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!
Sunday 18 December 2011
Thursday 8 December 2011
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 ...
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.
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! |
Saturday 3 December 2011
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 …
Thursday 1 December 2011
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!
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)