Motoring Madness Part Two

Owning a driving a car in Uganda is definitely a steep learning curve. I am now starting to grow accustomed to the sensation of driving over the surface of the moon brought about by all the pot-holes and the famous ‘lying police-men’. When I arrived here, I had thought that the term for speed bumps was sleeping policemen, but I now realize that ‘lying policemen’ is far more appropriate as it holds a double meaning. I have been lucky enough not to have been pulled over by the police so far, but am waiting for the day that I make a silly mistake and get caught by an opportunist copper. A friend of mine was driving along a dual carriage way a few weeks ago. When he wanted to change lanes, he looked in the mirror, signaled and maneuvered. This would seem to be perfectly reasonable behaviour. However, the local bobby would disagree with this, as he was clearly causing other motorists great confusion, as they thought he was going to do a u-turn right in the middle of the road. A few days later, his girlfriend was pulled over, because she had driven over a line that did not actually exist at traffic lights. I believe that she smiled sweetly and promised to remember to drive better in the future and managed to avoid a fine.

I have had to get a couple of things fixed on the car before going on the big journey at Christmas. I managed to get a flat tyre only 24 hours after getting the car. Although I was angry at the time, I now see it as a good thing, as at least I was close to home and able to get it fixed. Neither myself, nor my housemate felt confident enough to change the tyre on our own (I know what you have to do in theory, particularly after watching them change 5 tyres on the Fortportal trip) , so I called my friend’s mechanic the next day and got it sorted. It has then taken me a week of phonecalls and trips to various garages to find the correct replacement. I have heard it said that customer service is everything and nothing in Africa. So while in England, I would have popped down to Kwik-fit or similar, and had it fixed within about half an hour, this option simply doesn’t exist in Uganda. However, where there’s a will there’s a way. I did not really fancy driving through the traffic and getting lost trying to track one down, so I asked in the local garage when they would be getting a delivery. I was told that they could get one the following day, and true to their word, they did. I called them to say what time I would be arriving, then in true Ugandan style, they then called the other place to start sending it (there is no way of beating it – you have to wait a long time for anything, however clever you think you get) and quarter of an hour it arrived on a boda-boda. Perfect! The other thing that needed fixing was the seatbelt. Normally I would have called the good mechanic, but the girl who sold me the car told me that it had already been paid for, so I called up what I expected to be a garage. They told me to meet in a hotel car park in town. So I got there and was then directed to the garage. As soon as I met this guy I suspected that he was a bit dodgy. Within minutes he confirmed my suspicions, as he started to tell me that my engine was making a funny noise and all the rest of it. I made it quite clear that I had not come up the Ribble in a banana boat and the rest of the journey to the garage was passed in silence. When we finally reached the ‘garage’ I realized it was not really a garage, but more like a whole street of markets selling car parts and mechanics. The work space would be a parking space on the road. The weather is getting hotter and hotter at the moment, so I was not impressed when I was told that ‘whoops – this seat-belt (the one that had been paid for already) was not the right one. So off he went into the market to find the correct type. Twenty minutes later he returns, only he has got one for the driver’s side, not the passengers. So off he goes again. By this point, I was literally wondering whether I will melt, fry or spontaneously combust in the heat. I had to send a guy to the shop to buy me water, as there was no way that I was going to leave the car open in the middle of the street. Eventually he retuned with the correct seatbelt and they managed to fit it fairly quickly. Then came the final issue of payment. Even though I had the receipt and everything, yes I don’t have to tell you, do I? It was for the wrong one, and I would have to pay more money. I asked if I could see the price list as it sounded a bit expensive to me. He went to find the price list (which I am convinced does not exist) and came back with another guy. They told me that the price list was in the other office right now, but they were happy to negotiate the price. I got it reduced, but am sure that I still probably paid at least double the going rate.

One thing that I have noticed is that having experience of driving down the promenade in Blackpool in the middle of the season has definitely put me in good stead for dealing with pedestrians here. They certainly do not observe the Green Cross Code. Yesterday, a woman dressed in a full Burkha emerged from nowhere right infront of my car – it almost scared me to death, as it is not a common sight round here, although it is Eid today, so maybe they wear them more for special holidays. When I drove around the corner onto my driveway the other day, I was just in time to spot a woman lying on the ground. I swerved round her and went inside. I then spoke to various people, as I was clearly a little concerned by this, but was told not to worry, she was only sleeping. I thought she was ill, so brought her some water and told her to find a safer place to rest. Each day, more people stroll in front of my moving car with not a care in the world, and each day, more Ugandans are becoming more familiar with my whole range of English swear words!

