Signs and sayings

We have been upcountry again, taking Eric to Murchison Falls, our last safari here most likely. We never tire of the beautiful landscape and creatures there. Okay, so Eric has not become an avid birdwatcher, but he did get into the lions and elephants. We got into a huge rainstorm on the little boat up the river and he turned into Cap’n Eric tying canvas down to try to keep us all dry. (It might have been the cute Italian girls onboard that turned him into a savior …) And, yes, we had a “small problem” with the car on the return – the starter wouldn’t work so we had to leave the motor on until we reached a garage with a wrench (“a spanner”) in Masindi. What is it with this road???

As we dodged potholes on the journey I was reminded about the signs we have seen. We always write down the oddest ones so I have a little collection (see Steve? I’m getting to this finally!). And we try to write down the odd or endearing things that people say too. So here’s a list:

Signs we’ve seen

• Termite Construction Company


• “Suffer now, enjoy tomorrow” (slogan outside a primary school!)


• “Love many, trust few” (slogan outside a boutique called Friends)


• “The rich also cry” (outside a trading center stand)


• Talk and Work Motor Shop


• Be Patient Painters


• Hope in Jesus & Mom Mary (name of a shop)


• Galileo Surveying Company (Adam, we think this is a good name for a survey co.!)
  
  Sayings we’ve heard
  
  


• “It is finished” (nothing on the menu actually available, so this is a common comment when dining, as in “The chips are finished.”)


• “It will not rain until 4” (every Ugandan knows what will happen with the weather and they will tell you without any hesitation what will happen. Unfortunately, they are often wrong.)


• “Nice time” (just an expression, kind of like “ciao”)


• “You are very welcome” (whenever you enter a place, this is what you hear. They mean it!)


• “Are you born again?” (lots of shopkeepers will ask you this. Not sure if the price goes up if you say no)


• “I’m sorry” (They say this whenever you talk about something bad. So if you say, “I was walking and got caught in a huge storm,” they say, “I’m sorry.” We now resist arguing that it is not their fault; the truth is, they are genuinely sorry you had that experience.)


• “Deep in the village” (this is one of our favorites. I always picture a village way, way out in a dark placewhere no one goes. In reality, it refers to some practice that only happens away from the population centers, but it can just be in any village. I mean, we have been “deep in the village!”)


• “Here in Uganda we have a small problem” (Preface to something that is really a BIG problem, like war)


• "When did you produce?" ("Produce" means give birth)


• "First let me laugh at you." (The parking attendant downtown said this when I handed her two parking slips, when I needed to give her 14. After she had her laugh, she ran to a booth, where we should have gone, to get them for us.)
  
  There are many more, and we will start another list. The Ugandan people are very sweet and soft-spoken. Our friend Jon jokes that instead of worrying about pickpockets you are more likely to have someone running after you to return your wallet if you drop it. Of course, as anywhere, we do hear stories about theft and violence, but we choose to focus on the better aspects of life here!

Anna of Africa!

There have been many adventures for our niece Anna, who arrived on July 6. We promised her parents we would take care of her, but it's hard! First of all, her bag did not arrive with her. After many, many incantations of "NIE" (Nothing Is Easy), she finally got it on July 10. Adventure number 1.

Then, just after she got here I took her for a walk in the neighborhood. We walked up the road by fancy houses, then into a slum area, then I saw out of the corner of my eye something I thought she would find culturally interesting. I whispered to her to look in a small mud hut to see some men drinking this weird drink made of dried millet called marua (sp?) out of a pot with long straws made of weeds. The drink looks like mud, honestly. We were spotted, and some guys pulled us into the hut (literally - I thought my arm would come off). The lead guy then pulled a straw out of another guy's mouth and offered it to me. Uh, no thanks. I mean, the marua would have been interesting to drink, but not quite out of that straw! (I had just that day read how people contract TB from those straws.) We backed out of the hut, apologizing for our bad manners, and walked on back home. Hmm. Adventure number 2.

Then on Sunday we went to the Kampala Pentecostal Church. This church is famous for 45 minutes of singing before a fire and brimstone sermon, so we thought it would be another cultural experience, which it was. She held hands with some other women and they all prayed for each other, and the minister talked, complete with big-screen graphics copyrighted by Encarta and Microsoft, about "standing your ground" against Satan. All well and good. And then he talked about the dangers that homosexuals pose for Kampala when the Commonwealth Heads of Government meet here in November. We aren't sure how the two are related, but whatever. After two hours we felt very ready to stand our ground with our shield of faith and sword of truth, etc. Adventure number 3. Good thing she was still jet-lagged.

