Ugandan Christmas!

It’s been an amazing and eventful week, so much so that it’s been suggested I break this down into a mini-series of blogs, maybe even one for each day. Don’t worry, I’ll save the overly detailed versions of these stories for later, probably when I see you in person and you inadvertently make me realise I haven’t yet told you the finer details of a long Christmas speech by the RDC (I don’t know what that stands for but that’s what people called him) that included festive themes like the constant threat of terrorism at any group event you are gonna visit over Christmas, neck-tie wearers being philanderers (cue embarrassment for the two people present wearing ties) and the likelihood of your child actually being fathered by your neighbour (this was at a school’s Christmas party) or other beautiful little moments of the week. In keeping with the topsy-turvy nature of a Christmas where temperatures exceed 35°, I think I’m gonna go backwards through the week!

Today has been lovely. As you’d hope from a country where English is the sole official language, Boxing Day is loved up here and is a fully-fledged public holiday. I managed to break my record for latest lie-in in Uganda as I’d stayed overnight at BJH (which is free of roosters (well, nearly)) and slept until 10:24… poor public holiday behaviour, I’m sure. Anyway, the day’s progressed at a leisurely pace with cards (yes hearts!), snacks, Mr Popper’s Penguins (great film) and a nice chat with Min and Lesley.

Christmas Day began much earlier (as my inner child thinks is appropriate), sparked into life by serial crowing from a particularly excited rooster (I counted 8 cockle-doodle-do’s from one chicken before finally giving up on sleep). I treated myself to a breakfast of Weetos (which is actually extravagant given their price here) and enjoyed a steady morning before heading on to church.

Now, I love going to church on Christmas Day in the UK. However, this is partially cause I know the service is guaranteed to be less than an hour, give me an opportunity to see church friends on Christmas Day, include carols and mince pies and be followed by Christmas lunch. Only the last of these was true for me yesterday and I did struggle at times not to leave early from the three hour service (which would have been three and a half if I’d turned up on time). The dilemma is that the end of the service was great (someone got saved and lots of people got prayed for), it was just put back by a few things I wouldn’t have included if I’d set the schedule… Anyway, Christmas lunch was great times with char-grilled chicken, chapatti, rice, spaghetti (that Christmas classic), beef and the now traditional Stoney (ginger beer). This was followed by present giving and it seemed I’d done okay at guessing at what makes a decent Ugandan Christmas present.

Guns for small children, ideal.

Phoning home was a great moment of the day and I got to speak to lots of the family despite it being dispersed around the UK; it was particularly nice to talk to the parents who only got back from three months in Mozambique earlier last week, but the rest of them were quite cool as well ;).

Company was pretty good too!

The third part of Christmas was dinner at Stuart and MJ’s who seemed to have take compassion on us unfortunate young men who were away from home on Christmas. Dinner included bbq-ed turkey and ham as well as smoked oyster stuffing (boom) and finished off with Christmas pudding and brandy butter. I hope that previous sentence doesn’t damage the amount of sympathy you have for me missing British Christmas too much… It was a lovely evening with their family and a few other guests.

After dinner, us boyos went back to BJH for a mini-round of present giving of our own. Dan got me a very exciting Ugandan shirt (which I can’t wait to wear whenever people start forgetting I went to Uganda for 7 months!!!) and Sam bought me a chicken! After much thought (apparently 2 days worth), Sam gave it the name Bernadette (which is obviously a beautiful name). Unfortunately, it now looks like it is actually a he… Looks like it’s gonna be a Berny instead.

Modelling my shirt, holding Berny

I spent all of Friday shopping for presents. Well, actually, I spent part of the morning watching 24 (season 3) and finished shopping at 5, but you know what I mean. One subtle difference between Ugandan and British Christmas is that the Friday was way busier in town than the Saturday (which I’m aware I missed out) as loads of people go back to ‘the village’ for Christmas. Thus town on Saturday was comparatively silent. The other weird thing about Ugandan Christmas shopping is the streets as more busy due to increased consumers but also loads of people who’ve decided to set up one-day only businesses (typically selling high-quality tinsel) right in the middle of the pavement.

Don't they look nice!

Thursday ended up being my last day a work before Christmas and included genuine work as well as a staff meeting where everyone got presents from the Dr/the Hospice, followed by a staff photo which took appropriately long to organise.

I spent Wednesday with large numbers of children due to me finally going to visit Lulwanda Children’s Home (where Natalie works) at the start of the day before going to Christmas party for the amazing school I visited in mid-September (http://pgladwell.blogspot.com/2011/09/much-to-my-amusement-life-seems-to-be.html ). The children’s home was wonderful to see and it was nice to see some of the kids I knew before from swimming. There are over 100 kids who live at the home and then they go to a school run by the home along with other local children who are also invited. However, the kids have been on holiday for quite a while so I got to see them in a more relaxed context. It was great to see these kids who often have very sad backgrounds so clearly feeling completely at home in the surrounds and with each other, living in a large and loving community and great to be able to play and interact with these kids.

Unfortunately, I got caught up in playing and ended up arriving at the party just after the dances, right in time for the speeches (including the one above). However, I was still in time for the visit of Father Christmas. It was great to see the kids generally so happy, but also to see the amount that the local community (who had a very large and noisy presence at the party) valued and appreciated the work done by Child of Hope. It was interesting to see the two organisations side by side as both work for children but the backgrounds of these kids means that the best response to their needs takes completely different forms.

It's really him!

Some of you realised from the previous blog that I was a bit grumpy last Monday and I succeeded in carrying this through to Tuesday in the form of having less patience than usual. However, it seems that I’m better at some aspects of my job when I’m tired. I was introduced to a local government accountant who “has been really helpful” but then I realised that in actuality she’d been a real pain over annoyingly small things. I may not have been wholly friendly toward her over a few things which meant I got to speak to the DHO (District Health Officer) which turned out to be surprisingly productive! Plus, they gave us free things (I can’t claim this was directly related to the disagreements but it certainly chronologically followed the whinging).

Generally it’s been a good week. There have been moments where the lack of Christmas pies (and family of course) has been on my mind but generally there have been good times here. I’m really grateful to God for the quality friends and family that He’s given me here who’ve brought fun and cheer to this time and have made it a very different but still enjoyable Christmas.

God is faithful.

Irregular

Diarrhoea, thankfully, has nothing to do with this blog (except verbal… right, funny), but whilst my bowels stay constant and true to me, the rest of life seems to have gone slightly crazy. Now I don’t think that all change is bad and not all things here are changing (indeed, the lunches at work have followed the same weekly pattern since I first arrived) but I can definitely say that things will never be the same again.

