Feeling Festive

I spent the last week in Kampala trying to be festive. Eggnog at Book Club on Monday, four Secret Santa games (yes four!!) at various parties, mince pies, Christmas carols and mulled wine, all in the hottest week since August. All of these activities conducted in floaty skirts and flip flops. Whatever you do, it's hard to understand that it's Christmas.
Now I'm home and have forgotten I have ever been warm. I'm wrapped up in fleeces and blankets, unable to tear myself away from the fire. But it does feel Christmassy. As I drove back from the airport this morning, I saw the blanket of snow covering the surrounding hills.  There were even 2 reindeer in town this morning! Since when do we get so much snow here? Must dash - it's time for a mince pie and a Baileys!

Flaming Rain

"It's just a little drizzle," said one of the Belgians as we set off for our Sunday bike ride around Flametree Stables, 20km or so out of Kampala.
Clearly, he was unfamiliar with the Peter Kay definition of drizzle of being 'that fine stuff that gets you wet'. This was no drizzle, but a continuous, all day downpour.
And with the rain, came mud, and lots of it. By the end of the ride, my wheels were completely blocked and I had to shovel great big chunks out with my hands. I was ready to abandon my bike altogether and give the village kids a very generous early Christmas present.
As usual, the planned 40kms turned into 48km as we had to divert along different routes.
In spite of the rain and cloud, Factor 30 and wearing a coat for most of the day, I still managed to get sun burnt ... how is that possible?
Here's a few pics from along the ride ...

An old friend ...

8 men + 2 women = too much mud for my liking ...

Swamp number 1

Mud enforced walking

Feathers!

Today I received a complaint from a parent about our production of Seussical the Musical. She thought it was unfair that the male teachers were given bottles of wine as a 'thank you' whilst the women got bunches of flowers. I couldn't agree more!

It's been the usual hectic rush of making props and scenery, organising costumes, programs and displays. For the past few days I've been coming home covered in glitter and feathers. Luckily, this year, the feathers in question were prettily coloured ostrich feathers from South Africa. In my first year here, the experience was a little less pleasant. Our team ordered some feathers to make costumes for some of the kids. Instead of the brightly coloured synthetic feathers us teachers are accustomed to we were presented with a big black bin liner full of chicken feathers. Straight from the abattoir. Smelly, dirty and complete with lumps of recently deceased foul fowl flesh. With metaphorical pegs on our noses and rubber gloved hands, we sat in the open air and rinsed the feathers in soapy water and snipped off the offending lumps of flesh. My vegetarian soul was scarred to the core.

Feathers: dyed and processed - just how I like them!

A brush with the law

Today I was charged with ‘dangerous driving’. Apparently I didn’t give way when turning onto a roundabout. Funny – given the number of times I have had to slam on my brakes whilst already ON a roundabout, I thought the rule was to drive headlong onto them and then give way to approaching vehicles.

Anyway, I was pulled over by the police station and even though I knew I had done nothing wrong, I realised I was standing on shaky ground. I still have my UK licence as I haven’t got the foggiest how you are supposed to trade it in for the Ugandan version and my car is still not registered in my name for the same reason. I decided to suck it up and cut my losses.

The police lady filled in the form and asked when I was going to go to the bank to pay the fine. Well, there is no time like the present, so I decided it would be easier to get it done there and then. So Madam Police-lady got in the car and we drove up to the bank so I could pay my debt to society.

As we drove up the hill the heavens opened and the traffic thickened. I suggested parking at the shopping centre across the road, as I feared being charged for yet another driving offence, should I park in the wrong manner.

“But Madam,” says the WPC, “ it is raining, we will get dirty!”

Thus ensued a discussion over the Ugandan traffic police uniform – pure white, gloves and all. She told me it was a total nightmare and that she had to soak it all day and scrub for hours with plenty of Omo to get it clean. I suggested they change their uniform to a colour more suited to the Ugandan environment, dusty orange perhaps! She thought it was a good idea.

As it was after 2pm on a Saturday, I wondered whether the bank would still be open. I was in luck. This particular branch has extended hours to cope with the numerous traffic fines they receive each day. The bank teller told me they process over thirty traffic fines a day!

