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!

Woah there!

This past week has been pretty steady. I’m not saying I haven’t done loads of highly exciting things, it’s just that I’d done lots of them before and I’m sure you’ve all been reading so carefully you’d notice if I started to repeat myself. Thus, I decided I’d write a bit about life here and things that are different/fun/annoying at various points in time.

General life in Uganda is different from the UK on several levels. I’ll make no attempt to say how many to avoid conspicuously missing some out. In some ways life here is more comfortable than in the UK due to the culture sometimes being closer to the conservative moral values I usually hold, occasionally with some difficultly at times in the UK. Obviously this doesn’t apply to everything as there are many values I hold dearly that are absent (orderly queuing being the accessible example) and many that are held here that I will sometime not understand or even dislike. Still, the general consensus of ‘traditional family values’ makes it sometimes feel like an extended Christian camp (as does everyone smiling and greeting as you walk by). I’m sure part of this is due to my failure/inability to make many friends who aren’t linked into the same work as me, but there’s a general consensus on many issues that is closer to my opinions than back home.

Aside from this, life as a mzungu in Ugandacan often make one feel like both a celebrity and a millionaire. The celebrity thing isn’t quite accurate as the fame is linked to nothing I’ve done or said, nor even to me as an individual but rather simply to the fact that I am white (still a very pale white despite my proximity to the equator). Regardless of this, it’s generally quite fun that children get excited when they see you and sometimes squeal with excitement if you deign to wave back. The drawbacks come from being generally conspicuous.

Sometime they think their celebrities too

Take, for example the AGM I went to two weeks ago; being ‘a celebrity’ there had its pros and cons. On the plus side, I got invited to have sodas with some local big shots before the AGM belatedly began; I might have been invited anyway, but they knew I should go cause there was this white guy sat on his own in the audience. On the negative side, I couldn’t hide at the meeting and sit plainly reading the book I’d cunningly brought along to stem the tedium (I did the classic, ‘hide the book in the report the person is reading verbatim’ and look like you’re listening) nor could I sneak out too early. The occasionally embarrassing aspect is often being beckoned to saunter through security unchecked whilst locals wait patiently (well, kind of patiently). For example, I went to renew the insurance on the Cruiser on Wednesday and ended being asked to sign the visitor’s book because was a (and I quote) ‘full guest’.

This is also partially tied to the millionaire aspect. Despite my occasional attempts to explain the idea of student debt and the wonderful £21,000 I owe some company for my delightful education, everyone is convinced I’m loaded. In some ways this is fair as, whilst not presently, the sums of money likely to pass through my hands in my life are embarrassing when compared with what most people earn here (ever increasing my dislike of expensive coffee, clothes, food and the like). Further, even currently, there’s a huge income asymmetry between myself and some of my Ugandan friends. I have quite learned how to deal with this yet. There isn’t the culture of pride/independence/whatever it is that there is in have in the UK that would make asking a friend to give you money peculiar or awkward, thus people I know can often ask me to buy them this or that. Generally this can be dismissed or ignored (unless there’s some serious reason behind the request) but the asymmetry kicks in if you want to go and do something. Going somewhere with someone and paying for the pleasure of their company is something I’d though I’d be able to leave until parenthood (those of you with your minds in the gutter should be ashamed!), and can make friendship more complicated which can be unfortunate. Now, God can use all this money stuff to teach me about generosity (His and ours in response) and stewardship, but that doesn’t stop it from being difficult.

All this said, Ugandans are overwhelming welcoming and generous! Just as I was writing this bit (scandalously at work on Friday whilst waiting for someone to finish something so I could work on it), one of my co-workers gave me some peanuts they’d brought in from home. Ugandans are amazingly hospitable and typically ply me with some wonderful thing or other if I ever visit. People are caring, always looking for ways to help and generous with their time. Looking back at my time here, money has hardly ever been an issue, but it had been playing on my mind recently. I’m tempted to remove some of my earlier remarks, but will leave them in anyway.

The funny side of money is that 4500 USH = £1. It’s taken quite a lot of getting used to in terms of not running away when someone tell me something costs 150,000 USh (£33) or talking about 1 million shillings (!) (£225).

