not rushing off to sites of natural disasters (funding students in the area). We also met some of the lads which were to be accompanying us there; mainly boys from the local football team.
We set off a mere hour and a half behind schedule (a great example of African time) in two mutatus (minibuses) full of people and food. The roads there were, for the most part, clear and flat so we made good time towards the nearest city of Mbale. Once there we got some more supplies of bread, sugar, tea as well as some spades and gloves for digging.
The roads from Mbale through to Bududa were not quite so forgiving as we got tossed around in the ancient little Chinese-hand-me-down vans. We pulled into the temporary camp (set up mainly by Unicef) at around midday and all piled out of the minibuses ready to do some good. The camp looked strangely like a large-scale festival and, at first glance, it seemed pointless us being there because there was such a large aid agency presence already. I soon realized that there was still plenty left to do and a chat with one of the Ugandan soldiers there shed some light on the continuing problems. The people in the camps are not only those from the affected area, but also people who have been evacuated from surrounding areas. This means that there are close to 3000 people in a camp originally designed for about half that number. This has led to a concern over how much food can be provided each day. We also learnt that a lot of the aid coming into the area is being sold off for a profit by the officials in charge of the relief effort.
We left the soldier to have a wander around the camp and see what use we could be. We found some lovely Red Cross people who showed us what kind of things they were working on. We came across some people building a structure of some sort and we were told that it was to be a kitchen. We dutifully rolled up our sleeves and got down to some work as Moses put on his leader's cap and started barking orders. He had to do this primarily in English because the language in this region is different to the one spoken in Jinja. We managed to get something resembling a building, with four walls and a roof, up in less than two hours-pretty good going I thought. Perhaps it was the hard working mzungus; or maybe the non-African style of leadership that Moses brought.
With the kitchen nearing completion we were summoned by the Soul folk to help with distributing the "Posho and beans" we had brought. Posho is one of the staple foods in Uganda - it's basically maize-flour and it's pretty good at filling a hungry belly. We had to squeeze through a gate "guarded" by a young looking red-faced Red Cross girl who seemed understandably stressed at the number of people trying to push their way through. Once inside we found that the boys from Soul had done all the hard work, which left us to just hand out some water and talk to any children we could find who spoke English and didn't have a mouthful of Posho. The children and parents alike seemed to enjoy the food, not least because it was the first time for a long time any of them had anything but plain Posho by itself.
With lunch finished we decided that we would head up to the site of the disaster and enlisted one of Moses' cousins that we ran into, by complete chance, in the camp (it seems to happen a lot here - families are big) to show us the way. His house was just on the very edge of the main mudslide and he and his family had managed to escape unscathed despite getting a rather large boulder through their roof. We got two Bodas (the motorbike dudes) up to the base of the mountain and started the climb. It was, we were told, a mere 3 or 4 kilometres walk and we intended to be back at the camp no later than 4 o'clock. It turned out to be about 8 kilometres to get there, the same to get back to the road and then an extra walk once there because there was a severe lack of motorized vehicles. All in all we walked more than 20 kilometres and, in a rush to get back for the bus, we ran a large portion of the return leg. But, we did it.
The site of the disaster came into view around the corner of the fifth or sixth "hillock" we had traversed- it was harrowing and incredible in equal measure. The sheer scale of it is difficult to describe - walking past boulders twice the size of me and realizing that, looking down several feet, I could see the roof of what was once a house. The thought also slowly crept upon me that where we were standing there was once a village and that below us there were almost certainly bodies which had been buried; this made it difficult to remain there for long. I saw debris in the form of school books and children's clothes and wondered if the owners of them had been found alive. I'm not sure if I'll ever make sense of what I saw there.
As I said before we were short on time and the people we had come with were calling us continually and asking where we had got to - they wanted to leave. So, while all I really wanted to do was sit down and attempt to comprehend what I had just seen, we set off at a jog up and down the mountains and across a river or two to ensure we didn't get left behind. Our Boda-men were supposed to have waited for us, but they had obviously got bored and gone home; the walk along the road (which I hadn't told my brain or my legs to expect) was not a lot of fun at all.