Minutes later and forty-two thousand Shillings worse off I handed the slip to the policewoman and she set off, clipboard in hand, to snare more drivers. Let’s hope she stopped some of the less innocent ones next time …

Doctor Doctor ...

Today I had to pay a visit to the doctor's for a bit of tummy trouble. If there's one thing that I have learnt since arriving in Kampala, it's that if you're sick you should go to the doctor's straight away, otherwise things will only get much, much worse.

Now there are many stories surrounding a certain British doctor who has a somewhat unorthodox bedside manner. Disconcerting as this may be, at least the doctors here seem to focus on the areas with the symptoms. Complain of a fever and the doc will promptly stick a thermometer in your mouth. Mention a funny tummy and you will be instructed to poo in a pot - sorry if this is a little graphic, but TIA!

This is more than could be said for some of the doctors in Colombia. Given that it is a nation of hypochondriacs, you would think they would be more on target. A friend of mine once visited the doctor's complaining of a sore throat. Rather than shine a torch on the affected area to take a closer look, she was told to stand against the wall chart to see how tall she was? Why, I don't know. The only possible explanation I can think of is that Bogota stands at an altitude of 2500 metres above sea level. Perhaps if you are over a certain height, you are more susceptible to afflictions of the throat due to lack of oxygen ... Another time, a friend went to the doctor to sort out an old knee injury. The first diagnostic question? How old were you when you lost your virginity? How is this relevant? And there she was thinking it was a running injury!

As for my tummy - I was diagnosed with food poisoning, most likely caused by the mayonnaise in my egg mayo sandwiches. I blame Umeme ... I'm on the mend though!

Small acts of kindness

I’ve never been much into religion. Those who know me may be surprised to hear, since I am tone deaf, that I was once a member of the church choir. My reasons for joining though were purely mercenary. Firstly, I knew that they passed notes in the back of the hymn books during the sermon, secondly, they sneakily ate Polo mints throughout the service and finally, you got paid a pound to sing (or mime along) at a wedding on a Sunday. I am, however, a firm believer in passing on random acts of kindness.

Kampala is still a cash based society and consequently my friends and I often find ourselves caught out. There is rarely a moment when I am not either owed money or in debt to somebody else.

This weekend was no exception. I wanted to have some money to go to the Christmas Bazaar to buy presents for folks at home and also needed a bit of shopping.  Typically, whenever you need money it is hard to come by. Every ATM I tried was either completely down due to the power cut or had a network failure. I was not impressed. However, a couple of things put a smile on my face that day.

•   I used my entire cash reserves and a little more on presents for myself and friends on the awava stall. I emptied my wallet and was given a hefty discount for being a loyal, returning customer.

•   When I went to saloon (as they say here) for my wash and blow dry before the Scottish Ball (precautionary booking in case there was a power cut) I asked if I could pay by card. There was afterall, a big sticker saying Visa on the counter. When I was told that it wasn’t working I was about to skulk home, contemplating what I could do with my post bike ride hair in twenty minutes without the aid of a hairdryer. I was delighted to hear the words ‘you can pay us when you have some money’.

Call it karma or whatever you will, but I like it.

Where is my prince?

I lost a shoe at the St Andrew's Ball last night; prince-like men of Kampala may apply below. Luckily it was not one of my lovely sparkly heels that I left behind, but one of the flats I brought with me for dancing. So far nobody has knocked at my door with the missing footwear. I am sure my prince is simply lost (eh sebo, you are lost!), fallen down a pothole or unable to locate me since my address lacks both a street name and plot number!

Twas a fun and slightly old-fashioned affair, with a band flown in all the way from Bonnie Scotland, our resident bagpiper and a toasting to the (veggie in my case) haggis. The ladies had a dance card and had to book dances with different partners throughout the evening. After a couple of glasses of bubbly and a few swigs of malt whisky from the passing quiach (I thought it was a wassail cup, but have it on good authority that the shared silver bowl of whisky was in fact a quiach), we 'Split the Willow', did a 'Postie's Jig' and a 'Round Wheel of Eight'. Fortunately, the evening was not interrupted by the police trying to arrest the 'Progressive Gay Gordons' though!

The experts show us how it's done with the demo dance!

Those of you who have been following my frequent rants about not being able to cook will be relieved to know that I have FINALLY been provided with a gas bottle!

I no longer have to choose between running errands and cooking or taking exercise and cooking!

