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!!

Warning: Gin and Tonic DOES NOT protect against malaria

Never get complacent in Uganda. Be it about taking care of your belongings, driving along the treacherous roads or your health. I did, and am now paying the price fighting off a second bout of malaria.

After spending a weekend in Jinja a couple of weeks ago, a friend asked if I took a prophylaxis.
"Oh no," I quipped, "I'm sure the quinine in the amount of gin and tonic I supped protected me well enough."

Good quality tonic contains quinine (which glows under ultraviolet light)

It didn't. On Wednesday night, I was wiped out when I came home from school and took a long nap, which is unusual for me. On Thursday night I suffered alternately from soaring fevers and shivers that had me snuggling under the sleeping bag I used on Kili, designed for minus 15 degrees Centigrade. I estimate the real temperature to have been around plus 23 degrees.

I knew the signs too well. It was time to stop kidding myself that I had caught a friend's cold and time to take a malaria test. I crossed my fingers, but the red line still appeared.

Obviously there is never a good time to catch malaria, but this seems particularly bad. Right now, we are in the middle of writing reports, the kids start their SATS tomorrow, I had planned to go on a 60 km bike ride to Lake Albert at the weekend and we head off for the school trip to Zanzibar next Monday. Clearly there is too much to do to get sick.

There are only two good thinga about having malaria for a second time that I can think of. One is knowing how to avoid the worst parts. I demanded the anti-nausea tablets straight away, which have helped me manage the heady mix of painkillers and anti-malarials. They are the best thing ever invented, They have also saved me from having to go back and spend a day on a drip. I am very grateful for that.

The other good thing is that you know exactly which friend to call. The one who will come and get you from the surgery in a posh frock (again), cook me Heinz tomato soup, make sure I don't fall asleep before taking the next dose of pills and try her best to tell entertaining stories to a very spaced out audience. Thank you for that - I hope I never have to return the favour for you, but will do anytime you need me.

Today I am on the mend. I do have woozy moments, but I was pleased to be able to leave the house for a few hours of fresh air, good company and relaxation. I am going to work for a few hours tomorrow and will take things one step at a time.

As for the bike ride ... well let's see! Maybe a mini bike ride is on the cards instead.

TMA

For the past few weeks I've been suffering from a nasty case of TMA. Like many tropical diseases, it can lie undetected for sometime, festering away, until diagnosed by a friend. Symptoms include a general sense of lethargy, lack of inspiration (notice how this is the first time I have blogged in about a fortnight) and serious cravings for shops and good customer service.

TMA, short for Too Much Africa, and more specifically TMK (Too Much Kampala) is an insidious little infection but luckily there is simple and effective cure:
leave Kampala as soon as possible and take a large dose of Jinja.

This weekend I recuperated from TMK at The Haven in Jinja, whilst celebrating a friend's birthday. Specific treatments included gazing at a beautiful view, good company and conversation. Activities were lighthearted and leisurely such as Scrabble and Petanque on the lawn. Most importantly, it is important to keep hydrated on such occasions with liberal doses of white wine or gin and tonic.

I am feeling invigorated and feel I have the energy to make it through the next few weeks until the holidays.

A spot of indulgence in Jinja

There's a theory that the longer you stay in Uganda, the better the food tastes. A slice of mature cheddar wouldn't raise much excitement at home but it becomes a real treat here. A trip to Jinja is always about the food. It's hardly surprising really when the town sounds as though it was named after one of my favourite types of biscuits. There's cafes with chilled out gardens and a deli packed with treats like veggie lasagne and home-made ice-cream. After a night in cheap backpacker land our little group decided we had earned the right to upgrade ourselves to a bit of lazy camping overlooking the Nile. It's a tranquil spot and as we filled our bellies with delicious pumpkin soup and freshly baked bread our eyes also got a feast of spectacular views. It's funny, but when I first arrived in Uganda I thought it was pretty but I wasn't bowled over. I missed the breathtakingly dramatic landscapes I had grown accustomed to in Colombia. Now I wonder what I was thinking. Simply the drive out of Kampala makes my shoulders drop by a couple of inches. This weekend, cycling through the villages raised a smile to my face. The amazing contrasts of colours, from the myriad shades of green in the fields to the dusty orange roads and the ever changing skies. as always, the children ran along with us in their broken flip-flops and their smiles beamed brightly. I am sure that my weekend of indulgence will help push me through the week ahead!

A Sunday morning jog!