(Some things will never change)

One major network of roots for the Tree of Change has been Christmas, running through the pavement of my life and causing little folds that I trip up on if I’m not careful (this image comes from our ‘carpark’ at the Hospice where soil erosion has turned the roots of one tree into a miniature system of terracing). On Saturday morning, I waved goodbye to several lovely people including Tiff, Ali, Ben and Ruth who have headed home for Christmas. Their departure significantly affects the odds of Christmas weight-gain and it was quite sad to see them go.

Still, the remaining crew have still got plenty planned that will infuse life with Christmas cheer. Excitingly, we’ve got Christmas pudding (our thanks to Steve and Lorraine Thomas) AND brandy sauce! It looks like we’re set for a Christmas BBQ in the evening where it is rumoured there will be sprouts which seems a serious achievement (and a bbq-ing conundrum). Unfortunately, our turkey is already dead (as of last Monday) and now partially eaten (as of yesterday)… whoops. With the goat conspiring to be pregnant, and the turkey forcing the hand that wielded the knife it looks like it’s gonna be chicken for lunch.

I am that cute

Christmassy feelings are now appropriately strong. The Christmas trees at home and friends’ houses have helped (as have some of the ones in shops in town but lots of them just look amazingly miserable), as did present giving at our Christmas/leaving party on Friday and also another exciting gift from home, but in honesty it’s the overload of carols on Friday and Saturday evening that’s made the big difference. You’ll be pleased to know I’m now singing and whistling carols at passers-by.

Unfortunately, the week has also conspired to throw up some unseasonable problems that now jar with the festive cheer. These range from people refusing to give us the drugs that we ordered in Kampala and have to collect before Christmas Eve, through Vincent continuing to bodge up bank things (it’s a good thing we’re not paying him by the hour) onto a rather large problem with staffing for the village clinic come January. Needless to say, I think having a five-week holiday is probably a better way to do Christmas.

On Wednesday I went to renew my visa again. Given the fact that I had inadvertently ended up bribing the senior immigration officer last time I did this, I went in with a gently militant mood. I went in, told the guy how long I wanted my visa to be extended by and he stamped it. He then asked me for “something for Christmas”. Now, I’m no expert on bribery, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask for the money before giving the person what they want (I think I learnt that from Friends). Anyway, rather than advise him on this, I got a little bit carried away berating him for abusing his position and acting in a “bad” way (that’s right, I went there!).

Inspired to fight for justice (and my money), I decided I might try to get my original money back. Unfortunately, the Senior Officer wasn’t in and I ended up spending ten minutes alternating between continuing to berate the guy for being ‘bad’ and even  and trying to extricate the number of his boss. After I got the number I thought it would be simple enough to find him and then convince him to give me my money back (or at least a receipt so the government got it instead of his wallet). However, like in a film, he’s so far inadvertently foiled my attempts by being generally disorganised and forgetful (you could say he’s dundering). Even better (from an external perspective), he’s unconsciously fighting back. He phoned me at 7:47 on Saturday morning (which was early considering we had a wild party followed by Settlers the night before) to tell me he’d be back from Kampala in the afternoon; he’s a cunning man. In the evening he called to apologise and reschedule following him failing to make it back in time. Needless to say, I’m close to giving up until after Christmas!

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas!

Lots of love

Paul

Feeling hot hot hot...

After my remarks about how the rainy reason seemed to be progressing indefinitely, I guess it shouldn’t have been a huge surprise when the dry season arrived on Thursday heralded by four days without rain and temperatures making their way toward the mid-thirties. Now that repairmen are confident that the dirt they use to “fix” potholes won’t be washed away immediately, there’s been a brief flurry of throwing mud into holes. Unfortunately, there is a tendency to simply dump all the dirt in the middle of the road that another team will come to spread out the next day. As such, some roads have ended up being less passable.

It's like the answer to a riddle...

In the absence of rain, there have been several more exciting things that have appeared over the last week. On Wednesday I went into town to collect a mysterious parcel and discovered that I’d been sent an advent calendar by Phil, Sammi, Josh and Charis (brother, sister-in-law, nephew and niece). This made quick work of laying a solid and chocolately foundation for Christmas sentiment. The calendar is now in the office at work so I’m embarking on a varied form of cultural education; staff involved so far seem very appreciative.

Ideal

As if this hadn’t been enough for the week (not sure if that implies huge excitement or minimal expectations), I got told on Wednesday evening that I had ANOTHER parcel! After I’d found a suitable excuse to head to the Post Office again, I discovered a Christmassy compilation of contributions from some wonderful friends in Oxford that included food for the stomach, brain and heart and elicited several “Oh, guys!”.

Also ideal

Work over the week went pretty well, made some decent progress with some of the things that are on my ‘Will be summoned back if this is not finished before February’ list. That said, I also spent Thursday morning putting up Christmas decorations at home so I guess it was a bit of a mixed bag. I also got to spend some of the week with Dan’s parents who were over visiting him. Thankfully, Dad liked Settlers so this cut short discussions over what we might get around to. In fact, in a moment of exceptional coolness, we spent some of Saturday afternoon playing poolside Settlers, that’s right!

A final very exciting arrival of the week came in the form of Steve Thomas and Glen who’d been speaking at a Deliverance Church Convention in Kampala, but had then been able to come and see the medical work in Mbale and the village. It was brilliant having them around and was really encouraging to be able to discuss the future of the projects with someone who has been involved from the very beginning. It just so happened that their visit coincided with the Rev Dr’s tea-party to celebrate her ordination to Steve ended up becoming guest-of-honour for the evening. The party was really nice, lots of nice speeches and food. One strange side-show of the evening came from the Dr’s turkey falling rather ill and needing to be killed before it died which people thought would be in the night. So, mid-preparing food for about thirty people, Aunt Grace also got to kill and pluck the Christmas turkey. I did complain about being overlooked, but Aunt Grace said she hadn’t thought I was that keen to murder animals; this struck me as both flattering and untrue. All this party excitement kept me from blogging yesterday which I’m sure has thrown several of you out of your weekly rhythm, so sorry but there was mass-washing-up to do instead (plus ‘tidying-up’ leftover pineapple and cake).

Vis-ta's!

The only down-side of having lots of visitors at once (Ken and Heather also came up) was that I ended up sleeping in the study. After waking up on Monday morning and discovering that my mid-sleep attempts at batting away mosquitoes hadn’t been very successful, I went to bed with Doom (an insect-killing-spray) beside me. I remember wielding this weapon at least twice in the night, but still ended up with about the same number of bites this morning. Good thing I’m on prophylaxis!