I can buy fresh food again in the knowledge that it will not go off before I have chance to cook it!

Hip hip hooray! Thought it deserved a post of its own!

Acronyms and Acrostics ...

Where-ever you are in Uganda, you are never more than six feet away from a sign with an acronym. Many are associated with the multitudinous NGOs (oops - there's one already ...) or the various UN agencies.

When we climbed Kilimanjaro, we had special T-shirts printed with our school name on the back. It wasn't long before a confused Tanzanian guide asked us why we had the word 'knife' in Swahili printed on our shirts - oops! I know Swahili isn't widely spoken in Uganda, but you'd have thought that somebody would have spotted that one! I recently heard about an organisation in the North of Uganda called 'ADRA' . Unfortunately, they didn't do their research and it was later discovered that this literally translates as 'fuck' in the local Karamajong language! Just a little bit embarrassing then!

I was wondering what UMEME stands for, so I wrote a little acrostic ....

Useless

Muppets

Eternally

Messing-up

Electricity supply

Any other ideas?

I wanna be a Stick Chick!

A weekend watching polo? Why not? And this time I mean REAL polo, on ponies, not Boda Polo .

After a short while I became an expert and was talking the lingo. Here is a brief summary:

1. A match is comprised of several chukkas, or periods of play of 7 1/2 minutes. Any longer would be exhausting for the ponies.
2. A team normally consists of 4 players, or 3 on a smaller pitch.
3. Each team must have at least one player named Tristan. If no Tristans are available, then a Quentin, Oliver or Sebastian will suffice.
4. The audience may help by divot stomping during the intervals - this involves turning the chunks of grass that flew out during play back into the pitch.
5. Audience members must drink at least 1 glass of Pimm's!
6. Date a player and you can become a 'Stick Chick'!

Pimm's o'clock? Again!

Best dressed?

How do you get to be a chick stick?

Let's hope Customs allow me back into the North of England in December after all these posh pursuits!!

The Umeme Regime

Open any celebrity magazine and you are guaranteed to find some kind of special diet or other - Raw Food, Blood Type, Detox, Atkins and many more. For the past few months I have been following the Umeme Diet. I suspect that a few of my friends have been doing the same thing. Let me tell you about it. Principally, there are two kinds of days, power and non-power, which usually alternate. Occasionally, I am rewarded by two power days in a row, but that should never be taken for granted. Here are a few examples of some of the types of food you may eat on each of the days.

Power Days
For breakfast, you can make smoothies, have a cup of tea or even a slice of toast
For dinner, choose any hot food you desire (and can find in the shops in Kampala) - pasta dishes, soup, roasted veggies ... the list is endless
Quick snacks may include beans on toast or eggs to your liking
Hot beverages
Baking cakes, scones or desserts

Non Power Days
Breakfast is limited to cereal with slightly warm UHT milk, fruit, water or fruit juice, bread if it hasn't gone stale
Unlimited amounts of fruit
Dinner choices include salad, cereal (as per breakfast), sandwiches, or any leftovers if you were smart enough to cook a lot on a power day

Non Power days are testing and often result in going out for dinner or ordering in. Luckily ordering in is not such a temptation, since the lack of street names makes it particularly difficult for any delivery services to actually find me.

I'm living in the hope that there is an end in sight to this horrible diet, if not by non power days being eradicated, at least by the addition of a gas cylinder. I'm not holding my breath though ...

Hell is ...

Remember, remember, the fifth of November …

If I were in the UK, I would have spent this evening wrapped up in scarves and gloves, watching fireworks and crowding around a bonfire.

As no such thing exists in Kampala, I instead headed to the am-dram performance of ‘No Exit’ by Jean Paul Sartre.

Sixty years ago or so, Sartre exclaimed that ‘hell is other people’. For the past decade or so, reality shows such as ‘Big Brother’ have confirmed that. In some senses, Hell is a better place than Kampala, since there is a line about the lights never going out, because they have all the electricity they want!