Did I mention that I ran a half marathon yesterday? That’s 21km, or half the distance from Kampala to Entebbe and WAY more than 6 laps of the school field (as my kids thought today). Just in case you weren’t in the staffroom for the morning briefing where it was announced, haven’t read my facebook update or read my previous blog or heard me twittering on about it, then I would just like to make it known! I’m not normally one to blow my own trumpet, but I am very proud of myself and today is all about rewarding myself for my achievement! I’ve treated my weary feet to a pedicure, indulged in Indian take-away and am about to have a massage in the comfort of my own room to soothe my aching joints.
Things did not appear to be going to plan at the start. We arrived in Jinja to find that some unscrupulous back-packers had decided to upgrade themselves from their nasty dorm room to our cosy safari tent, the restaurant was almost fully booked and one of us was missing the registration pack. As always these things were soon resolved and we eventually sat down to a carbo-fuelled dinner with a few friends.
Alarms were set for the crack of dawn for the big race, not just one, but at five minute intervals, just in case we overslept as it would have been a shame to wake up at noon to say ‘oh shit, we were supposed to run a half marathon this morning!’ . This proved to be unnecessary, as the torrential rain woke us up early instead. We threw on our clothes and I had my Weetabix by the light of the torch on my mobile phone and set off for the run. Worried glances were exchanged as we had to walk through the mud bath that the boda couldn’t get through.
We arrived just in the nick of time (had the race actually started on time) and with plenty of time to spare for the actual starting time. We positioned ourselves a fair distance from the starting line so that anyone wishing to rush through would not be hindered! So after a few announcements and playing the Ugandan National Anthem, we were off.
We had a strategy in mind from the beginning. Just like ‘The Hare and the Tortoise’, slow and steady wins the race. We let people pass us out and managed to be somewhat unaffected by the fact that most of the runners were hurtling off ahead of us. After ten minutes our theory seemed to be working. I would love to know what happened to the lady who had already virtually given up after about 2 km. We asked her if she’d like to jog along with us, but after another 500 m or so she really had burnt out, poor love! We carried on, chatting away to keep our spirits up. By the time we reached the 5km mark, the fastest of the 10km race runners were catching us up and overtaking us, running gazelle-like in elegant formation. (Time to reassess here – slow and steady just gets you through the race but you need fast and furious to stand a chance of winning that 10km race.)We made a gap and allowed them to pass, enjoying the cheers as we went by.
After the 5km mark, the routes split and we separated from the 10 k-ers. The next 10 km was long and tough going. We hardly passed a soul and any onlookers were very bemused, unsure whether to cheer us on or just laugh out loud whole-heartedly – it was mainly the latter. Thank goodness there were two of us. We intermittently commented on multi-coloured birds, the lush green fields, the ever stunning sky and the way the light reflected so prettily off the. It sure beats running through the pollution fest that is Kampala. If only it wasn’t so bloody long and tiring! Sorry, I was meant to be looking for the positive!
By 9.30am we got onto the main road again and neared civilisation again. And I started to need the loo! Trust me – over an hour of empty roads and I feel fine – surround myself with cars and people and I desperately needed a wee. Focus, focus, focus … oh I know what can distract me – the excruciating pain in both knees. By this point I was having conversations with my legs, ‘don’t worry,’ I promised, ‘you won’t have to do anything all week and I’ll treat you to a massage’. But we were so close, and I knew that if I stopped then it would be all over. Overtaking a few flagging runners was definitely a boost and after a long stretch back into town we saw the sign for the final kilometre. We used every remaining bit of energy to make it to the end and my running buddy grabbed my hand as we made it to the finishing line.
An hour later, the three of us (my flatmate also ran the 10km – yay well done!!) were sitting by the Nile basking in our own glory, enjoying a hearty breakfast and a well earned glass of bubbly, then beer, then … well I’d fallen asleep by then! It’s amazing how the brain works and allows you to forget pain, as we were soon left with just a warm glowing feeling – be it from pride or alcohol, who cares? We bloody did it!

So long, farewell ... the comings and goings of Kampala

Life as an international teacher has its ups and downs. Unlike working in the UK, you often find that your friends are your colleagues and at times it can feel as though you are living inside a bubble. Friendships are forged quickly as people share their new experiences and your colleagues become your friends, your exercise pals, drinking buddies and often closest confidantes. It all goes swimmingly well, then around the third month, if you’re not careful, then cabin fever sets in. This is why it is really important to seek friends outside of the workplace. In Colombia, this was a bit of a struggle due to the language barrier and a lack of other ex-pats. Sure, there were people who I met who were kind and patient enough to listen to my crap Spanish for half an hour, but I must have made pretty exhausting company with all my mistakes and misunderstandings!
Kampala, however, is a little different. For an African city, there are literally thousands of foreigners staying here for different reasons. It’s pretty easy to spot who is who too! Anyone who walks around Garden City shopping mall in hiking boots and trousers with too many pockets is here on a visit for safari. Then there are the young gap year volunteers, who can be heard bartering with locals in order to save a ha’penny from a hundred yards away. There are probably thousands of young, well-educated folk working here for various NGO organisations, teachers and medical staff working in both private and public schools and hospitals for an average two or three year stint (this would be my category!), living on a moderate wage. If you walk into the Irish pub, you will find a huge crowd of South Africans watching the rugby or just enjoying a pint or eight, who are working for big multinationals like the phone companies and so on. Then there are the old timers – the families who have stayed here for generations and feel completely at home, be it in Kampala or out in the country.
Many people are only staying for a month or two and it soon becomes clear that people want to know which sort of person you are. A first meeting with a foreigner in Kampala will usually establish what line of work you are in and, the key question, how long are you staying! The long-timers see my time here as a fleeting visit and it would be very easy for me to think the same of the folk staying here for 6 months or so. Many a conversation has ended, and many a friendship has not had the chance to get off the ground in this city, just because of how long you are staying. I get it – it takes much precious time and effort to make new friends, and it’s sad to see them go.
This year though, I have started to break out of the bubble a little. Monday is the hash day which provides me with a good run and a chance to meet new people and catch up with old friends. On a Wednesday I go to yoga and have made a few friends there too. Many of us are trying our hardest to branch out, which then means that we get to meet friends of friends. I know that this does not sound very remarkable to anyone living in their home country, but believe me when I say that this is progress! This weekend I went to Jinja with a couple of friends to farewell one of these newer friends. It’s sad to see people go, but making the effort most definitely helps keep you sane here!