Are you sure it’s December?

Despite it being December (and less than 3 weeks until Christmas) I’m finding it a bit tricky getting into the Christmas spirit. I reckon at least half of that is solely from the fact that it’s about 28 degrees here and set to get hotter. The rest is the absence of relentless Christmas marketing, carols, jingles, and the colour red. Plus, it still gets dark at 6:30 every night here so I’m not quite getting the whole winter thing going on. That said, responding to this by linking me to Youtube videos of carols would just be spiteful as the internet here doesn’t really like video streaming very much.

It’s supposed to be the dry season now, but the rains keep coming. This means two bad things: road deterioration and mosquitoes. The latter have been particularly annoying when disrupting my 24 watching over the weekend. I mean, there you are in a comfy chair trying to cheer Jack on and mosquitoes are feasting (on a small scale) on your blood. The roads is more interesting: at one point, I wondered if it was just that I was slowly losing patience with driving here but then I realised that all but two roads I drive on here are visibly worse than when I arrived. On Tuesday, I was acting as an ambulance and had serious issues in getting a very old and frail lady home from the village without jolting her around too much despite generally deducting 20kph off whatever I usually did on each road and successfully remembering most of the hidden gullies that I normally just hit and then apologise.

There's a lorry stuck here every two days.. this is the best so far.

I first thought the road worsening could be an attempt to spite me (and who knows, maybe it is a conspiracy) but then I realised it was the rain relentlessly running restraint-less, rutting (as in causing ruts) and ridging roads and roundabouts. Generally, if I’m on my own and in the pickup, it’s great fun as one can bounce around ridiculously (with some sympathy for the suspension) when one fails to swerve round the potholes (or in the places where there’s literally no way to pass without going into a least one pothole (into rather than over)). However, the absence of tread on the pickup and it’s dead battery made some of Saturday’s journeys pretty entertaining. I jump-started the pickup four times on Saturday, twice on my own (as in pushing then jumping into the car once speed is built up) and three times in front of an appreciative Ugandan audience who seemed to enjoy the spectacle considerably. Thus, when I slid, stopped and then stalled in the middle of a very slippery, muddy and wet patch near the BJH (Boy’s Jenga House), I was a little concerned. Thankfully, the engine roared back into life. Unfortunately, the road was bad enough that I needed the askari and two friends to shove me clear of the hole I was in. We then travelled at an angle up a straight road due to one tyre having more tread than the other… quite an interesting experience.

Work’s been pretty good this week. A few big things are slowly moving forward but lots of the day-to-day stuff is now happily bypassing me which is ideal in some senses but does mean that I have to be more proactive in finding stuff to do. The plus side is that this gives me more spare time to work out how best to pester those in authority who are delaying me (usually unapologetically). Sometimes, my efforts seem to work well. However, I discovered last week that a lady had misunderstood what I was pestering her about and the thing I actually wanted was already done. That said, they haven’t yet confirmed it’s done so I’m now pestering her for written confirmation.

This definitely counts as work

This Sunday, the Dr became the Rev Dr which meant an exciting road trip to Kumi to watch the ordination. We ended up leaving Mbale an hour late (I managed not to make too many complaints about this) and this meant we missed the first hour of a five hour service. Once I’d realised this, I stopped complaining altogether! Anyway, it was a great day. Quite a few people from work also managed to make the hour and a bit journey out there so the Dr was thronged by her devoted staff!

Churches and individuals often give presents to those ordained and the Dr came back with lots of exciting gifts. Among the mugs (which were obviously cool) and other stuff were a turkey  and five chickens! Thankfully, none of them are roosters so I don’t need to fear for my precious sleep.

Hello Christmas!

Other highlights of the week include Skyping some Oxford (and ex-Oxford) friends on Saturday evening (you guys are sweet), Curry Night on Friday, “Games Night” on Tuesday, WATCHING MERLIN excessively on Thursday (that’s right, I found it in a perfectly legal video shop for 60p… ideal!), eating tic-tacs excessively on Saturday, the ideal food after the service yesterday and being told by several people that the Japanese earthquake had changed the angle at which the earth rotates.

Week 21!

Tuesday

The meeting goes on

Tapas and banter await

Flying over roads

Wednesday

The Dr sets off

Work continues before play

Settlers, i-deal

Thursday

Back to the Orange

Whilst paint dries, I “study” House

No clear parallels

Friday

Work throws up new jobs

I retreat to the weekend

Curry marks the start

Saturday

Stupid mechanic

Why return pickup broken?

Must push start myself

Sunday

Miscellaneous

I did use some time wisely

Come on Liverpool

Monday

A new week begins.

More bashing head against walls

Local government…

More mountains climbed

It’s been quite a steady week at work with some of the days being taken up with jobs I’d describe as the rear end of administration and efficiency. Re-sorting the patient records in the reception to ensure they can be found quickly when needed does not have a whole lot of glamour (even if I wear my cool socks (thanks Tim Saunders), but does give a small amount of pleasure when its all done (I’m sick, I know). The job did highlight a few concerning flaws in my grasp of the alphabet such as a repeated urge to place ‘L’ in front of ‘K’ (okay, I’ll move on). Anyway, against such a background there have been many bright instances to keep the week ticking by.

One such highlight; it's close to comfort...

Most anticipated of these was the opening of the bank accounts last Friday. That’s right, I haven’t gotten confused, this definitely qualifies as a bright point. The other day when we were given numbers for the accounts, it turned out they’d been blocked a few days later. Continued stalking and harassment on my part had produced few results and then, finally, on Wednesday, Vincent had the brainwave of phoning IT support! It turned out there was a part of the form he hadn’t filled in… ideal. So, after just over two months, the two accounts are finally opened! (I had hoped to go on to write about how exciting it was that I’d gotten the suit that I’d been waiting for, and I was told I could get it last week and I went and… I was told to come back later, wonderful (Still under 2 months though so I shouldn’t complain too much))

Another highlight of last week was Mzungo Games Night. The dominant feature of the evening was dinner, with Ali making some splendid lasagne with salads followed by lemon drizzle cake plus the company was pretty decent. Such was the scale of dinner that we only had time for one game (which Dan lost badly, very very badly) but it was a good trade.

