Things carried on bicycles

We've been amazed at the way people carry things on the back of their bicycles (picture piled-high bicycles dodging traffic 4 "lanes" wide, potholes 3 feet deep, pedestrians carrying things on their heads ...). So we started a list, which I'm sure we'll add to.

When Bill mentioned this to his driver yesterday the driver was perplexed about why it was unusual. He just couldn't believe it: "You mean people don't do this where you come from?"

Things carried on bikes:

- Pineapples in bunches on the handlebars

- Pineapples in huge crates piled behind the seat

- Long (6-8 feet) poles

- Huge stuffed sacks (6-feet wide) of wood shavings

- Truck-sized tires (4 per bike)

- Sacks of charcoal

- Large wooden crates (one, we were told, carried by a meat vendor)

- A huge collection of large yellow jerry cans (used to carry water) roped together, presumably empty

- Sugar cane

- Sacks of cabbages

- A collection of brooms, mops, sponges and welcome mats, all piled high in a sort of mobile store

- Huge burlap sacks wrapped around giant bunches of banana leaves

Many of these things are so heavy that you regularly see several men pushing a single bicycle up one of the steep hills.

"Our" market next door

It’s been awhile since I posted – blame the homesick computer and the fact that we moved. Yes, we are in an apartment in the same neighborhood as the hotel. We looked at a zillion houses and flats before settling here (thanks to the New Vision people who patiently carted us all over the place). Here’s the deal: the houses felt very isolated, since they are all behind walls with security guards, and include what is called “boys quarters” for your house girl, cook and gardener. Some of them were just fine: big gardens, many bedrooms, nice kitchens. And the expense that comes with extra services. But we aren’t really here for that kind of existence. If, after a month or two, it seems that we need space and peace and quiet we’ll reconsider.

For now, we are in a place called Salama Springs. Small flat (I promise pictures!), nice swimming pool that saves us at the end of the day, small workout room (no, we haven’t been there yet!), sauna (why would anyone do that in Africa?), and both local families and people like us from somewhere foreign. And – big bonus - little monkeys rolling over each other in the garden!

We promised to talk about the Bugalobi Market, which is right next door to us. It is an amazing collection of huts, stalls and ramshackle buildings in which you can find almost anything: clothes, beauty supplies (lots of them, for some reason), pest poison, shoe repair, beauty salons. If you look hard you see a meat stall tucked in between the beauty salon and book stall. Right next to the outdoor barber shop is a place featuring the services of Plumbers and Graphic Artists, which we found a slightly curious combo. (Fred and Alix – better start working on those plumbing skills!) There are mini-factories of people building beds, metal trunks, metal stoves. And next to that there’s a pool hall (a table under a tin roof) where young men hang out. Oh, and you can wash your car at the washing bay.

This morning there was a pickup truck in the parking lot/road and in back were six people playing music on some little stringed instruments that we’ll find the name of. The music is all great – very reggae, which makes sense when you think about it.

Behind the stalls is the food market, and that is really a jumble. Men stir dried beans on tarps, women hide behind huge stacks of green bananas (Uganda supposedly produces more bananas than anywhere), and odd vegetables are covered by tarps to protect them from the hot sun. Among the piles of potatoes (they eat a lot of starch here) rise artistic cairns, like the ones in the mountains, but these are made of potatoes not rocks. Pineapples are piled on the back of bikes, or in wagons – you can get a slice if you want, or a whole one. If you want a slice, a guy hacks it off with a machete and wraps the bottom in plastic so you can hold it and it’s delicious, even while the sticky juice drips down your arm.

You can get kebabs from the vendors who cook them on little round hibachi-style stoves, or fresh corn that smells great. We haven’t done that yet – we’ll try the corn, but not the meat, at least not after seeing the meat stalls.

Further up the street are more vendors, but they are selling huge sacks of charcoal wrapped in straw.

So that’s the market – it’s very crazy, a little scary (because the people are hard to understand and you have to dicker and we aren’t good at that. I mean, really. We can afford the 50 cents for the pineapple!) The contrast between the market and the enclave of fancy houses not far away is fascinating, at least to us newcomers.

What are we doing?