Lost on the hash

The running hash usually has three different routes. One is for runners and is the furthest, the middle one is for hashers, who are people like me, who run part of it, but generally walk up the hills and the slowest group is for walkers. A couple of weeks ago the hash run was leaving from a bar in an area of town we often frequent on a Friday night for meals and drinks. This all seemed well and good, as they are often in far-flung and unknown areas of town. So at last we were in an area in which we were familiar. I have been gradually been building up my stamina and am now able to run along the whole of the hash route. I prefer to stick to this group, as I reason that it is better to be at the front of a slower group than at the back of the faster group. The only exception to this rule is that it is not wise to be in the first ten people in the hash group, as if you reach certain points, you have to run to the back of the group and double back on yourself, or wait until the very last hasher passes, therefore forfeiting any advantage of running faster in the first place. Therefore, I usually aim to be about eleventh or twelfth in the group. All was going according to plan for the most part of the run. Then, after the final pit stop I made a fatal error. I accidentally followed the path for the running group. And did I run? For the most part of the run, I had absolutely no idea where I was. Then, we turned a corner and once again I was on familiar ground. I was happy to be on Acacia Road, the street with the Irish pub, the Latino Club and The Surgery. I jogged along fairly well, with people still in sight, then, at some point, I must have missed spotting the chalk marks on the ground that indicate that you should change direction. So I ran and I ran, like Forest Gump. Just as it was starting to go dark, I realized that I could see nobody in front of me. I turned to look behind and realized that I couldn’t see anybody there either. I kept going to the end of the road and noticed a couple of policemen. I asked them if they had seen anybody running past, as surely it would be impossible to miss a group of people, all dressed in the same t-shirts, running past. They said they hadn’t. I started to panic a little, but at least I was fairly familiar with the area and knew that we had to turn right. I ran like I had never run before, even though I was feeling more tired by the minute, the fact that the light was fading quickly and I was all alone drove me forwards. As there is virtually no dusk on the equator, ten minutes later it was pretty much pitch black. I started to run even faster. I was considering taking a boda boda back and giving in, but I refused. Then, I became aware of a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Emerging from the woods by the side of the golf course, was a herd of men dressed in bright yellow MTN (the local mobile phone network) T-shirts and shorts. By this point I was sprinting. I managed to catch up with them and the first person I saw was the man who was very loud and very drunk on the way back from the Fort Portal weekend away. It was, however, a friendly and familiar face. I explained what had happened to me and it turned out that I had missed the chalk marks to tell me to take a short cut across the golf course. I must have added at least another 3km to the run, which was already the longer running route. Clearly, I was devastated and made no bones about it when I eventually got back. When the hash master heard of my plight, it resulted in all the muzungus being dragged into the middle of the circle and all of the Ugandans being told to look after us! Not only that, but the hash was again organized appallingly. There was no water left by the time I made it back and the local feast of matoke (some kind of cooked plantain or banana – but leached of all flavour somewhere in the cooking process) and beans (or often nothing for the vegetarians among us) had not arrived. I was not disappointed to end the evening in the Turksih restaurant instead!

Driving about in my automobile

The big thing in my life recently has been buying a car. At first, I had no intentions of doing so, particularly as the combination of the chaotic traffic, numerous pot-holes and meandering pedestrians makes driving look a little ominous. Then when you start to read into the Bradt guide book, which mentions the precautions you should make in the case of running over a snake (basically to make sure it is dead and to close the windows so that it can’t jump up and attack you) it all seems like a bit of a bother. However, when I started looking into the cost of hiring a car when my parents come, it seemed like it may be worth the while after all. So after looking at a few different cars, I eventually made my decision and am now the proud owner of a shiny blue Rav 4. I think it’s the girliest of 4X4s, which suits me! Now I have a funny tale to tell you about buying the car. A friend of mine recommended a reliable mechanic to have a look at the different cars I was looking at. I agreed to meet him at the car park outside the club and school. Now, bearing in mind that this meeting depended on two different Ugandans arriving on time, I decided to sit by the pool, armed with a book and i-pod to entertain me during the almost certain wait. Imagine my surprise when my phone rang exactly at the time agreed! I had never seen this guy, so asked him to get out of his car and wave at me. He told me that he was on the car park and was getting out of a silver car. I spotted him immediately and wandered over to introduce myself. He seemed a little surprised by my stream of questions about the car and was hardly over talkative. When I asked him what I should look for in a car that I intended to drive ‘up-country’ to Queen Elizabeth Park, he replied that I should get the one with the sun roof so that my passengers could stand up and stick their heads through to get a good view of the animals!!! And I had been expecting to get answers about the engine or technical things that I have no clue about. About 20 minutes later, my phone rings again, and the girl who I eventually bought the car from tells me that she has arrived. She drives onto the car park, so I tell the guy to follow me. He obeys, but still seems a little bit reluctant. We open the car bonnet and he has a look inside. A moment later, my phone rings again with his number displaying – by now I am totally confused. I ask him if he is calling me and he says no. I make some comment about the mobile phone networks being in such a mess here. I do, however, answer the phone. Only to discover that the man I had been speaking to for the past half hour was not the mechanic, but a random taxi driver, who also happened to have a silver car and to have arrived at exactly the same time. Needless to say I was a little embarrassed by this point. Luckily for me, he was not offended by this mix up and continued to look at both cars for me. A week later I had collected a ridiculous amount of Ugandan Shillings from the bank and was given the keys. So I am now trying to find my way around Kampala and am getting more adventurous by the day. It is truly amazing not to have to get the death trap boda-bodas any more. Petrol is quite expensive here – about a pound a litre, but am reasoning that if I nominate myself the designated driver on Fridays and Saturdays and drink water instead of wine, I will surely be winning, as wine is considerably more expensive by the litre, although I guess the tank takes about 60 litres and even at my very worst, I don’t think I ever drink too much more than a couple of litres (that’s glasses mum, if you’re reading this) of wine in an evening! I am also starting to make sense of the maelstrom of traffic. It seems that because there are really no rules, then you can do exactly what you want and nobody really gets angry. People aren’t really aggressive, so let you pass or in at junctions where in Britain you would get honked to death for the same manoeuvres. I do find it helpful though, to remember the Ugandan Highway Code –