After the performance we sat around and discussed whom we would least like to be stuck in a lift.  It didn’t take us long to decide that, given we were talking about all eternity; even your best friends would drive you to distraction. Trapped on my own for all eternity, I would drive myself mental too! Writers such as Sartre, Beckett, Ionesco, Camus, to name a few, have been hailed as being great thinkers, philosophers and intellectuals, regaled for their exploration of the human condition. I don’t think so. Here’s what I think really happened:

One rainy Sunday afternoon, in the dingiest corner of a shabby café on the Left Bank of Paris, Sartre, Beckett, Camus and their cronies gathered for their usual antics. Endless Gauloises were smoked, whilst they tried to impress the waitress by knocking back shots of Absinthe. Several rounds later, real conversation was getting a little tricky, so Jean-Paul (the reputation of being a brooding intellectual misery-guts is totally unfounded) initiated a little drinking game. Previous endeavours include ‘Polovember’ in which participants must wear the same polo neck sweater and oversized coat for the entire month of November. This time, the game was about with whom they would least like to be trapped in a lift. Most folks would have the chat, go home, have a cup of tea, and think no more of it. Not them. They decided to write plays to demonstrate the point. Sartre produced ‘No Exit’, whilst Beckett trumped him by producing not one, but two plays about being trapped with a grumpy old grouch for eternity, hence ‘Endgame’ and “Waiting for Godot’. Conveniently enough, for ones who spent their lives in a red wine and cigarette smoke haze, their plays didn’t really require much of a set or many props, save the odd pair of old boots, a couple of dustbins or a door.

If you would like to write an existentialist play of your own, follow my simple formula.

Characters: Keep it simple – two main protagonists, preferably old, with a few cameo visitors

Plot: Don’t bother. Stop being so conventional, will you? OK, if you insist, two characters bicker and occasionally a visitor will pass by to provoke and antagonise them further

Set and props: Whatever you have lying around – a broken clock will have the critics chirping on about the symbolism of eternity and despair for a while.

Now if you excuse me, I’m off to write an existential play of my own, which will explore human will, subversion, choices and the conformity of society. Once again it’s based on a drinking game and is called ‘Shag, Marry, Shove’!

Are you taking the Mickey, or what?

My quest to find a new job has begun. The forms and CVs have all been completed and now all I have to do is decide where in the world I want to go next and actually GET a job - not much then!

The choices of where to go are dizzying. Not only do I want to find a country in which I would like to live, but also try to find the right balance of salary, a school that looks welcoming, well resourced and offering opportunities for development, a social life outside of work, fun places to travel in the holidays and a good standard of living.

I'm using a specialised international teaching recruitment company that helps the process become a little easier. Each school publishes the vital statistics, such as the salary, benefits, the curriculum offered and details about the school community. I'm thinking of printing off all the forms and playing a giant game of 'International Schools Top Trumps'!
It would go something like this:
Salary: $55 000 a year beats $45 000
Flight allowance: Annual beats every 2 years

I wish I could make my mind up on where I would like to be. One minute, I think that Eastern Europe would be appealing; it's close to home, has some culture and I imagine the cost of living is still fairly reasonable. Then I remember that it would involve learning a really complicated language ... But it would be lovely to experience seasons again after 2 years in the land of eternal spring in Bogota and 3 years of the alternating 'hot and dry' and 'hot and wet' of Uganda. At the moment the 'hot and wet' is triumphing!

Then there is Asia, which with its diverse number of different cultures surely can't be lumped together as one homogenous group. The mixture of ancient and fascinating cultures and blossoming modern cities is appealing. I have yet to step foot on that continent and the prospect of travelling there is very enticing. On the other hand, I could be a little lost with the even more complicated languages with alphabets I can't even read and I would feel like a giant all the time and not be able to find any clothes to fit!

I had never considered the Middle East before, but now I wonder whether I should open myself up to the idea of living in a modern city like Dubai. I have always imagined it to be a soulless place and don't really relish the idea of having to live in air-conditioned shopping malls and cars all the time. However, after 3 years in Uganda, I wouldn't mind living somewhere where things actually work and earning a few big bucks.

Do you see why I am in such a dilemma?

Certainly the strangest thing I have ever seen is the 'Disney English School of Shanghai', where the whole curriculum is based around Disney films. I don't think I would be avery good fit for this sickly sweet approach to education, unless I was able to spend any bad tempered days in role as Cruella de Ville! If I had to teach in a themed school, I would prefer the Hogwarts International School. Lunch duties would be far more entertaining, I could turn anybody who chatters in class into a frog and fly home on my broomstick at the end of the day.

