On Vistors and Shaggy

A mere sixteen days after arriving in Uganda, I received my first visitor! Megan, a friend from DC whom I know through a CRA colleague, was in Entebbe for a FEWS NET conference. (FEWS NET is a USAID contractor responsible for informing the U.S. government of regions likely to face imminent famine: Famine Early Warning Systems Network.) After her meeting ended on Saturday evening, Megan caught a ride up to Kampala with her Ugandan-based coworkers and met me at the Lugogo Shopping Center—a complex complete with a large grocery store, a Walmart-type convenience store, and a nifty little coffee nook perfect for waiting for/meeting people. After a brief stop at my apartment to drop off baggage, change, etc., Megan and I headed to dinner at Nanjing, a delicious Chinese joint. Post dinner, we walked over to the Kampala Institute Cricket Club, the venue in which the Jamaican-American reggae singer, Shaggy, was performing in front of what was probably a couple of thousand people.

Though Megan and I initially entered through the Cricket Club’s main entrance, we had no problem weaseling our way into the VIP section. I’m unsure how easy VIP admittance would have been for two Ugandan women, but upon mentioning that we were meeting friends inside, we were quickly ushered through the guarded doors despite presenting tickets that had “general admission” clearly printed across their center. The Cricket Club itself is a huge outdoor space; for the concert, a stage had been erected at one end, flanked by two large screens projecting the performance. Vendors—most of whom sold beer, “carnival food” (ie, fried chicken, hot dogs, potatoes, corn, etc.), or a-la-carte candy that appeared as though it had been removed from a trick-or-treater’s hollowed out pumpkin—lined the perimeter of the venue. In the center stood hundreds and hundreds of young, somewhat intoxicated Ugandans, sprinkled with the presence of a visible ex-pat community. According to Matt, one of my new coworkers, an unavoidable experience—if one goes to large social gatherings in Uganda—is that of being regurgitated upon by a drunk middle aged woman. This nearly happened to me at my very first massive social function, but luckily she waited a few more steps before “upchucking”, as Janis would say.

On Sunday morning, Megan and I woke relatively early and went to meet my new friend Fred, whom I also know through a CRA colleague. Fred took Megan and me on a fantastic whirlwind tour of Kampala. (I certainly think we made the best of Megan’s 18 hours in the city.) We went to the famous Baha’i Temple (one of only seven in the world), the Ugandan Parliament, the National Theatre, the downtown area, the Serena Hotel (one of the nicest in Kampala), the central cathedral, a HUGE mosque that serves the city's Muslim population (~10%), and Makerere University (one of the best in Africa) all in the course of a few hours. After grabbing a quick lunch at St. Anthony’s, a delicious Ugandan restaurant, I said goodbye to Megan and Paul took her back to the Entebbe airport while Fred drove me home. It was a brief visit, but it was truly wonderful to see a familiar face and it made me feel just that little bit closer to home.

On Iguana

Despite the fact that I have certainly seen quite a few little lizards scurrying around Kampala so far, this post is not about small four-legged critters. It is about a nightclub called “Iguana”. This past Friday night, I experienced my first genuine night out in Kampala. After beginning the evening with a nap (typical Eleanor move, I know), I ventured up to the goodbye party for SCMS (Supply Chain Management System), which is a PEPFAR implementing partner with whom we’ve been sharing office space for the last several months. Unfortunately, their contract terminates at the end of May, so they threw a goodbye/thank you party attended by a number of Ministry of Health officials, SCMS staff, and of course, CHAI employees. After a few glasses of wine, delectable appetizers, great company and some preliminary dancing, Evan, Matt, Vijay and I left the SCMS party and headed for Iguana.

Upon first glance, Iguana looks like a massive bungalow, complete with multiple levels and a thatched roof. To enter the club, you need to walk up a long, narrow stair case that leads to massive bar/lounge area on one side, and a dance floor on the other. Clearly an expat hub, Iguana was populated by more whites than I’ve seen congregated in one place since I arrived in Uganda. I’d say the split was about 50% Ugandan, 50% foreign.

After a couple of gin and tonics (all a lightweight such as myself needs), the four of us danced the night away (Paces style) to a combination of American pop/hip hop and popular African music. I didn’t get home until around 2:30am (those who know me well know that this is a very late night out for me). It clearly took its toll, as I slept on and off until almost 1pm on Saturday morning! Anyway, my initial taste of nightlife in Uganda was fantastic, and I look forward to many more evenings out in Kampala.

On Masaka

Since my last post, a mere 6 days ago, I’ve received a number of emails telling me that it’s time to update my blog! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the fact that people are still reading my blog, as my own pathetic experience with this form of communication has been that I check the blog initially and then promptly forget to do so again, lose the link, etc. So, thank you, anyone reading this, for sticking with it. That said, I also didn’t realize I was writing for such a demanding crowd! I’ll try to post (at least briefly) on a more regular basis!