There really are no rules, but the trucks rule the road, next come the big buses, followed by the matatus, after that are the big land cruisers and so on, then smaller cars and finally, right at the bottom of the food chain, are the pedestrians. The only exception to the rule, in this survival of the biggest, is the boda boda, which weaves in and out of traffic, virtually knocking over pedestrians and cutting up each and every sort of vehicle.

So my final question goes to Mum and Dad, who arrive in less than a fortnight: Who’s up for driving?

A hair raising experience

Getting a haircut can be a tricky issue at the best of times – it may take several attempts to find a good salon, in a convenient area, at the right price and most importantly, building a relationship of trust with the stylist. It usually goes that you try somebody out for the first time with something simple like a trim, and if you’re happy with that, then you advance to having a more daring cut and eventually may try out a bolder colour. So having been here in Kampala for roughly 2 months the time had come to get a little snip. I’d had a few recommendations from friends, but being the creature of impulse that I am, I decided that I would have my hair chopped there and then. So I breeze confidently into Sparkles salon and demand a pedicure and a haircut. One of the ‘features’ of a Sparkles pedicure is a little foot and leg massage, which should send you into a state of relaxation, however, this guy decided to pummel the living daylights out of my poor legs and I would not be surprised if I had a bruise to show for it in the morning. I survived this little ordeal though and then went to wait to get a haircut. I was escorted to a seat and before I had even said what I wanted doing, this guy was brandishing a pair of scissors, with an evil glint in his eyes. I politely ask him if he can wash my hair – simple enough, you would think. At the sink, I am exposed to alternately scalding and freezing water and he then proceeds to tip what feels like an entire bottle of shampoo over my hair and washes it with as much care as though he was scrubbing the kitchen floor. After that, with clean but wild hair I am then taken back to my seat. Conveniently, my gym pass has a photo of me taken just after having my hair cut in Colombia, so I show him and explain that I would like it cut in pretty much the same way. He nods in an assuring manner picks up a comb. As my hair is such a tangled mess, this really hurts, so I ask him if he would mind if I combed it myself, which I do. He then grabs what looks like a a toilet roll and ties it round my neck, apparently to protect me from hair going down me. Then for the cut. And this is the really horrifying part. He starts chopping into the back, which naturally I can’t see. By the time he gets round to the side I notice his technique for cutting is a little bit unorthodox. Although I have never in my life attended a hairdressing course, I am aware that in order to cut layers you need to take sections of hair in a neat and even way and to use your fingers to help guide the scissors. No, no, no! He ‘sections’ my hair by taking random bunches and then just snipping in. I can’t stand any more of this, so I ask him how he learned to cut hair and he just ignores me. My next question is whether he took a course or if he learnt on the job and at this point he slams the comb and scissors down on the counter and says he doesn’t want to talk about it. This has now become too much for me, so I stand up, remove the overall and am fully prepared to walk out with half cut hair. I walk up to the counter and say I will pay for the pedicure but the hair experience was out of control. I am fully expecting for a full on debate, but to my surprise, the ladies on reception were in full sympathy with me. One of them told me that she just keeps her hair short and natural and is afraid to let anybody touch it – not really the best advert for a salon, but reassuring nonetheless. They were very kind and told me somebody else would be along shortly to sort it all out. So second time lucky (well it’s not perfect, but al least it’s even and nobody went wild and shaved my head). Having said that I have just realised that nobody has shown me the back of my head yet, so who knows what lurks behind. All I can say now is that I will not be returning for a repeat performance and that if that was a traumatic hair experience, then it has more than put me off the though of having my bikini line waxed there!