On the subject of money, I just remembered that I inadvertently bribed someone last week! It was to do with visa things, and I can wholeheartedly promise that it wasn’t intentional ;) but it was an interesting realisation when someone told me that I shouldn’t have paid for or qualified for something. Whoops!

Anyway, today was much busier and I’m back off to the village tomorrow (where I didn’t go last week for the first time since I arrived) so might come back with exciting driving stories. Let’s hope so for your sake! Please keep being in touch with news and the like!

Always an amazing drive

P.S. Sorry about the recycled of photos, may have misplaced the cable temporarily!

As John Grisham says...

Much to my amusement, life seems to be moving in two different directions. On the one hand, lots of things about this place seem highly familiar now. I can navigate the hallways in the pitch back (which is handy when power cuts hit at weird and wonderful times) and can even give some directions to places in town these days. At the same time, life gets increasingly varied and different. At the root of the second thing is that I’m decreasing the number of general jobs that I partake in, letting Rose and Joan have more of the fun. Part of this is due to the oft-promised efficiency savings that come from knowing a few tricks on Excel which have meant there’s less to go around (in a good way) and some is because the backlog of jobs that had provided for a rainy day (where work dried up) is starting to disappear. All this is a long way of saying that I’ve been doing lots of different things this week. Lots of them have been fun; lots of them have been tiring.

Joshua (on the left) has moved from crying when seeing me, through smiling
and now on to the apparent boredom. I've obviously settled.

Wednesday came along with the interview candidates. One was a little too keen and turned up 4 hours early (she got the job, but it wasn’t due to this overwhelming keenness (we told her today and I’m sure I was more excited about telling her than she was about hearing!)). I quite enjoyed my first experience in recruitment. I got to ask the personal questions and was astounded at what one could get away with asking in countries where the law on discrimination in employment is still developing. Remembering what it’s like to be interviewed and looking ahead to future ones of my own, I adopted a sweet and friendly demeanour. Pulling this off took quite a bit of concentration so I promptly forgot several of the questions I was supposed to ask; thankfully, the team (aren’t teams great) came back to the important ones later. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that the Ugandans adopted a slightly less polite approach (not that the candidates seemed to expect anything different). I winced a few times at the absence of niceties and the fact that people didn’t make use of pleasant understatement but was left wondering if my determination to be nice had actually amounted to a confusing pile of words that no one else quite understood. Oh subtle (or not) different uses of the same language, what a joy.

Thursday was supposed to be my day at the bank filling out forms and I did indeed spend nearly two hours there. The low point of this was sitting on the other side of the desk waiting for one of the staff who was caught up watching a soap on the tv to make eye contact with me. Again, it might be that politeness was a little unproductive. Much of the rest of the day was spent in pursuit of the bits and bobs they hadn’t previously told me I’d need to gather, but in fairness it wasn’t the drag I thought it might turn out to be.

Friday was a real break from the usual as I went with Aunt Bex (a previous administrator at the Hospice) to see the project she now runs with her husband. We went to the school and I got to see the progress on the 2^nd and 3^rd floors as well as interrupt every lesson that was going on at the time.

The school yard

 Child of Hope works in the largest slum in the town which is located about a 15 minute walk from my house. Despite this, I’d never been there until now. The slum is predominantly round mud huts, like they have out in the village, into which up to 10 people are often squashed. Many of the people who live in the slum have left their tribal areas due to violence and have come to the edges of the town, hoping for work that often did not materialise. It was really challenging to walk through these areas, often marred by alcoholism and violence, and hear the stories of some of the families. One could see that, without Child of Hope, the vast majority of the children at the school would have no options open to them and would have either sat at home or been sent to town to ‘pick’ (collect things that may be of value from the street or just to beg). To see the joy in the faces of the mothers of some of the kids who have been given a place at the school was a powerful thing. The school aims to take a child from each family in the nearest two of the six parts of the slum and ensure that their educational, physical and emotional needs are met. It does so in an explicitly Christian way, but does not discriminate against religion (or tribe which can be a greater source of tension among these displaced groups). I could talk for much much longer about it all, but it was a really interesting and challenging morning.

We had guests from Kampala staying for lots of last week which was nice as it added some noise and hubbub to the place, plus we had some great food! Saturday was their last full day so we went on a trip to Sipi falls (yup, again. I did try not to duplicate photos, but who knows!). We also went with some of the guys from town so I got to drive quite a full Land Cruiser up and down quite a steep road. It was good times. I remembered a coat this time so avoided some of the soaking!