Bill has been going in to the newspaper a little and figuring things out. I have met with a few people about volunteer work and will decide on that this week - some exciting things out there. We’ve been to dinners with news types, and driven to stores and downtown, etc. by friends we’ve met. Including Fr. Matthias, who stayed in Seattle with my brother-in-law Dean last year. He took us to the bank and we got in the middle of a political demonstration. Pretty exciting, but we figured we were in good hands with a priest, though he looked nervous as people banged on his car. The teargas didn’t reach us, no worries.

And we went to a big government celebration yesterday and saw the president of Uganda. They wouldn’t let me take the camera inside, so I stayed outside creating a tiny incident. I don’t understand why the soldier with many guns didn’t trust me not to take pictures; I told him I’m a grandmother, could be his mother, but he wouldn’t budge on the camera. At least he was laughing; I figured I was okay if he just kept smiling. He told me to "sit with the ladies" undeer a shade tree. Finally an official person came along and all was well. I didn't go to jail. And we still have the camera. (No pix of the president, though!)

That’s what we are doing. Every day is an adventure. Around every corner is a surprise.
Mosquito nets are kind of sexy.

Surrounded by storks

Our first morning in Kampala we awoke to the sounds of birds everywhere. I looked out the window to see a giant stork sitting atop a tree, pretty much dwarfing everything around him. I mean, these birds are huge! Bill says they are the size of toddlers; their bodies are about three feet tall, their wing span five or six feet. They have long pointy beaks, and scrawny necks covered with fuzzy hair.

We’ve seen storks before, but not this big. And they are ubiquitous, sort of the pigeons of Kampala, and you don’t want to walk under the trees where they are sitting or nesting! When one comes in for a landing it looks just like a plane heading for the runway. We learned it’s the mating season, which is why we find ourselves surrounded by them.

That’s our wildlife, for now. We have not been here long enough to have more than first impressions, such as:
The air smells of charcoal from the cooking fires and you see huge bags of coal carried on bicycles or in taxis..
There are “power cuts” where the power just shuts down for awhile; apparently the cuts are rotated by area (our hotel, where we are until we find an apartment, has a generator); even when there is electricity, the lights are pretty dim. And many, many people use kerosene lanterns.
The people are as happy and helpful as we’d been told. They are also extremely soft-spoken and shy. We are constantly saying, “What?” and sounding like rude mzungus (white people), but really we are just trying to hear. They have the most glorious smiles!
Apparently our accents are “funny”; when we say something, very often the person we’re talking to looks amused. I finally asked what was so entertaining, and was told, “Your English is funny.” They are more used to British accents, I guess.
The shopping areas are rows of stores that are actually more like booths. They are narrow and deep in a row of wooden one-or-two-story buildings. They are ramshackle structures, the true meaning of higgeldy-piggeldy. But you can buy anything you want, and there are also larger grocery stores (yes, they have olive oil!).

Today we were walking down the street to the store and we both spontaneously said how hard it is to describe what we are seeing just along this one street. So that’s the next post.

We are looking for a place to live, and spent the day visiting houses and apartments. They are relatively expensive, and it’s a landlord’s market, so we are going to keep looking at least tomorrow before we decide on a place. We met the people at the New Vision today, and Bill will start at some meetings there tomorrow. They are so excited to have him! He’s going to be one busy mzungu.

We are well. Our biggest ailment is itchy eyes from pollution. Ah, memories of Athens …

FAQ and notable quotes about our adventure

Here are some things our friends have asked that we hope to answer in the months ahead. Strangely enough, most of them have to do with bathrooms. (Okay, so I’ve taken a little liberty with the quotes, but my memory ain’t perfect.)

What if you are sleeping in a mosquito net and you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Don’t the mosquitoes get you? (Jim Ferguson)

What if you have to go to the bathroom and you are in a tent and there are rhinos and things like that outside between you and the bathroom? (Carole Carmichael)

What kind of bathrooms do they have? Is it just a hole in the ground? (Jan Kloeck)

Don’t they eat people over there? (Fred Birchman)

Are you going to live in a hut? (Lots of people)

Didn’t they have any assignments in Italy? (Theresa Morrow)

Don’t you know you have responsibilities – you can’t just go running off? (Adam Morrow)

What? No olive oil? (Robin Updike)

How big are the cockroaches? (Sally Soest)

Whatever did happen to Idi Amin? (Terry Tazioli)