Get thee to a nunnery

According to the Bradt guide to Uganda ‘Patience is not so much a virtue in Fort Portal as a positive means to survival’. This certainly turned out to be the case this weekend. A friend and I have been going on the running hash each week. This involves going for a run for roughly an hour, with several stops along the way, often for refreshments in the form of beer. After the run are the hash rituals, the group gathers in a circle and they choose some ‘sinners’ who have to be punished. This can be for anything from chatterbox (some people are talking on the phone on the way) to the hashit – who may, for example, have turned up somewhere very late, then has the dubious honour of having to run the following week with a toilet seat around their neck. New shoes are always recognised and the owner has to take one off and then drink beer out of the shoe. So it’s all in the spirit of good fun, and with this in mind, we decided to go away for the weekend with the group to Fort Portal.

Very early on Saturday morning I was rudely awakened by my friend calling me, to ask if I was ready. I panicked and realised I had forgotten to set the alarm when I came in at 2am the previous evening. So I dressed at rapid speed, grabbed my backpack and left the house ten minutes later. When we arrived at the National Theatre to get the bus we discovered that a few people hadn’t yet arrived. So we waited and waited and waited some more, and eventually hit the road well over an hour after the agreed departure time. After getting through the busy Saturday morning traffic in Kampala we reached the open road and we were impressed by the smooth and relatively pot-hole free roads. That is until we got our first puncture. I say first because it was the first of five. So the first one was fixed fairly quickly and we set off again feeling quite optimistic. Ten minutes later we had another puncture. Watching them repair the puncture was a little bit worrying as the jack was not big enough, so they just rested the bus on a couple of big rocks. Luckily nothing untoward happened. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the 300 km journey took us roughly 9 hours, which means that we averaged a speed of 30km an hour, which is pretty damned slow.

We arrived around 5.30pm, so had to change quickly and get going on the run as soon as we could, in order to get back before it went dark. Fort Portal is west of Kampala and it just at the foot of the Rwenzori Mountains. So we had a great view along the way, passing through lots of small villages whilst contending with many great big hills. Now I have a confession to make – I make a great downhill runner, I can cope with the flat bits, but am totally useless when it comes to running uphill, and unfortunately there are many hills in Uganda. The peak of the run was at King Oyo’s palace, ruler of the kingdom of Toro – the king is actually the youngest in the country and is a year 12 student at my school, who my house mate actually teaches. Now this boy has a few big decisions to make when he hits 18. Apparently the area is very rich in oil and natural resources which have not yet been exploited, so he has to choose between making a very poor area very wealthy, or maintaining the natural beauty of the local environment. I am certainly glad that I am not in his shoes. Now back to the run. We picked up an extra friend when we arrived there, a local guy, who decided that he wants to move to Kampala, just to join the hash, and came along for a part of the run, complete with guitar. He didn’t quite manage to run all the way though – he was later spotted on a boda boda – cheating! At the end of the run a couple of our friends were nominated as sinners as they abandoned our bus on the second puncture and opted for a matatu instead, which in actual fact only saved them half an hour in the end.

Later that evening we were bussed over to our hotel for the night, only to be greeted by a nun! Yes – we actually stayed in a convent for the night, and to make matters worse, we had paid extra money for this privilege. The ‘hotel’ room was very sparse, but it had hot showers and clean bed linen, so we were reasonably happy for the night. We then went back to the nice hotel for a few drinks and a party. We shocked the nuns by being the first back as we were so exhausted after the long journey and the chaotic day.

On the whole the trip was very poorly organised. Nobody told us that there was a run on the Sunday morning, and nobody seemed sure of what time we would leave to return to Kampala. This disturbed both of us, as we had hoped to be able to visit some crater lakes nearby and really make the most of the time away. You can imagine that this was frustrating as we are both from countries where things usually run on time and have some kind of schedule, and not only that, but both of us being teachers, we are used to organising trips down to every last detail. Needless to say, they have not heard the last of this, and we are determined that if we ever go away with the group again, that we will organise our own transport and be much more independent. The journey back was much smoother, but I was sitting next to a guy who started drinking beer at 10am and was very loud all along the way. So after many pee stops along the way we finally made it back to Kampala. Oh the joys of travel!