All of the Sipi Falls

 

Finally Sunday! In theory, the service in Malera was to start at 8 so we were to set off at the outrageous time of 6:10. A few delays pushed that back to 6:30, but we still arrived, ready to rumble, at 7:55. Of course, the meeting didn’t start until 9:30; still, be had tea and gnuts (peanuts) whilst we were waiting so it wasn’t all bad. After a few songs and creeds, it was my turn. I spoke on the parable of the Unmerciful Servant (always a cheerful message), stressing the implicit gospel at the start and the impossibly high standards of forgiveness that God calls us to after we have received impossible forgiveness from Him. I really enjoyed the opportunity and did most of it without complication (I found the interpreter gave me time to think, that and some suitably dramatic pauses). However, I realised I didn’t know how to summarise the message or deliver it as a personal challenge/invitation. Thankfully, Charles (a trainee Rev responsible for the youth in the diocese) stepped in and caped it off with three minutes in Itesot that I didn’t understand; then some people responded to become Christians which is always cool. Brilliantly, three of the five were pensioners who’d clearly been in the church for a long long time. One was even the leader of the choir! All in all, it was a great learning opportunity; good to see which bits I’ve still got to learn!

There are some benefits to being up at 6

 Not too sure what this week will hold. I’m trying to chase some funding for the Hospice to finance long-held dreams of moving to a purpose built facility instead of the current converted bungalow which works but is far from ideal. Plus we’ve got someone coming to restart auditing the accounts which should be fun.

Amongst general prayer requests for guidance, wisdom, health and safety, it would be really helpful if people could pray for the Dr. She’s in the UK, but has fallen and hurt her back quite badly which threatens to derail some of the important things she needs to do whilst she’s back in the UK. Please pray that God’s plans will not be hindered or disrupted.

Still in the game...

Dreadfully sorry about that brief interruption. The Dr took the internet (all of it) with her so that she could work in Kampala the night before she flew to the UK. Unfortunately, a problem with the Cruiser led to the Reverend having to drive back from Kampala (normally a 4 hour journey) at a much slower pace so it took him 8 hours.

The Cruiser hasn’t been very happy recently. Last Monday we discovered that the break pads were worn out. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to repair it before the drive out to the village which led to a very entertaining game of “How few times can you break on the journey?” I managed only four on the way back, three times to drop off people and once when a boda (motorbike taxi) driver decided to pull into the road unexpectedly. It would seem that, in repairing the breaks, the mechanics at the Toyota garage decided to leave a few bolts loose; they obviously appreciate our company too much. Anyway, all of this led to a rather exciting journey today as we took the pickup to the village instead. We squeezed four of us into the front and then picked up two more to sit in the back. This might seem fine, but I had a slightly disconcerting experience with the pickup on Sunday when it failed to climb a slightly sloped, grassy surface and subsequently ran out of fuel (the gauge always shows empty and the speedo doesn’t ever go below 23 km/hr). Whilst driving back, we got pulled over by a traffic policeman, but managed to get away with only a stern admonition to replace the rear right tyre today. In fairness, the degree of snaking and sliding had left me with a similar resolution before he told us to.

Donations for a new tyre gratefully received

Last week was good but tiring. Work was fine, doing random bits and bobs that the Dr needed finishing before she headed off (including a late-night powerpoint assembly on Saturday). Unfortunately, I’d spent six hours of the day at a rather dreary AGM for a local organisation so the additional five hours of scouring for photos made it quite a long day.

So it wasn't all bad...

I had the sense to arrive two hours late to the meeting (10.15), but the Guest of honour was another 90 minutes late (11.45). Due to the time that the oft-favoured ‘Let me read this report to you word by word’ approach that was adopted, when I subtly stole away (well, as subtly as I could leave given I was the only white person there) at 16.15 (before they began the elections that were scheduled to take at least an hour) we were still yet to have lunch. Tragic.

Two hours late is still too early

The sum of my previous exertions has led to not feeling in the pink of health this week. I wouldn’t necessarily burden you with the information of my delightfully runny tummy, except that the joy has been compounded by a day at the village clinic where they only have squatty toilets. These joys, plus a tricky evening (I didn’t mention that I made someone at work cry the other week, great times) have led to some moments of cries of reliance on God, which I guess is a good thing. If I can grab some extra sleep at points this week and maybe have a day of bingeing on a novel, things should return to a more tranquil state.