I had scheduled Anna to coach some basketball with a friend's group, Sports Outreach Ministry. So on Monday evening we went to a boarding school called "Never Again," where some high school-aged former street kids were awaiting her. They were big - but she just dove in and started them doing drills. She was great, and they listened. Soon she had them waving their hands in unison and moving in lines. Until they decided it was just more fun to shoot baskets, and then it was sort of chaotic, but they loved having her. And afterwards I asked one of them how the coaching was, and he thought for a few minutes and said very seriously, "She is good." They didn't want her to leave, though it was dark and no one could even see the basket. We had a little trouble getting out of there.

I'm not sure if it's part of Adventure number 4 or a new adventure, but it took us an hour to get to the other side of town where we live because of the usual Kampala traffic. At one point, I think I heard Anna yelp, but otherwise she was brave in the midst of boda-bodas, taxis and crazy drivers. Even Bill, the driver, looked kind of nervous in that jam!

There have been more adventures, like having Goretti the tailor make Anna an outfit (I mean, she didn't have any clothes except mine and her travel ones for four days!). The women at the tailor shop worked hard on a head cloth for her, and her new outfit looks great. And then the Murchison Falls van breakdown - but she can tell that story for herself, we've already had a similar one in the blog. And at the BeadforLife village she was "blessed" by the women with blue beads.

It's so much fun to have Anna, and we are TRYING to take care of her, but this is Africa, after all.

Of cattle-keepers and the queen

"If you squint a little so you can't see the banana plantations, it looks just like Italy, " I said as we drove early this week to Mbarara in western Uganda. Mbarara has lovely rolling hills, with little houses tucked into the folds, cultivated fields, green trees and plants dotting the hillsides. It is a far cry from Bugolobi with its chaotic market and mud-hut settlements. Mbarara is in what they call "cattle-keeper" country, and the cattle-keepers are relatively well off.

We were there for two days of training of the rural reporters for the New Vision. They were an eager bunch, wanting to learn. "Mr. Bill" and "Ter-ay-za," as they call us, presented in between tea time (they have two teas per day, one in the a.m. and one in the afternoon) and lunch. It seemed as soon as we started talking, bam! It was tea time again!

After the second day we decided to treat ourselves to a dinner that was not the traditional food we had been eating non-stop since we got there Sunday night. Matoke is okay, but our American stomachs can get tired of it. So we wandered along (we weren't driving this time ) and found a driver named Enoch to take us to a "fancy" hotel on the outskirts of town. Enoch owns 12 cows which he milks in the mornings, and someone helping him milks them in the evening when he is driving. The milk from the morning goes to market, the evening milk goes to his family. He says he knows a place in the district where one man owns 5000 cows!

We arrived at the hotel to find it was under construction for when the queen comes in November of this year for a Commonwealth meeting. (Everything in Uganda is under construction for the queen - can she possibly know what she's in for?) Enoch said he would stand in the middle of the road to see the queen when she goes by. We picture her covered in red dust, but of course they will close the roads when she is traveling; we didn't tell Enoch, but we have also heard she might fly to Queen Elizabeth National Park, in which case there will be lots of disappointed cattle-keepers.

One thing we've learned here is that nothing is like what you expect. The dining room was under construction, so we ate dinner with the sound and smell of a Skilsaw by our shoulders. And it was buffet night: matoke and other traditional foods. This time that included ox liver, so we did have some variety!

Left is right -- we're driving!

We spent the weekend practicing driving in our new (used) Toyota Rav 4. Why are we practicing?

First, here is the recipe for Ugandan roads: Combine huge potholes; the stray cow (or entire herds); people walking, walking, walking within inches of your side mirror; bicycles piled high with jerry cans; goats grazing in the ditch; construction to supposedly fix the potholes; little kids rolling a bicycle inner tube along the shoulder. Take all those and stretch them out in a line to make a road, then add cars, boda-bodas, trucks, buses and taxis, each zooming to get around each other and the potholes -- and out of the way of oncoming traffic. For spice add the fact that there are no lanes or center line, and that trucks and buses are overloaded and speeding. And everyone is honking.

Then there are the boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis). They come up on your right, left, in front and behind, and sometimes they are going in the wrong direction. Almost everyone we know has hit a boda man, or been hit by one; side mirrors are mostly cracked or missing. And if you hit one, a crowd gathers because everyone figures they will get paid off by the car driver for siding with the boda man. Or so we've been told.

And there's that bit about driving on the left. (But those of you in Bath with us going to Harry Potter's home or whatever it was will remember the fun of that!) We've pretty much got that down (we think).

And almost every time we have gone anywhere of any distance we see major accidents. We aim to avoid being the victim of those!