Saturday rates among the top days in Uganda so far; get ready for an overly detailed breakdown! Dan, Sam and I had arranged (at a local curry house on a Friday night man date that featured excessive amounts of garlic naan) that it was finally time to climb Wanale (the big lump lurking in lots of my photos of Mbale). The plan was to set off at 9am as a compromise between leaving early to dodge the rain and leaving late to allow for lie-ins. After I finally left the house in the trusty pick-up at 9:10, I stopped to pick up our lunch, chapattis en masse. Unfortunately, after I stopped, I couldn’t start again. Knowing the trusty pick-up has a habit of running out of fuel due to multiple users and a long defunct fuel gauge, I bought some fuel but this didn’t do the trick. Unfortunately, the boys were even further behind schedule, so we didn’t set off from that spot until 10:15 (locals will only help push if you pay them which I just can’t bring myself to do on principle). None of us had climbed the hill before, but someone had vaguely told us where to start from. We couldn’t find that so decided it was time to get seriously adventurous. We parked in a school playground (that isn’t the adventurous bit) and set off with the mountain dead ahead. It’s remarkably hard to walk anywhere off the beaten road without somehow gaining an opportunistic guide in this area, but we made clear that we didn’t have any money budgeted for guides which dispersed the crowd of young assistants pretty efficiently.

Spot the path

The route we took was absolutely brilliant, we’d turn corners or emerge from tropical canopies of banana leaves to see ever-increasingly-phenomenal views of the hill. However, as we’d decided just to head toward the bit we wanted to climb, the route got pretty steep. Thankfully it hadn’t rained the night before so we weren’t slipping around too much. The lack of any signposts made decisions a little more tricky but a mixture of local advice and democratic decision-making found us a great route to the top. Only as we neared one of the waterfalls did the route get seriously more difficult, increasing in angle and the distance between footholds whilst decreasing in grip. We slid our way up the hill (special mention goes to Dan who did the majority of the slipping but managed to last until the very end of the walk before he ended up landing on his butt), pausing for breaks for photos that happened to coincide with moments of breathlessness (it was the altitude, honestly). We reached the top and were about to crack out the chapatti and sausage for lunch when it started to chuck it down. The tree we’d chosen for shade now served for shelter until it got heavier and we retreated to the edge of someone’s metal roof. The wife came back, surprised (pleasantly?) to find three mzungus huddling under the edge of her roof, amongst the beans that were hanging there to dry. She kindly invited us in but, up on the top of the mountain (see how it’s changed from a hill) people’s English isn’t so good. All of us regretted our woeful progress with Lugisu and opted for appreciative tones of voice whilst thanking her via English and hand gestures interspersed with some few bits of Lugisu and Swahili.

Once the rain had cleared, we moved on toward the waterfall we’d come to see. The view from the top was amazing due to the distance of the plain beyond and the sheerness of much of the mountain; someone seriously needs to move here and set up a paragliding business. After starting lunch perched atop the rock above the waterfall, the rain came back for another go at us. Unfortunately, this time there were no nice roofs nearby. We opted for a nearby copse of trees and tried vainly to hide from the rain (I may have not brought a coat). After it had persisted for more than ten minutes we opted for the huddling technique and stood cheek to cheek to cheek until the worst had passed and our photo taking could resume.

We stood atop the waterfall with the plain rolling out before us and prayed, claiming the area for Jesus and breaking the hold of Satan (child sacrifice is still common in the area); it was an amazing opportunity.

As two of us had stuff we needed to get back for in the late afternoon, we decided to cheat and take bodas back down the hill. Unfortunately, the rain had turned the paths that cross the mountain to the road down into slip and slides (Dan was again a little bit comical but we were obviously also concerned for his safety (when he fell on his butt, the locals laughed… we tried not to)). We headed down the hill on an amazing road that followed the falling curves of the hill through little villages and past waving children. There may have been some falling off bikes involving Sam and myself when a driver tried a little too hard to climb a bit of road, but it counts as a life experience.

The day ended with Dan’s stir-fry and two games of Settlers before the boys got to give me another push start so I could get back home in the pick up.

Other highlights of the week to race through are being given £40 by Halifax (I love you Charlotte from the internet banking help department) for messing me about with international transfers, singing with 5 others from work at the front of church yesterday, having about 80% of my skin peel off onto various floors over the process of the week, and walking through town with three machetes - much fewer people said hello…

I’ve shifted my flight home so can now confirm that I will be back in the UK at 12:50 on the 6^th of February. I’m getting used to the idea, but have been unable to stop myself counting up the days (11 weeks today). It’s obviously quite a big change to the initial plan (and I’m happy to reimburse (up to 50%) any sponsors of my silence who were trying to secure not hearing my voice for an even longer period), but I’m feeling increasingly excited about starting the next bit of life and not too guilty about leaving work here early; I won’t have managed to become totally redundant, but most of me won’t be too missed…

Adventures in the (Welshy) West

I woke earlier than expected on the Saturday morning of departure due to chickens (I’ll get them all one day) and the noise of a tv, but I quickly set to packing stuff for my trip away. After doing the usual of laying out everything on the bed, I started placing items in my bag. Several things were sacrificed to the shortage of space (including sun tan lotion, blunder) but I managed to finish without destroying the zips. After a quick breakfast, I set off for my adventure with 4 books, 3 t-shirts, 2 flip flops, 1 pair of swimming shorts, no passport and an undisclosed number of changes of underwear.

The first leg of the trip was cheating really. The Church of Christ were also travelling to Mbarrara over Saturday and Sunday (cue me missing Mbale bonfire night (I’d been hoping we'd have fireworks in Mbale, but you need police permission due to them sounding lie gunfire)) so I was sat in the back of a Land Cruiser that felt distinctly like a normal car. We pelted it to Jinja before stopping for samosas and milkshakes before continuing on to Kampala, reaching just before lunch. I had a slightly more interesting journey back to the guesthouse as I’d been told the wrong hotel to use as a landmark (unintentionally) but I made it there though I’m still not quite sure how. The rest of the day passed by nicely, I climbed a hill for ‘panoramic views’ of Kampala and had another nice meal with the Church of Christ people before heading to bed at 9:30, I know how to live on holiday!

On Sunday we went to a church in Kampala before setting back off on the road. After passing the equator (which I found suitably exciting), the terrain started changing. The rolling, grassy hills (even sometimes segregated by hedges) are very different to anything here in the East but quite akin to Wales (at least three people have said this separately to me!), only with thousands upon thousands of banana trees (for matoke) and the occasional zebra (!). In Mbarara, I was staying with Ralph and Val, two friend of the Dr who help run a school just outside town. They were wonderful hosts who kept feeding me great food and were great fun.

Equator!