This may have little to do with the blog, but I thought it was great.
I get to walk past it every day on the way to work.

 Aside from the important relaxation, this week should have a few interesting moments. I’m helping interview candidates for a new enrolled nurse tomorrow which should be fun! I think I get to ask the questions on education, so I’m sure to get lost in the similar but different names of qualifications and grades. I’m sure any awkwardness will help the candidates settle in so I guess I shouldn’t prepare too much. Then I’m set to spend several hours in a bank on Thursday trying to open two free community bank accounts. I’ve spent the past few weeks accumulating the random pieces of paper they want (all of them coming with the all-important stamp of their respective organisations which is seen as a fool-proof way of establishing their pedigree), but part of me is still sure the process will be suspended mid-signing when they notice a spelling mistake in something or other.

Got four guests arriving on Wednesday which should be nice. The older (60’s) of the couples is the family we stayed with in Kampala last weekend whilst the younger couple (late 20’s) were there at the same time. The younger couple both have delightful Irish accents, made even better by the wife being from Germany. Maybe I’ll treat them all to my personally-acclaimed tour of Mbale.

At some point I have to work out exactly what I’m doing with visas and such. The only part of this dilemma I’ll relay is that if I decided to pop to Kenya every three months (as I had before coming) each country will charge me $50 for the privilege which seems a little harsh for a poor volunteer like me. Apparently they’re starting to clamp down a bit on the, “I did leave for a day, can I please come back now?” approach to long term visits to Uganda which makes it more confusing. Part of me thinks being stuck in Kenya indefinitely would be a pretty cool adventure but no one else here has been quite so optimistic so far. Anyway, I’m sure something will have happened by 9^th October. If I stop blogging all of a sudden, I’m in a Ugandan gaol somewhere, being even more adventurous!

#Interesting Ugandan Cultural Observation 1#

So, not only have Ugandans wholeheartedly adopted the “How are you?” thing (including a stock answer of “I’m fine” that is almost unanimous and purely reflexive (something I love to do with the three year old on the compound is relentlessly ask him how he is and bask in the “I’m fine”s)) but they’ve added more polite things to say! Every time you come back from somewhere in Uganda, someone will welcome you back. I first encountered this in my first week when I cam back from a night in the village. I thought it was sweet that everyone was welcoming me back. Then I noticed every day after I got back from work and felt a little less special. The highlight of this is that, even if you’ve been travelling with the person, if they make it indoors before you they can welcome you back. Classic.

I obviously work for the wrong hospital

Two months! (ish)

It’s seems strange that I’ve been here nearly 2 months now! Amazing. However, I realised that my body has always been trained to work hard for 8 weeks and then have some time off. The real world is less generous, but I have managed to squeeze in some great relaxation time over the last weekend.

Probably the highlight of last week came about 12 hours after posting the previous blog. It ha rained really heavily on Sunday night and this meant that the drive to the clinic on Tuesday was even more exciting. Most of the journey was normal until we came to this bit of the road that the locals have recently re-directed a stream over so that they have water closer to where their erecting a new building. This bit of the road has been getting steadily worse, but in the face of the heavy rain it was a delightful quagmire. We came to it and had to wait for two local taxis/buses to be dragged out and then ran through by local helpers. I took this break to assist by taking photos and setting the tyres to 4x4 mode. Then the moment came, I waved off those starting to tug at the bull-bars to help us, put the Cruiser into L4 and set off into the breach. Needless to say I was grinned like a fool throughout and punched the air in excitement on making back onto solid ground. This may not sound too exciting but it was great great times.

Wednesday was also notable for an incident whilst driving, but this one was of a less cheery nature. I was out in the pickup (which is cc16 years old and great times to drive about in, partially due to having a manual gearbox set on the side of the steering wheel) bringing someone back to the house and, out of nowhere, a boda driver crashed into the left hand side. We took the driver to the hospital as he’d cut his hand (I’ve still got a bit of the blood on my right shoe). Helping him was made a bit tricky by his story changing a few details, but some kind assistance from the Reverend Simon led to it all ending well. The pickup suffered a small scratch which, as you might imagine of a 16-year-old vehicle, is easily lost in a sea of damaged paintwork.

