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

Orange

People used to tell me that change is rest; I still think most of the time this is just an excuse to get people to do more work, but I guess the fact that I feel tired and refreshed gives some weight to the idea. Lots of my week has been spent clad in orange, doing excitingly non-administrative work, generally making a mess (only once or twice a bad mess caused by a stray hammer blow) and not wearing a shirt and belt.

Tuesday started with the usual drive to the village. They’ve recently resurfaced lots of the journey which makes it much faster, more comfortable and generally more enjoyable (means I can play, ‘How much of this journey can I do in 5^th gear’ too). I was thinking to myself how used I was to driving this route and how I’d gotten used to the roads here when, predictably, something went wrong. Now, I’m telling you this story as my mum is in Mozambique and is thus unlikely to read it. On the newly surfaced road, people have so far only driven one track (for both directions) that runs straight down the middle. This is usually fine until you come past either bodas or bicycles who are also determined to use the track (you don’t pass other cars so much this far out and when you do, you both slow right down and venture out onto the loser bit). The general rule of driving here is that, if you’re bigger, you bully but I’m nice so, when a bike decided that he didn’t want to vacate the track for me, I thought I’d drive off the track, onto the less worn bit. It hadn’t rained recently and I thought it would all be good; this was a bad assumption. As I’m sure this story will still somehow make it back to my mum, I’ll only say that there was some slipping, some sliding, some skidding, some swerving and a lot of breaking as the back of the vehicle (despite being burdened with a bookshelf, 500 tiles and bags of adhesive and grout) decided that it wanted to act up a bit. There was a lot of praying, holding of breath and the like, but it all ended fine with us stopped about 200m from the first place, all very grateful to not be any closer to the fields on either side of the road.

The rest of the day was a mixture of fun and frustration. I put up a set of shelves as straight as I could when the sides and bottom weren’t square and avoiding leaving too much of the wall on the floor (no drill) but then had to transform back into respectable mzungu to go see the District Health Officer. He wasn’t in, neither were the administrator or secretary, they were all at training workshops the whole week (Ugandan public sector workers take the stereotype to a whole new level). On learning that the DHO was to be at training all of next week too, we decided to go and find him so that we could hoik him out of the training to ask him our questions. Unfortunately, this wasn’t immediately possible so we spent an hour waiting outside for him to emerge. Hooray!

The road back to the village

On Wednesday, I went back to the village in order to apply the tiles that had been so carefully conveyed the previous day. This time I took a local taxi (which is like a bus, but obviously more squashed and cheaper) and then a boda which was a pleasantly different way of viewing the familiar journey. The tiling was of a toilet and shower for male patients that had been built a long time ago, but then not finished (scandalously some previous (female) volunteers had only tiled the women’s side). After moving out all the tools that had been kept there and killing some of the big wasp things that had made it home, I set to with my home-made adhesive applier (an old plastic bottle that I hacked at), sat on a delivery stool. Unfortunately, a member of staff who’s decided to not come back after her annual leave (well, she hasn’t told us anything, but not turning up for a month seems like a clue) and another member of staff who’s nephew passed away meant that there was a bit of turmoil at work, so I decided I was in a bit of a rush to get it done and get back.

Tiling like Uncle Phil taught me

I finished the first room around 6pm, and thought I might as well see how far I could go with the other one that night. Being optimistic, I mixed a load of adhesive and started off; it wasn’t long until I was tiling toilets by torchlight which was a wonderful, if strange, experience. I kept telling myself that I’d stop when I ran out of adhesive but in the end, it was when I started to need to cut tiles which I didn’t really fancy doing in the dark. I washed the kit and went in to bed. I got back to my room to everything wonderfully set out including my stuff, my dinner, a cup with tealeaves and sugar and a flask and a cup of water; the dinner may have been cold posho with cabbage, but it was still touching. Even sleep was eventful as in the middle of the night, I was phoned to open the door so that a lady could come and give birth two rooms away. Thankfully, she was very thoughtful and kept the noise down so I could sleep.

The thoughtful mother with her son!



On Thursday, I finished the tiling and came back to town (limping slightly from tiling and with my hand-swelling thing going on) to discover that work was doing just fine without me, so I spent the afternoon with Tiff and Dan (the first Jenga boy!) along with three others continuing the mammoth task of sorting through the container full of stuff that they finally received last week. The work that day comprised of sorting clothes into piles, picking out things that seemed inappropriate for Uganda and, obviously, wondering at the previous owners of some of the more outrageous or large items of clothing (whilst also being very grateful).

Saturday (Friday was good, but words are running out!) was an early start (for a weekend) to watch the rugby matches with Dan. We sat in a hotel bar, drank (ginger) beer and, at different times, really enjoyed, enjoyed and didn’t enjoy the rugby. This was followed by swimming and then the eating of steak before the relaxation took a less structured but still enjoyable form.