We got back to the main road just as our convoy was driving towards us, all set to leave us there. They graciously stopped to pick us up. On the journey home I had a chance to think about the long day filled with a hundred contrasting images. I realized that I could take some solace in the fact that there were a lot of survivors, and they are living in just about acceptable conditions for the time being. I also decided that I will never again go to the actual site of a disaster, natural or otherwise, because it serves no purpose. In the camps which are set up there is something which can be done; at the site of the disaster (especially a week after it happens) there is a feeling of pointlessness, of feeling powerless to do anything or change anything.
Thank you all for reading what has certainly not been my most cheery of blogs. If you have any more time I have put a link to the charity I went with at the side. As I said they mainly deal with education initiatives in the area, but donations would go to planning another trip like the one I went on. There is also a link to my pictures at the top; some from the camp and some from the site.
I hope everyone is well and all the mothers out there had a lovely day on Sunday =)
Thursday 11 March 2010
Good times, bad times, you know I had my share...
"Why are all the exciting things so uncomfortable, like fighting and exploring and skiing in Canada?"
I read that in This Side of Paradise recently and quite enjoyed it. I hope you did too.
The last week has been an interesting ol' time. There are times when I feel that what I'm doing right now is the best thing ever and I couldn't be happier. Let me give you an example:
I have become the de facto social studies/geography teacher for the school. Basically when teachers aren't around (which is quite frequently) I have to step up at ten minutes notice and teach a class. This is fun. I feel challenged. Teaching something I have no idea about to a class of a hundred students is more enjoyable than you might think.
Another example of the good times would be spending a day in the nearby city of Jinja and returning home to a rapturous reception from the kids and older folk alike. "Welcome back" is the uproarious cry as the little ones wrap themselves around my legs. These are the happy moments. The egoist inside me feels wanted.
There are other times when I'm not especially pleased with how this country is treating me. Observe:
"Africa time" is a whole new concept to me and I'm finding hard to adjust. I'm not talking about time-zones, just the pace of life. If you request something, make a general inquiry or even suggest a better method of doing something to anybody in Africa you can expect the response to take at least three times longer than back home. It can get quite frustrating.
I saw one teacher doing a science class about circuits using only two batteries and one bulb; sitting at the front saying "Look, look at the light. On. Off. On. Off", not a great lesson. I decide to take it upon myself to go out and buy some batteries and all the rest so that the kids could take part and create a circuit for themselves. I gave the teacher in question all the necessary stuff and waited with baited breath to observe what joyous things he might do. He did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have asked him since what has become of the things I bought. He tells me that he'll use them next term.
My second complaint is less serious: Ugandan primary school boys are fast. Really fast. I took part in athletics training for an upcoming competition between schools and I was asked to run against some of the (admittedly bigger) students in the 400metres. To say that I got schooled would be an understatement. The first 200metres saw me sprinting as hard as I physically could just to hold fourth place; the second 200metres saw me falling over (some damned bumpy ground) and stumbling home in last place. Bruised ego.
People tried to tell me that the conditions were against me - the heat, the poor surface, my beer-gut - but I still felt that I had been "dissed" by some 14 year olds.
Check the new pics at the top (if you wish) and have a wonderful day!
From Uganda, which is 3hours and a day or so behind, good evening.
I read that in This Side of Paradise recently and quite enjoyed it. I hope you did too.
The last week has been an interesting ol' time. There are times when I feel that what I'm doing right now is the best thing ever and I couldn't be happier. Let me give you an example:
I have become the de facto social studies/geography teacher for the school. Basically when teachers aren't around (which is quite frequently) I have to step up at ten minutes notice and teach a class. This is fun. I feel challenged. Teaching something I have no idea about to a class of a hundred students is more enjoyable than you might think.