On Thursday, we (Dr, Rev, myself and Tiff from Jenga) set off for Kampala for the weekend as there were various things scattered over several days that needed doing. Thursday ended up being largely spent travelling and going to see people in shipping about a container that Jenga was/is waiting for. I learnt lots about shipping (inc the meaning of demurrage) and met lots of very kind Ugandans who helped us free of charge. Friday was a free day which I took with both hands. After visiting some shops with the Dr, I went off for lunch (I had a burger! (unfortunately not McD, can you believe there are no McD in Uganda!)) and then went round a few more shops. Some of these trips were of my own volition. Finally, the relaxation reached a crescendo as I spent several hours in a café reading the Kiterunner whilst sipping a ‘soda’. I definitely did have teary eyes at several points whilst sat on my own in a café reading a book, that would be embarrassing. When I finally got embarrassed about my poor rate of soda consumption, I went and sat on the floor by the main gate to continue reading; I’m a great tourist.

Saturday was the Dr’s birthday! However, she was at a conference for much of the day so various other jobs acted to fill the time before celebrations. Best of these was helping do decorations for a wedding as the family we were staying with in Kampala do this as a part-time business. We went out for a meal in the evening to an Italian restaurant and I had a pizza that looked like a pizza (unlike some of the other pizzas I’ve seen here). Plus, there was a real Italian working at the restaurant! Amazing. To my horror, I failed to finish my pizza. I still haven’t quite worked out the implications of this, but I’m a little scared. After dinner, we came back to have birthday cake. The Dr was just cutting the cake when I managed to catapult the young girl I was playing through the air so that she cut her nose on the very table the cake was on. Blood and tears commenced, as did my embarrassed look. She’s fine though! It’s okay!

Finally Sunday! We set off pretty early so that we’d get back in time for dinner as a team was coming through Mbale to visit a project and the Dr. However, we did stop off at ‘the source of the Nile’. This beautiful and momentous spot had been slightly ruined by the erection of a hydroelectric dam by the British a long time a that submerged the waterfall. This dam does provide the power for all of Uganda (or used to until they built a new replacement next to it), but I’m sure some Cost Benefit Analyses would be unhappy. Still, it was brilliant to be there; wonderful to look out over Lake Victoria and down toward the Nile.

I wasn’t completely convinced by Kampala as an exciting tourist destination. I know complaining about the busyness and bustle makes  sound like I was born in a village and not the mighty metropolis that is Gloucester, but getting around Kampala is not fun. More striking is the proximity of dirty, impoverished slums with luxury hotels and large shopping malls. On a minor note, it’s also hotter and there are more mosquitoes (I’m starting to sound like a great British tourist). I learnt this first hand on Thursday night when I failed to tuck my net under my mattress. I woke to find four mosquitoes inside, all looking annoyingly like they were well fed (you should have seen their smug faces) which I promptly dispatched (that way, if malaria somehow overcomes the Larium I know that the agent of my sickness suffered a worse fate). However, when I looked in the mirror I realised an unfortunate thing had happened. I’d clearly spent most of the night sleeping with the right hand side of my face on the pillow which had led to the left hand side having about 11 bites on it, but none on the right… ideal.

This week is largely caught up in finishing off jobs that need the Dr as she goes for 6 weeks leave next Monday. Planning for next Tuesday’s enormous house party will also probably take up quite a lot of time. The Dr’s absence will lead to quite a few things looking different at work and at home so that will be interesting, but could be good in the appropriate places. Beyond that, I’m also starting work on a preach I’m doing in a village church on the 18^th which should be cool and am about to install new accounting software. Hold on to your hats, it could get pretty wild!

Back in the game!

I didn’t blog last week to give you guys a break from the sound of my typing and me a break from making up stories about Uganda… I mean recounting stories. Anyway, trying to work out what to write this week makes me realise it was a bad idea.