There is absolutely no need for any theme parks in East Africa when you have plenty of bumpy and potholed, twisting and turning roads. Just over a week ago I set off with 3 friends on the very bumpy road to Kigali to see fellow abolo obruni, Alex. We packed the car with goodies for the trip, but he dairy milk was not such a great idea in the heat, so we ended up with a mushy mess of molten chocolate. We set off on the Friday and after an hour or so we passd through the equator. The equator experience consists of a sign by the road and a faded painted white line and a few people selling a bit of tourist tat, but it was a great photo opportunity all the same. On the Friday night we stayed in a place called Masaka, where we all had muzungu moments of anger when the club sandwiches we ordered took well over an hour and mine turned out to be a fired egg butty. After that we swore to eat only local food whilst on the raod, and this proved to be very successful the next day when we stopped off at a roadside cafe and were served delicious plates of avacado salad, vegetable curry and a few other local dishes.
We arrived in Kigali just as it was starting to go dark, then went out for dinner, then to a party where we were able to drink as much banana beer as we could drink (which was actually about half a cup - it's a bit of an acquired taste). Then on the Sunday we went off to the genocide memorial museum which was impressive but horrible and moving at the same time. In one room they just have family photos of all the people who were lost and it makes you realise the extent of it all.
The city of Kigali is so amazingly clean. You can walk down real pavements and smooth roads without having to worry about falling down potholes and dodging speeding matatus and boda bodas (minibuses and motorbike taxis for those of you not familiar with the local lingo. They also make you wear helmets on the bodas, even if they are all pretty big, and they don't let you double up either. Apparently, once a month there is a community service day where you have to go out cleaning all the rubbish off the streets. Also, even the roads oput of the city are really smooth tarmac. Incredible!
On the Monday we took a very nice bus up to Lake Kivu. We passed through stunning scenery and the sites of the mountains and the smell of the trees really reminded me of Colombia. I guess it makes sense as it's at asimilar altitude and there's also lits of volcanic activity round there. We stayed in some little cabins right next to the lake and spent the afternoon sampling the local beer, then the amarula, then very foolishly, the Ugandan Warargi (like a cheap gin, but pretty strong stuff). Afternoon turned into evening, and eveing turned into night and needless to say, the following day was a little bit painful. This was sorted out with a quick dip in the lake, followed by an afternoon of pampering ourselves with pedicures and massages and yummy food at the nice hotel in the town. It's a hard life I lead you understand!
The next day we ventured further afield, into the Democratic Republic of Congo no less. And before anybody asks, I can officially confirm that there is no Um Bongo there at all. But there is a whole town that has been recently smothered in lava from a recent erruption, leaving the roads very black and uneven. There is also lots of evidence of the war that is going on outside of the city, with UN troops (lots of hotties from Uraguay) all over the place and loads of emergency NGOs and so forth. It was quite strange walking round there, but I don't know whether it was the knowledge of what is happenng in the rest of the country or whether it was the atmosphere created from the sultry and humid weather that day and the lava covered streets that gave that illusion. After walking though the streets all day we went to a beautiful estaurant right by the lake, which was a real haven and a total contrast from the rest of the city. Oh I almost forgot to mention the special treatment we recieved from customs. We were immediately invited into the office and the cheesy customs officer greeted us with such platitude as 'how lucky they were that 3 such beautiful women were visiing the Congo that day' blar, blar blar. Anyway, the best of it was that we acually got a proper A4 sized certificate to say that we have been to the Congo. Brilliant! Getting out of the country was also a bit of an adventure as we had been relaxing at the restuarant so much that we didn't realise it was half an hour before the border shut. So we sped through the streets of Goma, yelling 'vite vite, nous avons 10 minutes' at the motorbike drivers, while they were yelling to slow down becasue they had muzungus! We made it by the skin of our teeth and Kelly even had time to do a bit of bargaining to buy a mask before we passed through the border. And I have to add that I never thought I would utter the words 'thank god I'm back in Rwanda' in my entire life!
That's pretty much it (or at least my time is about to run out anyway).