Sunday was Ugandan Independence Day. Unfortunately (fortunately for me as a Brit), no one was that excited as Uganda had, the night before, drawn a game with Kenya and thus failed to qualify for the African Cup of Nations. I think you’ve read far enough to deserve my honesty, the day started poorly. Church has often been the area has been the area of life here I’m least satisfied with; this Sunday was a peak of dissatisfaction. At the core of the frustration was the preach which, at two hours (okay, fine I’ll be honest, it was 2 and a half hours) was never likely to leave me delighted, but the content didn’t help too much either. HOWEVER! The day was set on a better course after a lunch of egg and chips. I then set off into town with Odeke to pick up some sodas for tonight (Canadian Thanksgiving, win). Just as we were about to set of back home, we ran out of fuel (in the pickup with a faulty fuel gauge again). We had great times pushing it back to the neighbouring petrol station (you have to pay for local assistance with pushing and our striving sufficed) and then driving back home. On getting back I finally got my chance to use my new panga (machete) to cut down a banana tree that had run its course. I managed this without covering myself with the water inside the tree or dropping the bunch of matoke on the tree to the floor in a damaging way and without appearing too excited to be chopping at things with a machete. Then, I devised a genius plan and finally painted the edge of the ceiling at home (this job may have been first discussed about 3 months ago) whilst watching Mansfield Park (my favourite), what an afternoon! The day was capped off by eating for dinner beef and matoke from the tree that had been chopped down earlier (the beef was not from the tree) and then an early night after some N. T. Wright. Good times.

Perhaps a little too manic

Bam!

The day after writing last week’s blog, we ended up with an explosion of little and big new jobs that needed doing before the end of the week, teaching me never to complain about a lack of things to do ever again. Among the less exciting jobs such as a new way of paying PAYE (income tax here) and continuing to pester the bank to actually open the accounts the man has promised are ‘nearly finished’ for about a fortnight now, I’ve had some chances to do some pretty fun stuff!

Little things at work keep it interesting

Some things can try one's patience a bit

Not a bad building site

There’s a general trend toward building work going on currently with new things appearing at the Clinic and the Hospice. This obviously offered the opportunity to climb on stuff and prod it to make sure of the quality of workmanship. You’ll al be pleased to know I haven’t been missing out! I spent an inordinate amount of time on Wednesday trying to drill into something that I was supposed to be putting curtain rails on. I don’t think I’ve damaged the drill, but I guess only time will tell! The best thing with the curtain rails was that I was determined to put them up level so got out the thingy one uses and made sure the top was parallel with the ground. Then, it slipped and ended up on the bottom of the rail which I noticed was telling me was not level with the ground. I opted for the compromise.

More frustrating was my first attempt at fitting glass. I got out the tape and skilfully measured the size of the gap so we could take the glass to be cut to the right size. Returning home clutching the precious, second-hand but cut glass, I removed the broken glass from the door to realise I’d over-estimate the width of the putty and it wouldn’t fit. I’d already changed into my “I’m doing manual work so will put on the dirtiest things I can find” clothes which led to extra staring as I raced into town on the back of a boda to get half a cm off each pane. Before leaving, I carefully checked the height at the corners, feeling I’d cleverly dodged a second trip. The glass cutter wasn’t delighted to see me again as I wasn’t paying for anything on this trip either. I raced back, keen to finish the job before it got dark. Got home, put the glass in the door and realised it wasn’t my day. Whilst the corners worked, the gap for the pane wasn’t square so the glass was too tall. This wasn’t a good development. In desperation, I tried to cut the glass myself, this wasn’t very successful. With the little tool, the guy can draw a line over the pane and then break it off; without the little tool, I was scratching in vain (even with a tile cutter) and ended up resorting to trying to chip little pieces off the top. Predictably this led to me snapping the edge off the pane. Thankfully, it all worked out the next day, I got a new pane, cut both to the right size, covered myself and large portions of the floor with kerosene (to soften the putty) and the glass is still intact! This week, I’m seeing how I can bodge up painting, sanding, shelving and tiling.

A nice part of the past few weeks has been spending increasing amounts of time at one of the Jenga houses with Tiff and Natalie. As well as providing opportunities for games and banter, the delightful food promises to halt or slow my continued shrinking. This has gradually developed from a weekly games night into a general occupation by me, at least whilst the Dr’s away, but they’re still handling it well.

At the top!

This quality mzungu time culminated in a camping trip away this weekend! That’s right! Real camping! Ten of us went to camp near the bottom of some waterfalls and had a great little adventure away from town. The site was lovely and peaceful with the gentle crash of the waterfall pervading the whole site (in a peaceful way). We had good food, good chats, good games, good walks and good times. On Sunday morning, a few of us braved the walk to the top of the fall which wasn’t the simplest route, but would have been even more exciting had it rained as our route up was typically the water’s less beautiful route down.

After we’d struggled to the top with a few breaks we were suitably ashamed when our guide pointed out an 8 year old who not only done the same route as us barefoot, but had obviously carried about 15kg of firewood up on her back as well. Two weird things about the camping were (a) not having to put up or take down the tents, felt a bit like cheating in honesty and (b) sleeping without a mosquito net for the first time in nearly 3 months which was delightful!

I’ve been being challenged recently about continuing to press on for what God has for me and for me to do whilst I’m here, rather than simply opting for what might be more comfortable. Prayers for wisdom over this and guidance on thoughts for the still-distant future would be appreciated.

P.S. The post is named after a local supermarket I went to twice today trying to find cheese in Mbale; little things are often harder than one might have thought!