For help, I reread my journal entries from the past fortnight and was quickly aware of all the great times I’ve been having. Driving has been a recurrent feature of the past fortnight. I wrote on Facebook about an amazing drive I went on last Tuesday (14^th). I reckon it’ll stay among the highlights of the trip. The road was wonderfully interesting with outrageous incline, slippery shingle but most of all with panoramic views of the village area stretching out to the long plains. Chuck in some fun bumping around over potholes and squelching around in mud, it’s fair to say I had a great day. Initially, driving here was great for the experience and also because I knew I could deploy it at will as a story in the future when confronted with any pothole. Now that I’m getting more used to the motorbikes and taxi’s style of driving (dangerous is a fair and polite description) and am learning which potholes I can dodge, which I can overcome and which ones will be painful, it’s great times. Indeed, I’ve just gotten back from doing half of the driving to and fro Kampala to drop off Stella at university.

Life here has been changing quite a lot recently. Joanna and Nuulu, two girls on placement here from New Hope, Kasana, finished their placement a week and a bit ago; Stella just started a 16 week semester at university; and the Dr was away in Kampala for 3 days and leaves for the UK in two weeks so life has changed and will change quite a bit over the next little bit. However, I’ve also spent more time with some of the Jenga guys over the past few weeks, eating their wonderful Western cakes and telling bad English jokes (the great one about hating the darkness the other day). I say Jenga guys, this is misleading on two fronts. Firstly, Jenga is currently wholly deficient in male workers. Apparently, they’re sending out two lads for some good man time which will be cool. Secondly, not all of them work for Jenga. Most relevant for story-telling is that one works for Lulwanda Children’s Home (she’s Texan as are loads of muzungos who work out here). Last Thursday, they were taking the orphans swimming as it was their holidays. However, they only had one swimmer. Needless to say, I made the sacrifice and swapped a day in the office for one jumping into pools and teaching small children to swim. This story has a sad ending though: serious sunburn. After my previous crowing about not being sunburnt, I managed to brutalise my shoulders on Thursday (yes Mum, I did put on sun tan lotion. Yes Mum, I even re-applied! Yes Mum, it was factor 50!). The red has been splendid for several days and I’ve come close to some little blisters that would maximise sympathy but unfortunately they’ve faded away since.

The issue of doing work with the Children’s Home is the renewed pressure it puts on time and work things. Re-reading journal entries, I can definitely feel a shift toward settling in the current role and the decline in initial enthusiasm that comes with. I have made some stunning spreadsheets over the past fortnight (one for monitoring drugs stock and ordering new drugs and one for salaries and tax), but I’m having to re-examine my motivations as the work moves away from fire-fighting toward general running. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing though and it’s good to weigh up why and what I to do and be involved in. There’s [quick break to turn on the generator] definitely lots of things I can do toward my goal of being completely surplus to requirement by the end of May but I still don’t yet completely know what normal life will come to look like in Mbale.

That said, I realise I haven’t said much about what normal life currently looks like here. Work is 8-5 so I generally get up around 7 for my breakfast of two weetabix with milk from a pan with the cream floating on top. After my 7 minute walk to work and 5 minutes of opening padlocks, an array of jobs keeps my busy until on of us in the office picks up cups of tea for everyone around 11 (Ugandans also have ‘escort’ which can be bread or the like but those weetabix are still going by 11). Lunch is around 2-3 (scandal, I know) and it on a rotation. Wednesday is the only meal I’m not ken on. I growing to really enjoy the other Ugandan food, particularly when it’s accompanied by beef or chicken but I guess that’s cheating. I usually wander back a bit after 5 and evenings vary wildly from work to play and combinations of the two. Weekends also tend to vary, but I am increasingly opting for something relaxing on the Saturday. Last Saturday I went swimming and collected ingredients for baking; this Saturday I went to an introduction which is a traditional wedding which was long but very good. Saturday is egg and chips for lunch which is always delightful. On Sundays I either go the Deliverance Church or out to the villages with the Dr. Yesterday I went with the Dr and Rev on a wonderful visit down a classic non-road and visited this brilliant local church. It was brilliant to be back in touch with rural, charming Uganda now that town-Uganda has become familiar and has its moments of frustration.

I’m still very much enjoying updates from home, if slightly perturbed by the explosion of romance since I left. I mean, I know you guys are missing me, but there are surely other ways of taking solace!

One other thing I should mention: I’ve gotten myself a delightful Ugandan haircut whilst watching the Man U Arsenal game live. It’s just a shame that most of you will never see it...(unless some people come on an impromptu trip).