Monday is the only day of my trip I regret; I regret large parts of it. After a brief trip into town, I set off for the local big hotel to get some swimming in. I walked up to the pool and noticed it was hugely clean but didn’t think too much of it and set to reading in the sun before a cool dip. Despite having been previously scorched by the sun, I still thought I’d be able to tell when it was time to stop being in the sun (like a crazy mzungu) but I spent the rest of the week realising this wasn’t so. After swimming through rotting leaves, unable to see the bottom of the deep end (I’ll admit to being slightly concerned about something lurking underneath, unseen) I headed home, with my skin already starting to develop a beautiful array of pinks. (Ralph later told me the filter and pump for the pool have been broken for over 3 months, tasty).

Being sunburnt (particularly on the back of the knees) made the journey up to Kabale less exciting than it should have been. Still, the view was brilliant as we headed up toward a range of volcanoes, past hundreds of the Ankole cattle and thousands more banana trees. I jumped off the matatu (limped being more accurate) and onto a boda that took me the rest of the journey to Lake Bunyonyi, over the top of the ridge (1962m above sea level) and down into the crater lake.

I only spent one night at Lake Bunyonyi, but it was absolutely stunning. It’s name means Lake of little birds and there are thousands of them on the shores of the lake and the islands in the middle. My burnt legs made the climb to the top of the lake slightly more tricky, but it was well worth it, with the sun low over the clusters of islands and with a distant volcano looming beyond the basin. After an amazing crayfish curry with chips, I read by torchlight before another pre-ten bedtime.

View from the top

In the morning, I was torn between swimming in the lake and hiring a dugout canoe; the indecision was resolved by realising I’d left any form of shorts behind in Mbarara so I set off for a morning paddling around the lake. Thankfully, Ralph and Val had lent me some lotion but it was only factor 15 so my serene trip around the islands was periodically interrupted for photos and reapplication of lotion (I think I reached 8 times). The definite highlight was stumbling (in a canoe) across some crested cranes strutting around a cabbage garden which was fantastic, but it was generally peaceful and beautiful. After returning to shore, I boda-ed (it’s a word) back into Kabale and set back off to Mbarrara, aiming to be back before dark. I made it in time and Ralph cooked up a great final meal before I left again the next morning for the mountains.

On Thursday, I thought I’d managed to pull off an early departure to Kasese, but hadn’t banked on waiting in the matatu park for another hour after first boarding. Anyway, again we set off on a stunning drive. First we went up higher into another range of hill before the road swooped down into the plain in front of the Ruwenzoris. I arrived in Kasese unsure about how to play the rest of the trip. I was being followed by a few drivers, keen to transport me somewhere expensive expensively, but decided I needed to eat first. I went to buy a chapatti (as one does when needing to make a decision), followed by three guys who sat outside patiently whilst I chewed thoughtfully. In the end, I picked another guy (not out of cruelty) to take me as far into the mountains as one can go for free. We started on a tarmac road but quickly turned off that onto a dirt road with hills and dark clouds dead ahead. The road continued to narrow and become more rough and the mountains became slowly clearer. Being European, I’d imagined we’d be tearing along those twisty roads, up the steep sides of the mountains, but no-one’s ever built a road through the mountains so we ended up stopping when the road had become one track thick, still the view was great. The driver (who’s name I can’t pronounce or spell) was a great guy, putting up with me both shifting around on the back of the bike to take photos and stopping him every other minute so I could take a still shot; we probably ended up spending about three hours driving to and fro the mountains before he put me on a matatu, destined for Fort Portal.

Near the end of the road...

I’d decided to go to Fort Portal for the night as it was closer Kampala, despite the accommodation apparently being more expensive. The place I ended up at cost 12,000 USh (£3)/night but did have a set charge for bed wetting which I never think bodes well as an indicator of quality. I woke earlyish, still undecided how to handle the day. I asked the receptionist what there was to do in Fort Portal and he pulled a face and said nothing. I thought this wasn’t a great start, but decided that there must be some things to do if there were so many guesthouses around. After establishing with several people that there definitely wasn’t an exciting Fort nearby (gutting, I know) I decided to wander through town.

A boda driver made the mistake of saying good morning, and I turned back and started asking him what there was to do nearby. Little did he know, he’d spend the next 3 hours with me, touring the local lakes and caves which were really pretty… chuckle. I got back and was delighted to be I time for the 10am coach to Kampala (which I’d been told that morning left sharp on the hour). I took my seat, ready for a very long journey home but unready for us not to leave until 11:25. All of my journeys have featured entertaining companions from school girls trying to convince me to buy them plastic, jewellery to an assistant pastor trying to get me to get him a visa (who was reading the newspaper in the album) but Friday definitely featured the most memorable. The coach was still mainly empty when my reading on the coach (still stuck in Fort Portal) was interrupted by a guy asking to sit next to me. I looked around at the empty seats and begrudgingly accepted. We didn’t chat too much, but this guy was memorable for (a) telling me I looked like Van Persie, making him the third person that week to say so and (b) telling me he wanted to marry 4 women of different sizes (one big, one small, one medium, one some other size) so that he wouldn’t have to fornicate anymore. I later realised this was quite a clever adaptation of Paul saying you should marry so don’t burn with lust.

Early morning trip to crater lakes

I got into Kampala, annoyed that I’d just missed the 4pm coach to Mbale and got off the Fort Portal coach into mayhem (a traffic jam and a pedestrian jam caused by puddles and cars), headed for the taxi park. On the way, I spotted the coach also stuck and delightedly headed to it, boarded it and sat back smiling that I’d be back in Mbale smoothly. We got to the ticket office and it turned out the conductor hadn’t checked there were enough seats for any of the people he’d let on as they passed the centre of town. Me and two of the others jilted by the company set off looking for a taxi. By 7ish, we’d left Kampala after rounding up a ragtag bunch (one of whom kept vomiting in a bag  at regular intervals on the journey). An accident in Mabira forest led to detours and delays meaning I reached Mbale at 12.

I got off the matatu and started walking home down the street work is off but realised that two guys I’d noticed behind me when I got off the taxi had also turned down the road which seemed strange. Knowing enough stories of unfortunate encounters that had befallen people walking home in the dark in Uganda and that theft is worse as Christmas approaches (they think it’s nearly Christmas here too, crazy kids) I upped the pace. A vehicle turned down the road too and I could see their shadows behind mine so I strode faster and then noticed that the shadows had disappeared. The vehicle stopped by me and I realised it was m taxi! They’d noticed the two guys following me and come to make sure I got home safely! As soon I realised, I cried out “You guys…” and looked very touched. They recommended I went faster, so I ended my holiday jogging up my street with my bag over one shoulder.