Camping trip and Eid

It's the end of yet another long and eventful week here in Kampala. We had a public holiday on Tuesday, for the Muslim holiday of Id to celebrate the end of Ramadan, so we took ourselves off to Entebbe on the shores of Lake Victoria for the day. I had my first matatu (crammed minibus) ride and was quite impressed - you got loads of space compared to the trotros in Ghana and the windscreen was pretty much in tact too! So we arrived at the beach (by the lake shore) at about 11 in the morning and pretty much had it to ourselves. We were wondering why nobody else had come on such a lovely day. Any temptations to take a little dip in the lake were quickly dispersed though as we spotted the snails that are a sign of bilharzia in the lake (they carry the disease which gives you a very nasty skin rash and all sorts of other yucky problems I imagine), but we were quite happy to have some food and beers on a sunny day. The next thing we know is that we are approached by a midget with a camera, who wanted to take our photos. OK we said and paid our 3000 Shillings each - thinking it was a nice little memento of the day. So that was all fine, until later on this Muslim girl came up and told us that she had paid 1500 Shillings - so later on we had a little debate with the little man and truly put him to shame, and informed him that no more muzungus would be shopping with him in the future (since he is pretty easy to spot ha ha). We did not, however, get a refund, but later we wondered whether the cheap price was a special offer for Id and therefore only open to Muslims!! Anyway, as the day progressed, the beach got busier and busier and turned into a huge party. There were people there from Kenya, Ethiopia and Uganda - and they did not have the same worries about catching bilharzia as they ran into the lake dancing away.
On Thursday and Friday we went on the overnight camping trip to Mabira Forest. In the meeting the head assured us that it was just like a North American campsite with showers, flushing toilets and the like. So when we arrived and saw literally just a space to pitch tents and latrine loos we were not very impressed. Basically we had to do everything on the trip too - from planning and taking all the activities, to buying and cooking the food. So we had arranged to go shopping on Wednesday afternoon after school, when we were told that we had to wait for the bursar to bring the money into school. Then when we went into the school office, we were informed that another person in the office had quit and that we had to sort the money out - which was a mixture of cash stapled together, all mixed up for the different year group trips and that we had to sort it out. Now I realise that I am not a qualified accountant, but I don't think it would be unfair to say that this is not how it should be done ... surely! So by the time the cash had been counted the shops had closed. So we were told that we would go ahead anyway and somebody would do the shopping in the morning and bring it up to the campsite later on and we would take a packed lunch from school. Fine we thought ... except that the packed lunch was not ready when we were leaving school at 8.30 in the morning, so that would come up with the shopping at around noon ... except that noon turned into about 2pm, by which time we have on our hands about 30 children, who were pretty much starving, but high on e numbers from all the crisps and sweets their parents sent them as snacks. In the afternoon we set off for a nature walk through the forest, which was lovely, but I have a few little princesses in my class who are afraid of a speck of dust, let alone mud, who literally tiptoed through and tried their best to cling on to me for dear life every time they saw so much as an ant!! Anyway, the rest of the day went fine and when the kids went to bed we finished off the day with a bottle of wine - drunk ever so delicately out of the cups the kids normally use to wash paintbrushes in coz the head forgot to pack anything to drink out of! I had a barney with a TA when I discovered that one of the water bottles was actually filled with kerosene for the lamps and it had been left out next to the water bottles - as you can imagine, I flipped my lid and said that maybe sometime in the future I may wish to teach in the UK again, and that if children had swigged back a bottle of kerosene it may not go down too well on the old CV - so he continued to argue that it should not be in the car because Jerry cans with petrol are now illegal in cars in Uganda - and I drummed the point that kids drinking lighter fuel would lead to a far stronger punishment - and then he bitched at me for the rest of the day, until he slipped on the walk in his bloody plimsolls and then complained about a sprained ankle! In the middle of the night there was a huge tropical storm, with very heavy rain and lightning. I can not say that I behaved in the most responsible way, as when I heard that the head was dealing with the screaming kids with leaky tents, I turned over and went back to sleep. I was thinking that if I heard Sibyl's voice I would get up and help, while she was in her tent thinking if she heard my voice she would also do the same. Needless to say, we have been somewhat slagged off for this, and I do not imagine that I will be first on the list to be chosen to take the kids to France on the ski trip in February!
Last night we went to the farewell party for our principal who is leaving (resigned ??? who knows there are so many stories). Was good to say goodbye and all the teaching assistants were having a good old dance, but I have to say that his dancing was just like watching the scene in The Office where David Brent does his little dance performance, so we made an early exit before the evil drink could let our mouths work before our brains!

Well it's about time I updated this and fill you in on the last couple of weeks. Last weekend I had my housewarming party. We decided to have an Oscar night theme, so dressed the house up with a red carpet (made out of crepe paper), lots of sparkly stars and candles throughout. Everyone got very dressed up and even wore heels, which is a bit of a rarity here, considering the state of the roads with all the potholes and lack of tarmac and the like.
School is going on ok, but still has been full of dramas. The kids are still great - they are all very good at English (many native speakers and the ESL ones are fluent - no more 'miss, he is molesting me' or 'it is that I need to go to the bathroom'! The admin, however, is a bit of a shambles. The woman in the bursar's office is so off the rails that she makes the head of hr from my last job look like Mother Theresa. We are all a wee bit concerned that a couple of weeks ago, the bursar did a midnight shift a flew the country back to India, leaving the office and his house in a real mess (and for the house I am talking total devastation - dirty plates of food left around being attacked by maggots, clothes everywhere and loads of old furniture all over the place.

Sunday

Today I’m feeling a little dazed and sun stroked. This morning I got up early to take a walk up to the Bahai Temple up the road. I can see it from my room and it’s a big landmark in Kampala. The religion is a bit of a mixture of all different world religions and there’s just one temple on each continent, so I thought it would be rude not to bother to go up there and see. To be honest, it looks much better from a distance, it’s just very simple inside. The gardens surrounding it are very pretty and it’s a lovely and peaceful place to visit. Unfortunately my new walking shoes rubbed my feet and am now suffering from massive blisters and am not sure whether I’ll be able to make the running hash tomorrow.