So REAL the question is, why did we get a car with all this danger around us? We've been using drivers and walking, which is great. But this is not an easy city to get around in, and we were extremely tired of using drivers for every little thing, plus it is expensive. We can still hire a driver, but use our car, if we feel like it. Mainly it gives us freedom.

For example, yesterday we drove to the Gaba Market on Lake Victoria. We had no idea what to expect, we just went. And it was great: fisherman with loads of fish, a woman selling dead grasshoppers (they fry them), ferries to islands in the lake (see pix - the ferry says "In God all things are possible" -- presumably even this ferry arriving safely), even a medicine man selling vile looking potions in bottles displayed on the hood of his car. We asked what was in them and he said it was medicine made from trees and herbs. Then he slyly looked at Bill and said they would make him "strong." And he didn't mean his triceps.

Also, we went to a play -- it lasted 4.5 hours, mainly in Luganda though they swore it was in English -- just because we could.

Above Bill is holding the worry beads, which are now hanging in our car. So we are well protected.

Snow, cotton candy and crazy mzungus

This past Saturday we went to a village called Kammengo with our friend Matthias who is a priest in that parish. Matthias lined up some kids for us to meet for a video the Sister School people in Seattle want to make when they come later this month. They were mainly about 11 or 12, speak a little English and are apparently quite gregarious -- until they see a white person.

To get them talking, Bill asked them if they knew what snow was, and they didn't. So he explained how it falls from the sky, and kids slide on it, and make snowmen from it. Their faces got scrunched up as they tried to envision this - and to understand these white people.

So he tried another tack (okay, it was my idea, and I admit not a good one). He described cotton candy, and their faces looked even more scrunchy. So he tried Easter baskets, and dying Easter eggs -- now they just thought he was crazy. At least they laughed.

We met them at the parish churchyard, which is lovely. Bright yellow weaver birds strip banana leaves to make these intricate nests in the trees, and they make lots of noise while they weave. They rejected one of the nests and it fell to our feet so I took it home for an Easter basket, no matter what they think of us.

The church is 60 years old and is crumbling a bit in the humidity. Inside, the benches are mostly broken, the confessionals in ruins. Matthias explained that during the war (which ended in 1986), the soldiers stayed in the church and smashed everything and there is no money to fix it. Also, in the yard there is a gun they abandoned on their way out; it's extremely incongruous to see it in this peaceful setting. But that recent history is evident throughout Uganda and we meet plenty of people who just want peace at almost any cost.

At any rate, we had a peaceful lunch with the pastor and Matthias. And we'll be back to see the kids. Maybe we can think of another story about America for them, something a little easier to grasp.

Oh! The neighbors have a visitor!

We heard a banging noise yesterday morning. Theresa looked out our bedroom window -- "There are monkeys all over the parking lot!" Yes, they were back again, and in a frisky mood. Swinging from the branches. Bouncing off the top of a Rav4 (that was the banging noise) and down to the ground. Doing their vertical jumps, straight up two or three times their own height to grab a tasty bunch of leaves. Zipping up the drainpipe to the top of the building next to us.

One of the monkeys discovered the open, unscreened bathroom window in a third-floor flat. Pretty soon he stuck his head in cautiously, then his whole body, then the only thing visible was his tail disappearing inside. Perhaps he wanted a drink.

Theresa went and alerted Chantal, the apartment manager, and one of the staff shooed the monkeys away at least from the open window. But everyone then hung around in the parking lot, watching the monkey business in the trees. They are so full of energy -- and are very close to flying, the way they move from branch to rooftop to ground and back.

My new job

Eldest son Adam asks, “We know Bill is busy, but what are YOU doing?”

I am observing and absorbing. This is tough work for someone who is used to the 8-5 structure – try it and you’ll see. What does it mean? I have time to walk through the market where the young woman with the tiny baby and I are becoming friends. We look for each other, and now the young men hanging out nearby are looking for me too.

I have time to walk up a dirt side-street, where I can stop and talk to the woman who sweeps out her tiny beauty salon in the morning. The man with the “BlackBoy” stand nods at me while he makes chapatti. I walk by the school where I can hear the kids in their pink gingham dresses (girls) and khaki shorts (boys) practicing English in unison: “The dog walks home with the boy.” I notice the white lace curtains in the doorways and wonder how the heck they keep them clean. I hang out at the Bench Corner Bar (just kidding, but the picture is fun).

Today I stopped for lunch at a place that could be in California -- big palms and shaded patio. As I left, I discovered it is right next to the Iranian embassy, good to know. The cafe watchman told me about a hair salon with a stylist from South Africa who only does mzungu hair. Also good to know.

Observing and absorbing. I am getting my writer’s eyes and ears back, that’s what I am doing.

"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.

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).