As far as coming home is concerned, it looks like I’ll come back around the 6^th Feb and then stay in the UK! I’m still looking at doing police things in London, Manchester or Oxford but am keen not to start thinking too much about the future or else the two and a bit months I’ve got left here will simply disappear! Anyway, congrats for making it to the end! Looking forward to seeing you sooner than expected (and sad about leaving you Ugandan readers earlier)…

Small update, BIG NEWS

So! Those of you who know Min, (or have heard one of my thousand stories about ‘my twin’) might know that he’s engaged and getting married in February! This means I’ll be coming back sooner than expected!

I’m not yet quite sure about whether or not I’ll be coming back to Uganda after the wedding but it’s looking likely that I’ll stay in the UK and begin that life as hopefully most of the big jobs I came to help with will be finished by then. However, the whole thing is something I’ll be thinking and praying a lot about next week when I’m off away on my week’s trip to the West so please do be praying with/for me! I’m keen to attempt the minimal backpacker look, so won’t have my computer.

So! You’ll be seeing me sooner than you’d expected! All of a sudden, I’m over halfway!

Can't stay away...

I’m writing after a long day digging and moving dirt and bricks in the sun to repair a road (that’s right, I’m an engineer now), so if some stuff here doesn’t make any sense, it’s a mixture of gentle dehydration and tiredness. It’s been a week with plenty of familiar faces and places, most significantly me moving home on Wed a few hours before the return of the Dr!

But that’s getting ahead of ourselves, a narrative that breaks simple chronology seems a bit beyond me today, so I’ll start with Tuesday! Almost every Tuesday, I drive to the village clinic in the Landcruiser taking the Dr, a clinical officer, two nurses and a lab assistant (Tuesday is Bukaweka market day so there are lots more patients) but this week the Cruiser had been dispatched to Kampala to retrieve the Dr so it was a choice between going in the pickup with some staff riding in the back or sending everyone on matatus and spending the day doing odd jobs around town. Due to the absence of tread on the rear tyres, I opted for the latter which turned out to be a good idea as the Manafwa Traffic Police just happened to decide to set up roadblocks and check all vehicles papers and tyres that Tuesday, uncanny hey! After odd jobs, I went out for dinner with Team Admin which was wonderful.

Team!

Rather than be at work, pretending I’d been working hard constantly since she left when the Dr returned, I decided I’d  take the day off. Part of this was the need to move house (two whole bags worth of stuff), part was the need to Skype Min and part was sheer tiredness. What was funny was how strange it felt to be back in the Dr’s house despite having only been away about two weeks! Anyway, chatting to the twin was thoroughly wonderful, though did make me miss home a bit. Was great to have the Dr back and I endeavoured to not tell her everything that had happened and everything that needed her to make a decision on in one evening.

On Thursday my firm approach finally met a brick wall. Local government here is often a massive headache. Not only is it difficult to find them in their offices due to starting late, leaving early and almost always being away on some conference or other but when you do, but you can be there for hours once you get someone, trying to find who the right person to talk to is and trying to work out which is the appropriate form. For illustration, I went to see the DHO on Tuesday, but he was in Kampala at a conference. I was told this by his secretary who was leaving the office at 11 am, and locking up; I mean, why work when the DHO’s away? She told me he’d be in on Thursday so I faithfully returned on Thursday morning. I found the place staffed which was novel, but the DHO was at a conference until the afternoon, maybe I could come back at 3. Cautious of arriving late and being told smugly he’d gone, I arrived at 2:55. No one was there. Literally no one. I pushed the door and waited in the lobby reading posters until finally someone came. When the DHO came at 3:25, he read the letter I’d beautifully written and told me it was good, but I needed to talk to the CAO (pronounced cow with no trace of amusement by the government staff). Off I went to the next building. I entered the lobby to find 6 staff sat there with no obvious job to do. One of them kindly directed me to an office on the first floor where I was then led to another office in the basement. Still, I did succeed in finding the person I needed. She told me in needed to fill in this form. Unfortunately, she only had one copy so I needed to take it to the top floor to photocopy it before filling it in so she could set off to Kampala. I went to the top floor to the room with the photocopier, but obviously they had no paper. None. So I went back downstairs with the original before one of the staff sneaked off somewhere and came back with 10 copies which was perfect. I filled the form in beautifully and in duplicate and handed them over, but then the lady’s face dropped. She’d just remembered that the Bank account name needed to be the same as the Supplier name on the form. I asked why, ‘It does’, ‘But why?’ ‘It does’, ‘But I don’t understand why that would be’, ‘That’s the way it has to be’, ‘For what reason does it have to be that way’ (I’d genuinely become convinced the lady didn’t know what the word ‘why’ meant), ‘That’s the way it’s always been’, ‘But the two aren’t the same, one is the full name but we operate under a shorter version’, ‘But the two need to be the same’, ‘But why?’…On leaving, I put my ensuing rant against people who can’t explain the reason for something but just follow blindly down to my needed holiday but recounting this story makes me feel it was probably coming. Unfortunately, being firm doesn’t make so much difference with the government, why would they care if I don’t fill in my form on principle? Why would they care if I look upset with them? Realising my firmness had had no effect (no positive effect), I gave up and filled in another two forms but did insist she tried to submit the first ones before moving to the second.

I got back on Thursday to discover we’d be given two forms that needed filling in by Sunday. They had the word ‘September’ on them, which made the deadline seem initially reasonable. Thus, on Friday I set off to the village (I couldn’t stay away a whole week!) in order to fill in this form. There were a few issues with matatus generally delaying, but I was soon on the back of a boda, enjoying the view of the countryside. I’m not turning into a biker (I’m not sure I could pull it off) but there is something wonderful about driving along dirt roads on the back of a motorbike, through mountainous surrounds with little children waving and smiling. After I’d found what I needed, I was back off to town. This time I shared the boda with Jackie, an enrolled nurse who was returning to Mbale early due to a funeral. I’m not a grumpy guts (I’m not sure I could pull it off) but there’s something uncomfortable about sharing the back of a boda with a lady who’s sitting sidesaddle. The main complaint is you end up with your waist (by which I mean crotch) uncomfortably close to the driver, but one also feels more precarious driving over slick, clay roads. Entertainingly, we reached the end and the driver charged us both the fare you’d pay if you were on your own. I’m yet to ask Jackie why, if she knew this, we didn’t just take two bikes? Anyway, she did then buy me charcoal grilled maize so how can I complain!  Friday evening was curry night! About ten of us mzungos, including the new Jenga lad, Sam!, went to a curry place in town which is wonderful. The curry is from a slightly different region of India to most of that in the UK, but it’s still really good.