Fearmongers and others

Africa. That’s one place I’ve never wanted to go. (Scott Comfort)

You think you’re coming back? It’s a dangerous place. (Lloyd Frink)

I’ll bet you’re scared shitless. (Brenda Bell)

I have a friend who just came back from Africa. He is all full of rashes and sick and he looks awful. (Laura Vecsey’s mother)

Google “Uganda” and “violence” and you can see why you shouldn’t go. (Sarah Morrow)

Let us know when the ebola virus/bird flu is coming our way. (Fred Birchman)

Did you go to see the Last King of Scotland? Maybe you shouldn’t. (Jim Simon)

I’m scared of Africa. (Fred Moody)

I saw on TV last night that there is a kind of spider that is big enough to eat birds … (Anonymous)

If I want to see a giraffe (which I do not) I’ll drive over to Woodland Park Zoo. (Michael Nelson)

I’m jealous of you. (Larry Duthie)

I'll be there as soon as I can. (Eric Morrow)

Here We Go!

When Bill called from the offices of the International Center for Journalists way last April and asked what I thought of going to Uganda, my response was, “Sure. Where is it?” I knew it was in Africa, but that’s a big continent, so I ran to the atlas to find this little tiny country in East Africa on the shore of Lake Victoria.

Since then we have learned about this “Pearl of Africa,” thanks mainly to a surprisingly big network of people who have been to, or lived in, Uganda. (Thank you all.) And now we are ready to go – Thursday morning we will see if we can lift our duffle bags and travel for 21 hours to Entebbe, then to Kampala where we will live until the beginning of October. Check out the New Vision newspaper to see some of what Bill will be working on.

It’s been a long prep time. For one thing, we are walking drugstores – we’ve had some 7 vaccinations, and we have a huge supply of malaria pills. So much for our mantra of avoiding doctors. I quit my great job at Zillow.com, and Bill folded up his office for a leave from the Seattle Times. We’ve kissed our two grandkids goodbye and delivered them a globe with a sticker on Uganda marked “Nana and Papa.” We’ve just about turned our house over to daughter Sarah and her cats. We’ve said goodbye to friends and family with a few tears. I’ve said goodbye to each plant in the garden, the yellow front door, the view from our bed, the shower curtain – you get the point.

So why are we putting ourselves through this? We say we are going to Uganda and people seem to divide pretty evenly into two camps:

1) You are crazy. We’ll see you when/if you get back.
2) How cool, can I come visit? (The answer is “yes,” please!)

There are lots of reasons, actually. The most obvious, and true, one is that we feel that it is time to give back. We’ve been extremely lucky, both professionally and in our wonderful family and friends. We have reached a point in our careers where we do a ton of mentoring – that seems to indicate that our experience is actually worth something! So while we are healthy enough and young enough to share it, we figure we’d better put up or shut up.

The less obvious reason, but no less true, is that we’ve become uncomfortably comfortable. We’ve been going to predictable offices, collecting paychecks, and starting to talk about retirement with some feeling of trepidation. We have seen (and eaten good food in) Europe and other far-off places, and, while we love that kind of travel, it no longer seems quite enough. And now we constantly hear messages that seem to speak to our spirit of adventure.

For example, there is this quote that’s been hanging on our fridge for years, from travel writer Bruce Chatwin: “The act of journeying contributes toward a sense of physical and mental wellbeing, while the monotony of prolonged settlement or regular work weaves patterns in the brain that engender fatigue and a sense of personal inadequacy.”

And one more rang out last year as we watched Heartbreak House at the Seattle Rep. Lots of people talk about how brave we are, or say they think we should be afraid, and their fear started to affect us, until we heard G.B. Shaw say: “I did not let the fear of death govern my life and my reward was I had a life.”

Honestly, we are a little apprehensive because we don’t know what the future will hold. We know some of it will be truly hard, we know we will be homesick (and perhaps sick!), but overwhelmingly we are just plain curious. What is Uganda really like? Who will our new friends be? How will we get around? How does one breathe inside a mosquito net? In other words, what’s around the next corner?

We can’t wait to find out. Join us via this blog; if you want to send us e-mail, we have two accounts: tmorrow@speakeasy.net, and morrow.ristow@gmail.com. We’ll be accessing both of them (hopefully).