This past Wednesday, I conducted my first site visit outside of Kampala! Ian, Vijay, Paul and I set out in the late morning, heading towards the Masaka district, located about two hours south-west of Kampala. We drove right across the equator (don’t worry, I stopped to take tacky touristy pictures on the return trip) and through the lush green agricultural landscape of rural Uganda. The scenery in this part of the world is not to be believed. Especially towards the end of the rainy season, all one can see from a car window is hill upon hill of greenery; farmed land, wild local palms, and untamed bushes continue for miles. The road from Kampala to Masaka is one of the better throughways in the country, as it’s paved and without the potholes that plague many other routes, including local, intracity roads. Very small villages, which subsist largely by selling local produce to passerbys, appear sporadically but for the most part the area is undeveloped—until one arrives at Masaka.

After a quick lunch at a local hotel, the four of us drove to the Masaka Regional Referral Hospital, one of the better public, government-owned hospitals in the country. I should start by mentioning that the hospital is set atop a hill, providing the most spectacular view to all who work or reside there. Though hospital scenery obviously comes second to quality of patient care, Masaka is probably one of the more beautifully placed hospitals in the world.Upon arrival, Ian and Vijay waited for a doctor scheduled to speak with them about the Early Infant Diagnosis transport refund program while I went in search of a man named James, with whom I had been communicating by phone and who’s charged with overseeing the laboratory system at Masaka RRH. Without boring you with too much detail, I met James in the Out-Patient Department (OPD) and together we toured the Masaka lab, as well as the lab at Uganda Cares, an NGO that works separately from but in close collaboration with Masaka Regional. I spoke with about five different people (mostly lab technicians, nurses, and data gurus), all of whom helped me understand the equipment in the lab, whether or not it’s functional, what the patient flow looks like when the machinery is working and when it’s not, patient numbers, system failure, etc. Over the course of three hours, I managed to acquire a reasonably good sense of the hospital’s needs and causes of equipment malfunction, and began brainstorming possible policy solutions. After reacquainting with Ian and Vijay, the four of us began the trip back to Kampala. We stopped twice on the return trip—first at a roadside stand to purchase bananas, avocados, jackfruit, and a small berry that I’d never tried before that tasted as though it were a hybrid of a cranberry and a blueberry! (All of my purchases combined cost me about $1.75.) And of course, we also stopped at the equator, where I took the below picture, with one foot planted firmly on the northern side of the equator, and the other firmly resting on the southern.

On Ugandan Courtship and Avocados

After a week’s worth of eating out, this past Saturday I ventured alone into a Ugandan outdoor market. Not surprisingly, fruits and vegetables are much less expensive when purchased in markets than in grocery stores, and are significant fresher.

As I started making my way from vendor to vendor, viewing the vast array of fruits (mainly mangos, pineapple, limes, etc) and vegetables (greens, beans, cucumber, eggplant, tomatoes—yes, I know that tomatoes are technically a fruit but I am choosing to categorize them here as veggies), calls came from many of the women manning stands. “Muzungo! Muzungo!” Now, “muzungo” is simply slang for “white person”. From what I can discern, it bears no derogatory connotation but is simply a factual statement. Not fooled by my recent sunburn, which admittedly makes me look more like Rudolph than any native Ugandan, these women were merely stating the obvious in an attempt to get my attention.

After walking the market for a little while—the muzungo title tattooed on my peeling forehead—I came upon a woman who was selling avocados. As most of you know, avocados are a luxury in the States, and as fewer of you know, I love avocados. Pointing to an avocado perched atop a heaping plate of similarly sized fruits, I asked how much it cost. “1,000 shillings” was the response, a quantity equal to approximately $0.50. Thinking I’d found a decent deal for an item that would have cost me upward of $1.75 in the U.S., I acquiesced. Seeing my nod, smile, and the reach for my wallet, the woman mobilized, took a plastic bag, and before I could stop her dumped the entire plateful of avocados into said bag. Shocked, I didn’t really know what to do, other than fork over my 1,000 shillings, smile, thank her, and limp away with my bag full of an extraordinary number of avocados. To be precise, there were eleven avocados (I counted once at home), so the price of an avocado was just under 5 U.S. cents! Perhaps I should start an importation business? After buying an assortment of items, I exited the market and began my avocado-laden journey home.

Now, Ugandan division of labor seems to dictate that women work predominantly in selling produce and men are responsible for providing transport to customers. This transport service most regularly comes in the form of “boda bodas”, which are essentially small motorcycles on which two (or sometimes more) people can ride. Thus, as I left the market, I passed a swarm of young Ugandan men, many of whom were hoping to offer me a ride on their “boda”. I should mention that I was not in the market for a boda. I live a mere fifteen minute walk from the market, and even my bushel of avocados was not weighing me down sufficiently to necessitate public transport.

Without professing to know much about Ugandan courtship, I can say that it is very different than courtship in the United States. It is, shall we say, less discriminatory, and far less covert. In the States, when a man decides that he is interested in a woman therein begins a (sometimes lengthy) process during which he may flirt with her, tease her, befriend her, or ignore her, thereby employing a number of tactics in an attempt to assess her level of reciprocating interest. No such assessment seems to exist in Uganda. Men here appear to be much more forthcoming with their emotions than their American counterparts, to the point that it may take a Ugandan man minutes, no, seconds to say what it takes American men months, if not years to get out. The highlight of my journey home: I was told by a boda driver that, even as I politely declined a ride, he “loved me very very much.” Though I can easily see this treatment getting old quickly, for now I shall add it to the ways in which I feel welcome in Uganda, the “pearl of Africa.”