Saturday was pretty wonderful. It started with an early trip to Barclays (what a start to the weekend!) but then got better when I set off to help pick up 200 bricks in the pickup. The best thing about this was having to drive through a small patch of maize to get through the bricks; I’ve never gotten to mow down crops whilst driving before, but I felt suitably cool (whilst also concerned about the pickup getting out again!). After loading and unloading, (with a break for egg and chips in between, ideal), I set of to the market with Dan and Sam. I love bartering here so love the market, but we’ve also got a few guys we usually go to, so are developing the ‘regular’ relationship. Dan got given a free clementine by one of our favourites which made it all good. Then Sam cracked out some great Swahili to secure bargain prices on two pineapples. We then went to watch some footie (live Premier League Games, ideal) before heading back to BJH for Cottage Pie. As it was pretty late when we finished and we’d yet to start on Sherlock Holmes, I sneakily asked if I could crash there and ended up back in my green box room (I just couldn’t stay away).

It's pineapple season

Yesterday was the best Sunday I’ve had here yet and also one of the best days here so far. Church was delightful, real community, real banter, great sermon,. After the meeting, I got to carry little Joshua home, wolfed down some lunch and then went swimming in the sunshine. Found some of the gang at the poolside already so had a nice afternoon before heading back to GJH for cake and cards. Obviously I got tricked into staying for dinner follow by further games, banter and generally comedic times. Great day.

Imminent

I’m writing this whilst sat in the Business section of Mbale Barclays Bank (so this may go on like the last one I wrote whilst waiting), pondering the varied meanings of the word imminent here in Uganda. The past week has offered a few examples of the word taking imaginative meanings, not typically associated (except in antagonism) with telling someone something will be ready soon.

Before any whinging begins, the most exciting imminence is that of my suit! That’s right, I’ve gone crazy and ordered a Ugandan suit complete with purple lining and purple pockets for the trousers (the tailor told me a purple fly was too far). Admittedly, there have been several issues along the way. The best was when the tailor decided to make it a three-button suit despite agreeing several times that it would have two. I pulled a sad face and it ended up being used to fill another order he had for three suits for a wedding. They might not know it yet, they’re now also having purple linings… chuckle. Despite this and one or two other things, Jude the tailor is fabulous at keeping time; he says Monday, he means Monday.

Wednesday had several people who’d pushed the definition of ‘soon’ a little too far including one corporation who had an outstanding bill from December. When inflation is at 26%, outstanding balances start to matter a bit more. Anyway, I cracked out my ‘I’m not smiling any more’ face a few times. The highlight of the day came when I finally chatted with the boss-lady responsible for the delay in the evening. When I complained that we were suffering due to the delay, she countered that they were suffering too from the damaged relationship. The approach was more draining than I expected it to be but has proved to be highly successful. Today I received the large cheque from the boss-lady and also the missing cash involved in another incident; seems a displeased mzungu (who knows where to find you) is not something people like so much.

Returning to Barclays (as I have countless times now), dear Vincent who I do like really (I’m still haven’t started not smiling at him yet) is starting to take the mic in terms of how many times the accounts we’ve been waiting on for at least a month now can be ‘ready later in the day’. Unfortunately, aside from guilt tripping, I’ve got little leverage to use so I’ve decided to call him every day the accounts aren’t ready, partially to enjoy being told ‘they’ll be finished this afternoon’, partially in an attempt to convey that the delay is now a bit inconvenient. From this experience, I can’t wait to see how long it’s going to take to close the account being replaced at Stanbic, an account that we first resolved to shut in November 2007, no jokes.

Dry run

In my enthusiasm to link my present location with the wider week, I neglected to mention Tuesday! I donned the Orange to finish the grouting (with 5 fingers to spare) and polishing and finished pretty early in the afternoon. This was despite a break to take the Cruiser into the village so someone could pick up some lunch stuff. The reaction to a mzungu in paint clothes was good in Mbale but it was a whole new level in the village. In Bukaweka, you can usually guarantee being stared at, even when smartly dressed, but the Orange was gulped down by the market crowd, golden times.

Village market

[Still waiting for Vincent to talk to me after telling me to be here at 4, now 4:36]

As I’d finished early and there were fewer patients this week, we got back to Mbale pretty early and I decided to pop back to the Dr’s house to drop off the tiling tools. Here, I discovered that the Rev was killing a chicken for his UK visitor and thus I obviously committed the rest of the afternoon to this rooster. Several times before, this rooster has gotten a little carried away in its crowing and I’ve jokingly threatened it (in a half-awake mutter) with death, seems I should be more careful what I say. After kind of helping to corner and catch the rooster (it got past me the first time so I was relegated to corralling) I was handed the bird and a knife and told how to carry out the plan. All I’ll say is that it didn’t go entirely to plan, that I’ve now got drops of chicken blood on my shoes (next to the other blood from the accident) and trousers and that not all of the fault is mine. After decapitation came plucking which is much easier than I’d always thought and then finally dissection. Once we’d taken off the head, feet and feathers, it looked so much like a store bought chicken that I forgot all about the innards. Anyway, I’m now fully trained (ish) in processing a chicken, and I can still look at a chicken (on a plate, in a garden or wandering down the street) without too much guilt.

So long Mr Rooster

We’ve had two American visitors at the BJH this week which has been nice but also busy. It started in a complicated way with trying to clear their room of excess beds (there had previously been 4 beds but these guys only wanted one each). Unfortunately, one bed would not fit through the doorway. Now, I know what you’re thinking, if it went in, it must come out. No. That’s what they said, but it’s not true. Every angle, height and twist was attempted (and can be traced from the missing paint on the door). I left as I had to go into town quickly to sort something (enigmatic, I know!) and was delighted to discover on return that they’d just sawn the offending knobs off the tops of the bedposts. Visitors have meant good food. Tiff and then Ali cooked up some delightful mzungu food (including lemon meringue pie and apple crumble). In turn, Dan and I cracked out some top-drawer dishes on Saturday and Sunday.

[Apparently it’s coming; we’ll see].

Also imminent is the return of the Dr (unfortunately not that Dr; Dr Who is top of the list of TV shows I’m catching up on ASAP on return to the UK) who arrives in less than 14 hours! I’ve gotten strangely used to life at work and home without her but it’ll be nice to return to the original routines. Work will probably be more busy but less stressful as there will be fewer decisions for me to make but more for me to follow through on. Home wise, it’s been really nice to stay at BJH (and I’m sure I’ll make a copious amount of trips over there) as cooking and general lounging with Dan (and the ladies who seem to be unable to stop coming round) has been quality. Still, moving back will be nice to see Joash, Joshua, David, Shad and the Rev and Aunt Dinah. Plus, apparently Aunt Grace has missed my noisy entrances to the house every evening (it seems not everyone shouts ‘I’m back’ when they come in from work?)

