Moaning ex-pats

I got out of bed the wrong side this morning. I know this may be hard to believe, since my new found love of yoga should be sending me into constant state of zen, but it's true. I probably got out of the wrong side of bed because I had to sleep on the wrong side of the bed because my foam mattress has a gigantic dent in it on the side where I normally sleep. Nevertheless, this morning I was one grumpy mzungu.
I got up and got dressed for the gym, muttering and chunnering that I didn't like the shorts anymore and everything else was in the wash. I set off to leave the house and found that the guard had popped out, probably to buy himself some food, and internally groaned some more that I would have to open the gate myself. I arrived at the club, then got in a strop that I was asked to sign in and that the girl in reception had the audacity not to recognise me, then met a friend for coffee and got agitated that in spite of waving for at least 30 seconds and shouting one of my 3 words of Luganda 'Sebo' (or is it Swahili - god I am so bloody ignorant sometimes), nobody came. I strutted over to the pool while I awaited my coffee - and can you believe it, no popcorn. A few minutes later, a very efficient waiter brought me some biscuits and a smile. And at that moment, as the sugar hit my bloodstream, I realised it was time to smile and snap out of it. I have a genuine fear of becoming one of those horrendous expats that inhabit this fine city.
Here are a few examples of things we have all complained about in our time in Uganda - both myself, friends and those horrible creatures who have lived here for far too long (and I am referring to the ones who were not born here, not our generous host nation).

Shopping

Yesterday I had a notion that I would like to bake a few cookies or cakes to welcome back friends from their holidays. After googling Miss Nigella Lawson's top recipes for scrumptuous, calorific treats, I spotted cherry chocolate buns and gingerbread. It sounds delicious and my mouth was watering at the thought of such fare. Then, in the supermarket, I realised that they would not stock the golden syrup required and that the recommended Waitrose Morello Cherry Jam was a more than distant dream. If I went to another supermarket, then I would be in with a chance of getting some marmalade, which was the suggested substitute. A big sigh ensued, followed by some reason. Most people here eat one meal a day, of either posho (a kind of porridge made from a grain), matooke or rice and beans. I am not trying to say that we are wrong to crave certain foods, but that we do actually have quite an abundant choice and that we do not really lack anything. I can walk into the supermarket and find Heinz beans or ketchup, Cadbury's chocolate, Kellogs cereals, Doritos, pasta and pesto and many more familiar foods. WE ARE NOT THAT DEPRIVED!!

Wines

Wine comes with further whines.'Oh, I'm so sick of this South African wine'. Oh well, this deserves a typical Ugandan response of 'Sorry'. If you don't like it, drink waragi and then see how great your insides feel in the morning.

Restaurants

I teach in an International school and the students come from all over the world. They may be very wealthy, upper class Ugandans or they may be Europeans or North Americans, whose parents are working here for embassies or various charities or NGOs. For sure, most of the Europeans and North Americans would not be sending their children to such a school in their home countries and are only doing so here because their companies are footing the bill. Anyway, the other day I overheard a conversation between a couple of students regarding where they like to eat. Here's a snippet:
Child A: What's your favourite restaurant?
Child B: I really like Mambo Point (yummy pizza place)
Child A: Really ... well I guess that's good for a quick bite, but I mean real restaurants.
Child B looks crestfallen.
Child C: I used to like the restaurant at the Serena (posh 5 star hotel, new wing built for the Queen for the big Commonwealth conference a couple of years ago), but think it's gone downhill recently, so I have to say I much prefer the Emin Pasha (posh boutique style hotel, where Prince Charles stayed at same Commonwealth conference)
At this point, it took all I could muster not to bang my head against the wall and yell at the kids for being the most spoilt brats ever to walk this earth. I was also filled with self-loathing for choosing to teach in such an institution. I see my left-wing ideals don't go as far as to actually teach those in any kind of need when I am presented with the cushty option of teaching a minute class of 14 on a very light timetable. Bloody champagne socialist that I am becoming.

Maids

This is a common one, which again, I am guilty of bemoaning. Complaints may be about the fact that clothes go bobbly and worn more quickly than usual, not liking the way beds are made, the floor is mopped and so on. Well wakey wakey - I am very aware that I have not had to scrub my own loo for the past 4 years or do my own ironing and unless you are landed gentry, then you will never have this priviledge in a western country.

Activities

One day, I actually said 'Oh no, my private tennis lesson is cancelled because of the rain. Well I suppose I'll have to go for a manicure and pedicure instead'. Once again, when did I become such a princess?

So if all of this bothers me so much, why am I staying another year? Well, I like to think that I can instill some better values in the children I teach and help them make the right choices when it comes to treating other people. I also know that I have a bloody good life here. Yes, some things are frustrating and we all have our bad days. But they are the days when we should opt to lie low, read a good book or chill out at home. We all CHOSE to come here and unless you develop acceptance you will never be content with your choice.