This afternoon, for the first time since getting here, I had time to go down to the pool and lay out in the sun. It’s brilliant to have the free membership to the club – I’m swimming a lot after school, going to the gym and also have had a few tennis lessons. The only downside is that most of the families from school are also members, so as I walked in today I could hear 3 little voices yelling ‘Miss Crosbie’ – aaaahhhh teacher’s nightmare to be relaxing by the pool in a bikini, only to be greeted by your kids charging round and throwing each other in the pool!

Last night my friend had a barbeque on her outside terrace. I think we girls can be very proud of ourselves for successfully cooking everything on the bbq with no male assistance whatsoever.

Now for a little bit about the next drama in school. On Friday we were called into the staffroom for (yet another) emergency meeting. This week’s big shocker is that the principal has resigned, probably with immediate effect. Whether he jumped or was pushed is another issue, so watch this space for what happens next. So now we have no principal, but they have managed to replace the bursar (who made a midnight dash back to India about 2 weeks ago), so hopefully we should get paid this month.

My group of friends and I have now firmly established Friday night as restaurant night. Each week we’re trying somewhere new. There are loads of great restaurants here, all with really good food. We went to the Turkish this week, which is lovely because there are lots of comfy sofas to relax on and it’s all outdoors in a park. We’ve also tried out the Thai, the Belgian, various Indians – we think Mexican may be the next on the cards.

Now I wonder if anybody can figure out his little conundrum for me – my friends and I have tried, but we are no closer to reaching an understanding. When you want to buy soft drinks here, they come in the returnable bottles – all well and good so far I hear you say. However, when you try to buy one in the shop, they won’t allow you to buy it unless you have a bottle to return. Nor will they let you put down a deposit. So if any of you can think of a solution – answers on a postcard to …

White Water rafting on the Nile

Today I am a little sore around the arms, a bit bruised and battered and have 2 very sun burnt knees because my suncream clearly wasn't as waterproof as it was supposed to be. Well I thought I had been rafting in Colombia - but this is nothing compared to yesterday's adventure. We set off to Jinja, which is the source of the Nile to go on a whole day rafting. Apparently it is in the top 3 places to do white water rafting in the world and I can see why. It's such a shame that they are building a dam right now, so it will come to the end and make a huge eyesore as well. So there were 5 of us and we felt very sorry for the poor Swedish bloke who got stuck in a boat with us weaklings who were too weak to drag ourselves back into the boat when were tipped out and spent the whole day hauling us lot in!! We went through full on grade 4 and 5 rapids, we were tipped and thrown in every direction. At one point I got thrown out, I lost the boat and was hurtling downstream the Nile at full pelt - next stop Egypt I thought!! I struggled to understand the Kiwi instructor as I wondered what I was supposed to lift until I realised he actually meant left. The scenery was totally stunning - the river is so vast and all you can see is trees, hills, an immense blue sky and all the wildlife. We saw massive lizards, eagles flying over us and loads of different birds I'd never seen before. There were points where we just floated down and it was so tranquil. Then the guy in the rescue boat, who must've been incredibly strong, rowed all 4 boats for about half an hour, so we just lay back and basked in the sun. I think the other people in the boat must've been a bit worried about the future of the kids we're educating. Kelly made a few classic quotes - especially when she said the the instructor 'Have you done this before?' errr we hoped so (think she actually meant which other places, but never mind) and 'What does sugar cane taste like?' errrr probably sugar love - what do you think? So you will be glad to know that I am no longer the dizziest blond. I slept very well last night, being totally exhausted from the day.

School has started now and the kids have been in for 3 days now. All I can say about my class is WOW, WOW, WOW!!! Am wondering to myself when they are going to stop being so polite, articulate, helpful and nice and start behaving like normal kids and start knocking seven bells out of each other and so on. Feel like am on one of those training videos they show you when you're training to teach and the kids come out with all the right answers and nobody starts messing about or anything - very strange. I gave my top reading group books just a bit higher than my top kids in Colombia had at the end of the year - only to discover they read them 2 years ago - whoops! We are having a bit of a nightmare with the planning and paperwork though and spending very long days in school. Apparently last year there were 4 different people teaching in the year group - including an American who just got up in the middle of the night once and left the country - it's all a bit of a mystery. Also, there is a ridiculous procedure for getting hold of any resources where you have to sign things out - and there is about a 4 minute window for that each day, otherwise you're screwed.
I don't know if any of you heard but there is an old king of Jinja who died last week, so we have a national day of mourning on Monday - otherwise known as a public holiday - hooray!!!! So to treat ourselves, a group of us are heading to Jinja tomorrow to the source of the Nile to go white water rafting - yayyyyy!!!!! I can't wait.

First fortnight

First Impressions

It seems like a life time, but I’ve only been here for 2 weeks, but so much has happened. Can’t say that I got off to the best start, as my luggage arrived 24 hours after I did, then the next morning I woke up with a swollen eye, which I think was an allergic reaction to the lavender eye mask I wore on the plane. So I think I made quite a first I impression on my new workmates!