Another example of the good times would be spending a day in the nearby city of Jinja and returning home to a rapturous reception from the kids and older folk alike. "Welcome back" is the uproarious cry as the little ones wrap themselves around my legs. These are the happy moments. The egoist inside me feels wanted.
There are other times when I'm not especially pleased with how this country is treating me. Observe:
"Africa time" is a whole new concept to me and I'm finding hard to adjust. I'm not talking about time-zones, just the pace of life. If you request something, make a general inquiry or even suggest a better method of doing something to anybody in Africa you can expect the response to take at least three times longer than back home. It can get quite frustrating.
I saw one teacher doing a science class about circuits using only two batteries and one bulb; sitting at the front saying "Look, look at the light. On. Off. On. Off", not a great lesson. I decide to take it upon myself to go out and buy some batteries and all the rest so that the kids could take part and create a circuit for themselves. I gave the teacher in question all the necessary stuff and waited with baited breath to observe what joyous things he might do. He did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have asked him since what has become of the things I bought. He tells me that he'll use them next term.
My second complaint is less serious: Ugandan primary school boys are fast. Really fast. I took part in athletics training for an upcoming competition between schools and I was asked to run against some of the (admittedly bigger) students in the 400metres. To say that I got schooled would be an understatement. The first 200metres saw me sprinting as hard as I physically could just to hold fourth place; the second 200metres saw me falling over (some damned bumpy ground) and stumbling home in last place. Bruised ego.
People tried to tell me that the conditions were against me - the heat, the poor surface, my beer-gut - but I still felt that I had been "dissed" by some 14 year olds.
Check the new pics at the top (if you wish) and have a wonderful day!
From Uganda, which is 3hours and a day or so behind, good evening.
Sunday 7 March 2010
Jambo!
The traditional greeting in the local language (Lusoga) is a very enjoyable word to say. And I say it a lot. Walking around the villages and past the houses along the way it is, along with "Mzungu", one of the only words I hear. Want to go for a nice peaceful walk before dinner? Tough, you have greetings to attend to. Want to go for a solitary run in the morning at a time when the youngsters should be still in bed? Not gonna happen. The other morning I actually had a group of seven or eight Ugandan munchkins join me for at least a mile, all the while shouting "Mzungu, Jambo! Mzuuunguuu, Jambo!". How many times can you say hello without getting bored? The answer, it appears, is a lot.
The other day I actually learnt exactly what Mzungu means. Not just a simple "White dude", it actually comes from back in colonial times and when people like my good friend John Hanning Speke was wandering about the place. They came to believe that these new European faces were quite harmless and better left alone to their seemingly aimless peregrinations. So, when they saw one of these amiable folks they would shout out to other members of the tribe "Mzungu!" just to let them know that he was sound and not to hack off his limbs. After hearing this I have decided that I actually don't mind being called it. I quite like my limbs.
I've just finished reading a book I bought before I left called, simply, "Africa ". It should now mean that I know absolutely everything about this continent I have been on for almost three weeks. You can test me if you like. Go on, any question you want. The author is a journalist for various prestigious publications these days, but before that he was a teacher. And his first visit to Africa ? You guessed it: Uganda
In the rainy season massive meringue-puff clouds bubble up from the glistening waters of Lake Victoria . Then, the dark stormy mass suddenly rushes inland, flinging lightning around the sky and burying the hills and valleys in thunder and rain.
I thought that described the weather here rather well. I kind of wish I'd written it.
My rivers class went well! True, it was more like the students were teaching me, but it was quite productive and in the following class they were able to tell their "real" teacher all about deltas and estuaries. The following day there were very few teachers in school because they were all off trying to prove that the qualifications they have were all present and genuine (apparently there's a lot of people who lie or fake their certificates and diplomas). So, I ended up teaching a class about lakes in Uganda
That's all I can manage for now folks. The rain has stopped and the sun has come out so it's about 700 degrees in this here t'internet cafe. Be sure to check out the photo slide-show thingy at the side there for some pics new and old. Much love to all.
Oh, and one more thing: Mzungu, Jambo!!!!
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