Shortly after she returns, I intend to run off on a week’s trip to somewhere in Uganda. This is partially cause I’m feeling a bit tired (I’ve got a cold in a country that’s on the equator) and partially cause I’m not sure it’s safe to work for more than four months without a holiday (I mean, what is this full time work thing!). Not quite sure where I’m gonna go as there are several locations pencilled in for trips later with people, but wherever it is, it’ll be a week with no spreadsheets involved.

Generally, I’m good. Interesting this week was visiting the cook at the village who was ill. Seeing her living in the same conditions I’d seen before was very different. Experiencing, even for a few minutes, how poor someone I worked and joked with was new. Also powerful has been chatting with one of the American visitors about Father’s heart for the kids here. I think that I’d found it too feasible to process lots of the issues here on the level of nationalities and what people can expect from each other (like Political Theory taught me to). Thinking about God’s love and grace for these people should lead to an emotional as well as physical response to the disasters that have befallen lots of people’s lives here.

[Finally left at 6:08 but with the new accounts! Amazing! I mean, one of them may have the wrong name despite the form and the minutes having the correct name on it but still! We have the accounts! What a day! I’ve got cheques, cash, opened two accounts and done interviews and recruited someone. Hello Monday.]

Going to another place…

Despite posting the blog on Monday evening, I cruelly neglected last week’s Monday as I was dashing out in the evening to Canadian Thanksgiving. I’d almost resigned myself to missing out this year, but Gillian came through just in the nick of time. Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know there’s nothing particularly exciting that I’ve kept from you. The best bit of the day was sweeping the roofs of the Hospice and the Lab (with a broom which I unfortunately broke in the process) and painting and cleaning some doors and a wall. This was fun, but I’m yet to be convinced that the blue of the touching-up will age quickly enough to avoid some consternation over the current, only slightly different colours. Maybe it looks a bit like hair highlights, maybe I’ll end up repainting the whole Hospice… who knows!

Tuesday started a little strangely due to needing to take a different route to work, which included a road that was wonderfully dreadful. Trenches, holes, water jumps and other features of the road conspired to keep concentration and intermittent braking near the maximum. When I arrived, I started on the grouting from the week before. Unfortunately, I’d learnt that you grout by applying the grout liberally, then scraping away the excess and then shaping the grout with your finger. I followed this plan carefully until I cut the tip of my right index finger and then used the next finger. Predictably, I ran out of fingers before the job was quite finished and have still got a bit to finish tomorrow.

The journey home was more fun but also more tragic. You often see animals walking around on the streets here. Most hilariously, I once watched a cockerel and a hen walk together down one of the main streets here, but that’s another story (one that I’ve now ruined the surprise of). This happens on rural roads too, it’s common to pass a goat or cow being taken to market or grazing by the road, tethered to a pole. Unfortunately, chickens are usually given more free reign. After successfully coaching numerous chickens out of my path  on previous trips, on Tuesday I killed my first chicken. The comical part of this was that, as I looked sorrowfully back in my side mirror, all I saw was the cartoonish feathers, floating in the air.

BJH

On Thursday, I moved house! Dan (the first of the Jenga boys) was being forced out of the girl’s house and I offered to keep him company for a week, so I’ve moved across town and am currently further from work, closer to the swimming pool which seems a fair trade off. Living with Dan has been lots of fun, though until Sunday it proved pretty socially relentless. Hosting dinners, playing volleyball, watching the shocking Wales game, shopping at the local market for pineapples and other less exciting groceries, going swimming, watching a film and watching the Kiwi game meant a wonderful weekend but one that meant Sunday evening was given over to a quietly relaxed book reading session.

The third thing going to another place this week was Mr Rat. On Saturday morning, after we’d finished the washing up and killed a few of the hundred ants who’d started swarming down the walls and onto the tasty leftovers of Cottage Pie, I’d taken my seat at the desk in the lounge and was writing a few replies to some messages. All of a sudden, I heard some rustling. It wasn’t until the second time I heard it that I put it together with the rat that Tiff had been telling us about the night before and not until the third time that I realised it was inside the desk. Still not quite certain, I took out one of the drawers which had a liberal scattering of rat droppings, peered and saw Mr Rat. I rushed off and got my camera before fetching my machete (how useful is this machete) whilst someone fetched Michael, the askari (security guard). I wish I could tell you that I got involved and dispatched the pest, but my mind envisaged me chasing a rat around the lounge, slashing at the floorboards with my panga and generally not being particularly good at the job so, after removing the files and poking it to the back with the panga, I let Michael smack it with the side of the blade after which it never moved again (sob).

So long Mr Rat

The other interesting thing about being at the Boy’s Jenga House is that they don’t have a generator. Whilst I’ve done my best to elicit sympathy from you all over the regular power cuts we experience here (regular in the sense of frequent rather than being particularly predictable), in all honesty at the Dr’s house it’s only during the day (when turning on the generator to make my toast would be a bit of a waste) and after 10pm when it’s usually turned off that it makes a difference beyond not being able to iron or have a hot shower (losing these two precious things being absolutely devastating obviously). I’m now getting good at cooking in the dark and, even harder, washing up in the dark – it’s not an extreme sport yet but…

I'm realy good at holding things too...

Today has been a bit of a different day, I participated in a day to commemorate Philly Lutaaya. It began with a march which, as I’m sure you can imagine, started an hour after we arrived and we arrived an hour late… No matter how late you think it’ll be, it’ll often be a bit later. After proudly marching down Republic Street and waving at the shopkeepers I’m getting to know (I went in to see a tailor who’s making me an exciting suit this afternoon and he said he’d seen me; I pointed out I’d always been very good at walking) we turned down toward the District grounds. The funny things about marching were that we still slowed for potholes despite being pedestrians and the ‘delicate’ police presence. Today they went beyond their usual automatic rifles and some were directing traffic to stop whilst grappling with some big big guns that looked like they could stop any cars that decided to ignore their stony faces. The event itself was generally wonderful. Some of the children from the home that Natalie works for (and I went swimming with) did a lovely poem and then there were other dance and singing groups with varying degrees of relevance to the theme of the day. Unfortunately, I ran away at 1.30 (which was when the programme said it would finish!) as my body was starting to notice the lack of nourishment. Now off to cook up something very random and possibly piecemeal with Dan…

Entertaining but not wholly educational