The induction has been fairly low key, which is definitely better than having information overload. We’ve had lots of time to plan and sort out our classrooms. It’s much less formal than the Anglo – I am still yet to have to stand to hear the national anthems of Uganda and Great Britain – thank goodness. Things are pretty chaotic though, since the secondary are due to move to the new site, which hasn’t even been completed yet. Primary are staying in the old building and we may have to move midyear, but I really hope we can just stay put as I really don’t like the idea of having to shift everything half way through.

I have just moved into a gorgeous new house. The view from my bedroom window is stunning – you can see all the hills of Kampala and there’s lots of tropical trees inbetween the buildings. I am sharing with another teacher as you can get something much better between 2 people. We have a huge living and dining room, a big kitchen with loads of work surface space, a big bedroom each, I got the ensuite room with a bath and then we have 3 balconies for entertaining on. The housed warming party is due in about 2 weeks.

At the moment I’m waiting for my shipping to arrive – I think it’s at the airport now and hopefully I can collect it tomorrow. Then I can really set up home. It’s all been a bit of a drama trying to move out of the school accommodation. When I arrived I nearly got on the first plane back because the house was so horrible. They hadn’t even bothered to get it cleaned properly, so the floors were filthy, the bed sheets hadn’t been washed, but as all of that stuff was in my shipment, then I had no choice to use them. If it was a hostel I wouldn’t have paid 10 dollars to stay the night. Then the walls were this disgusting battleship grey colour, which made it look really dark inside. So every night, I just sat on my balcony because I couldn’t stand to be inside there. The kitchen was so small that it was a major accomplishment to be able to boil an egg in there, and the bathroom had just a wet room and the sink on the corridor. So I am relieved to be out of there and somewhere really nice instead.

All of the new teachers this year are lovely. There’s a real mix of people – Americans, Canadians, Dutch, German, Belgians, Australians and English. We’ve had lots of nights out and getting to know each other now. Ugandans seem really lovely people. They’re a lot calmer and quieter than West Africans and not so much in your face. They only really whisper muzungu! There’s a huge amount of foreigners in Kampala, plus a massive Indian community.

That’s about it for now. I need another little snooze. This afternoon I will go on a mission to find half decent wireless – the internet is painfully slow here. It takes about 20 mins just to open an email in school, hence my lack of contact since being here …

Royal Ascot Goat Races

Royal Ascot Goat Races

An annual tradition in Kampala is the Royal Ascot Goat Races, held in a resort by Lake Victoria. I am sure it’s the only time in my life that I will have an invitation to a marquee in Ascot anyway! So we all dressed up to the nines, some even bought hats for the occasion, and spent a day of drinking champagne and a spot of minor gambling in the sunshine! It was a gorgeous sunny day and we all had tickets to go into what was meant to be the best tent, with free food and drink for the day – hooray! Well free drink all day until it ran out and was replaced with a mountain of empty champagne and wine bottles.

Watching goat racing is absolutely hilarious. For starters, they don’t really want to race at all, so behind them there’s a man pushing a barrier to give them a bit of a shove. And there’s still no guarantee that they will run – if they get distracted by a nice bit of grass to munch on or a bit of attention from the crowd, then they just come to a complete stop. Otherwise they may get into a bit of a huddle and potter along, or go in the wrong direction. Basically, goats are not really designed to run. Having said that, a few of us are thinking of entering a goat into next year’s contest. I wonder if we can get free club membership for pets. Imagine a goat on a treadmill …Sadly, my luck wasn’t in when it came to laying bets. I lost the huge sum of around 4000 Shillings – just over a quid.

By late afternoon the free booze had come to an end, so we headed over to the Latino Bar stall for a few mojitos where we met lots of Colombians! As I’d had a few vinos, then clearly I was in fluent Spanish mode and had a good old natter and found out that one of the girls lived about 15 minutes from where I was in Bogota – small world.

By the end of the day we were all suitably tired and tipsy and piled back into the bus to go home and have little rests before heading out again – or that was the plan – what actually happened was that I woke up the following morning – whoops! Off out to buy the Sunday Pepper (Uganda’s best tabloid paper) to see if we made the final copy!

Ready to go!

Hi everyone,

Well it's the day before the first day of my new life in Africa, Uganda to be precise. So my bags are pretty much packed (and feeling a little bit heavy - am hoping that somebody at check-in will take pity on me tomorrow), otherwise no doubt I will be flashing my underwear at Manchester Airport as I try to reduce the amount of stuff I have at the last minute.

So I am armed with enough deet to attack a plague of mosquitos for the next century, and a ridiculous amount of suncream, teabags, all those essential beauty products that I will probably have to live without once they run out and a million handbags from Colombia!

My passport is all ready, e-ticket printed and yellow fever certificate in the bag - so let's hope there's no last minute emergencies!

So the next installment will be from Kampala.

Wish me luck.

Ali x