Take a look at this clip about the Disney school

Funnily enough, the percentage of British teachers at this school is a big fat zero! Oh and take a look at the 'up next' clip in the top right hand corner - a slightly disturbing juxtaposition I would say!

Bush Mechanics

Here is my simple guide to 'bush mechanics' or how to fix your car in the middle of nowhere!

It is essential to have music on a long road trip, so adding an extra 2 hour wait to the journey is well worth it ... except when the car breaks down an hour later! In Uganda, everything can and frequently is fixed using duct tape. The skill lies in knowing which wires to cut and which ones to leave alone!

Take advantage of unexpected pit stops and tuck into the tasty home made cheesy pesto scones!

And when it gets really bad (or starts raining, whichever comes first) crack open a bottle of chilled white wine from the cool box. After all, you may as well take advantage when you have hired a driver along with the car!

To quote my friend:

"It's like a general rule of life: if something is on fire, you should wait until it cools down before touching it!"

Unfortunately, our driver had not heard such words of wisdom and decided to pour a jerry can of water directly into the smoking engine. Unsurprisingly, it backfired on him!

He was also convinced that the car would be fine after this because his 'sixth sense' told him so. But why didn't his sixth sense tell him the car would break down an hour into the journey in the first place? Not to worry, even in the back of beyond, you can find a helpful mechanic on call, ready to share some helpful tips and stick a blade of grass into the engine to diagnose the problem. We decided that we weren't convinced that this mechanic was totally bona fide, mainly for the unrelated but disturbing reason that his flies were undone, he wasn't wearing underpants and he hadn't noticed that his bits were on display to one and all.  Five minutes later, our driver decided to give up on his sixth sense and request a replacement car.

I would have thought that the simplest way to replace the diesel would be for the car hire company to reimburse us for what we had bought so that we could fill up our tank again. TIA rules here though, so we used buckets and empty water bottles to drain the fuel from one vehicle and poured it into the next, losing several precious litres in the process! 

Can you see a weird looking face in this bowl of diesel? Kind of looks like he's laughing at us, don't you think?

I would have used a tube to transfer the diesel from one car to the other . But then who am I to comment?

Ellies!

OK - there are many, many elephant pictures here, but couldn't resist sharing them all!

Is there anything cuter than this baby elephant with his mummy?

This big fella reminded us of the woolly mammoth from the Ice Age films!

A little play fighting

Go easy boys!

Sizing each other up!

The whole clan!

Lions!

Lots and lots of lions - sleeping lions, mating lions and tree climbing lions! 

This little lady was hiding in the long grasses ready to pounce!

He's on the prowl for a lady! Given that this couple must have been at least 200 metres away (and hardly visible to the naked eye) I think I did pretty well to capture them!

Wham bam, thank you ma'am!  He didn't waste much time - it was over in seconds. Then again, since lions do the business up to fifty times a day during mating season, then I guess they don't have much time for pleasantries. I hope he is at least polite lion and calls her in the morning!

Isn't a cactus tree a little uncomfortable to rest in? Apparently, the tree climbing lions from Ishasha National Park down the road have popped up to Queen Elizabeth to teach the lions to climb trees. What they forgot to mention is that fig or acacia trees are FAR more comfortable - that must be the next lesson!

Just off for a stroll down the road! She must have decided that it wasn't so comfortable after all!

I think it's time for Ali to have an adventure!

It's a sunny morning in Kampala and I have finally come to the end of an incredibly long half term. Tomorrow I'm off on safari, returning to the lovely Katara Lodge for a spot of R & R and a little animal spotting, should the mood take me. This time we're taking it easy, hiring a car and a driver, I am on holiday after all. You never know - I may actually have some adventures to talk about when I get back ...

Shakespeare's Sunday Cycle ride

I think I shall adapt the words of William Shakespeare to describe this morning's bike ride which consisted of 30km and 3 hours of pouring rain:


I am in MUD (and rain)

Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more,

Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

We go, We go, We go ...

Whilst it may be a bit of a challenge to find a bag of sugar in the Kampala shops at the moment, there is certainly no shortage of vuvuzuelas. I was rudely awakened by one outside my house this morning and people have been honking on them non-stop ever since. Uganda is playing Kenya today at Namboole and spirits are certainly high. Every boda in town is adorned with the Ugandan flag and I've seen a gazillion Cranes shirts on the backs of Ugandans and Mzungus alike.

Try as I might, I can't muster up much enthusiasm for the old game of two halves. I also wonder if I am the only person in the world who has no interest in the Rugby World Cup right now. I had a pleasant afternoon reading my book and going for a swim instead!

It was nil-nil at half time if you're interested, but have just heard an almighty cheer, so perhaps Uganda has scored. Blar, blar, blar ...

Guilty Pleasures

We all have our little guilty pleasures. The things we secretly like, but don't want to admit to doing. Here are a few of my current guilty pleasures:

Footballers Wives
I never would have stooped to watching this when I lived in the UK, but when I saw it on sale at Papa's Corner in Kisementi (my regular dodgy DVD haunt) I could not resist the temptation. Fake nails, fake blondes, affairs, kidnappings, Chardonnay's boobs being accidentally set on fire, lots of gratuitous scenes of blokes' bare bottoms in the shower ... what's not to like? I have to say I was a little mortified when I spotted one of the wives driving a blue Rav 4 though - but I suspect hers had fewer bumps and was a newer model than ancient old Matilda (1994 edition!)

Radio 4 on the i-player
I figured I needed something to counterbalance the trash that is Footballers Wives! Now please don't imagine that I am listening to the Archers, but I do enjoy the News Quiz and a few of the comedy shows. People complain about the standard of UK television these days, but I do miss the sarcastic humour of programmes like Have I Got News For You and so forth. I have to say that I was surprised by the squeakiness of Charlie Brooker's voice though - I did not expect somebody who writes such an acerbic column eac to be so high pitched.

Roses
Not the chocolates, but the flowers. 2 dozen roses of any colour you may choose for 5000 UGX or just over £1 (and they have just nearly doubled in price). An innocent enough pleasure you would imagine, but I am aware that some of the working conditions in the rose farms are appalling. I have heard stories of them spraying the fields with pesticide whilst people are working. I really shouldn't support this by buying them. However, how do you know that the working conditions are any better when you pay £15 for the same bunch of flowers in the UK. It doesn't justify my buying of the flowers though ...

Galaxy Caramel
This time it is chocolate. I first spotted it on a supermarket shelf in Kampala back around May. I thought it was a rare treat, so I immediately bought a bar. Suddenly it was everywhere and it tasted like real, creamy Galaxy, nothing like the Dairy Milk that always tastes strangely waxy here.  Then it disappeared completely for a while. It's back now, so it's OK to eat as much as I can while it lasts, right?

Driving to work
I live less than a kilometre away from school and yet I still get in the car each morning. It's both lazy and bad for the environment. So why do I do it? Well, I really don't relish the idea of being knee high in mud, falling down a pothole or being knocked down into a storm drain by a careless driver. Give me a safe pavement and I will happily walk.

Lake Nabugabo

Lake Nabugabo at 6.30am. A rare moment of peace and tranquility on our Outdoor Ed trip last week - it was just me and the monkeys awake at that time! It's now my fourth visit there and the sunrise never fails to take my breath away - surely one of the prettiest places in Uganda!

Ntinda School for the Deaf

These cuties performed an elephant poem in sign language!

Today we visited our new Community Development project, Ntinda School for the Deaf. Children come from all over the country to study with the specialist teachers here and board at the school, many of them having been abandoned once they developed the disability. Some of the children were born deaf, while others were left with impaired hearing or total deafness following simple childhood diseases such as mumps, measles or whooping cough that could easily have been cured or prevented, had their parents access to decent medical care.

When we first arrived at the school, we all felt a little alienated. We wanted to communicate with the students, but it was like being in a new foreign country, where you don't speak the lingo. Our children quickly learnt how to introduce themselves and managed a few exchanges with the deaf students. With my sore throat and crackly voice, I wished that I was fluent in sign language and could use it in class until I recover! 

The teachers are hardworking and talented and displayed a patience that I admired. This is one of the only places in Uganda where deaf people are valued and invested in; it is sad to say that in 2011, they are still marginalised in most aspects of society here. I enjoyed watching the fascination and enthusiasm from our children and felt like it was a genuine exchange. I am looking forward to the next visit.

Learning to sew on an ancient Singer!