Thieves in the tent!

We managed to get outside dusty Kampala last weekend by visiting lovely Lake Mburo National Park. It should have been a 4.5 hour drive, but instead it was 6 hours - a construction project had traffic jamming  roundabouts and roads. Since the idea of side roads is laughable, there we sat. Luckily we had put A/C in our loaner car (thanks again Eric and Asia) so we didn’t actually bake.

We stopped at the equator on the way ...

We invited Asia along since it was her birthday and we had so much fun. She learned to float (yay! That one’s been a long time in the learning!) and ride a horse (now she imagines herself galloping along into the sunset, though we just walked – slowly – on the ride). It was a little weird to ride horses among zebras, impalas and warthogs, but no one seemed to care on either side of the equation.

Ugandan cowgirl

Mainly we relaxed, a welcome respite since we’ve been so busy at work. We stayed at Mihingo Lodge, where we had stayed three years ago. The “rooms” are tents built inside thatched roof structures carved out of the rocks above a water hole where animals like elands (truly amazing creatures with big dewlaps and a hump) and impala (with their black markings that make them seem to be wearing high heels) hang out. The lodge design is amazing – olive branches imbedded in rocks and curved plaster walls.

Cute, until ...

Our tent was down a steep stairway in the trees and monkeys were swinging all around the tent. Bill thought they were cute and took some pictures. But what they were really doing was waiting for us to vacate the room. We went to sit up above by the pool and later I decided to go get my book.

As I approached, I saw through the mosquito netting on the tent a turmoil of monkeys – probably about 10 of them – scrambling to get out at the sound of my footsteps. They tumbled out through the Velcro closures on the windows and leapt into the trees where they watched me yell at them.

The place was a disaster. Our toiletry bag was spilled everywhere: they liked the Pepto Bismol tablets, our malaria pills and assorted other medicines we always bring just in case. We’d brought the Uganda guide book with a picture of a gorilla on the cover and the cover was all twisted and torn (hmm). And the Skip-Bo cards – well, they must have had quite a game because the cards were everywhere and the box was outside.

They must have swung from the mosquito net over the bed because it sagged from a conglomeration of broken stuff and, uh, monkey poop. In fact, the place smelled like a zoo.

We had done what we were supposed to: padlock the zippers on the tent doors. But apparently they are wise to the tent structures. It’s been so dry here, said the lodge manager, that they are really hungry and the only place they can find food is the lodge. The staff cleaned it all up – they are used to it (we heard at least one other couple talking about how they’d gotten into their tent), and the monkeys disappeared from our area and moved along to some other doomed tent.

It makes for a good story, and we know the monkeys won’t get malaria. Now we’re back in Kampala, missing the cool, clear air of Mburo. But not the monkeys.

The rooms at Mihingo incorporate all natural materials. 

Oh, hello there, jailbird

Night game drive: hippo butts. It's rare to see them out of the water.

 

The pool, and the park in the distance

This place is for the birds

                Among the many pleasures of being back: rediscovering what a wonderland of amazing bird species Uganda is. Glad we decided to bring along our very thick and very heavy field guide, “Birds of East Africa,” with all its scribbled notes of where we saw what. (Speckled Mousebird -- Queen Elizabeth park. Bare-Faced Go-away bird -- Lake Mburo. Brown Parrot, African White-backed Vulture -- Kidepo. Etc.)

                We haven’t been to the national parks again yet (that starts next weekend), but we’ve been seeing the birds nonetheless. The little fellow here is one of the Kingfishers – probably a Woodland Kingfisher.

They’re wonderful birds, some colorful like this one and some not; they have the very useful talent of being able to hover stationary in mid-air above the water and then dive suddenly for their prey.

                Theresa and I saw this one in the Botanical Gardens not far from Entebbe Airport, maybe 15 miles south of Kampala. They have a terrific small jungle to wander through along the shore of Lake Victoria, tall trees with vines dangling to the ground. High in the trees we saw a cluster of four or five Turacos, and heard the squawks of parrots.

                But we haven’t even needed to travel that far. The other day looking out the bathroom window I found myself staring straight at a pair of Ross’s Turacos. This is a truly spectacular breed, with rich red and blue colors. We had seen these from a distance down in the garden behind our flat a few days earlier, and one of

them had opened his big tail like a fan. (We haven’t been able to get them to sit still for our own photos yet; this one is thanks to the San Francisco Zoo.)

Back in 2007, our book reminds us, we saw the even larger Great Blue Turaco, with its tall black crest, just as we entered the (wonderfully named) Bwindi Impenetrable Forest en route to visit some gorillas with Steve & Bobbie.

While we were at the Botanical Garden, we saw a group of children having the time of their lives, sliding down a grass-and-dirt hillside – sitting on large palm fronds. Ezra, our friend and guide (to Ugandan life and to safari animals) laughed and said that when he was a kid, their mom used to cane them because she would get them all outfitted in new trousers and then they would run off and go sliding down the hill, inevitably slipping off the palm branch occasionally and ruining their clothes. Boys!

Depressed Us in Uganda

We really, really want to post photos of giant matooke meals, funny stories about our foibles here, etc. But reality interferes. So instead of upbeat, we are depressed. The president here passed an anti-gay bill, as you know if you follow any local and international media. We knew it would happen, but it's depressing and wrong, and just creates a climate of hate no matter where you are.

Bill tries to make it better by telling me that in our own country the state of Arizona is trying to prevent gay people from being served, and that some huge percentage of people in the USA don't believe in dinosaurs. Okay, but still depressed.

Then today I read this statement by Desmond Tutu. I love what he says, and I'm going to print it out and hang it on our door here. Anyone who enters our little flat enters only if they agree with this humanitarian approach to the topic of love.

Read to whole thing because it's worth it. But here's what I plan to post as a one-woman-stand against a huge proportion of the world, apparently. Here is the Archibishop:

"The history of people is littered with attempts to legislate against love or marriage across class, caste and race. But there is no scientific basis or genetic rationale for love. There is only the grace of God."

"There is no scientific justification for prejudice and discrimination, ever. And nor is there any moral justification. Nazi Germany and apartheid South Africa, among others, attest to these facts."

"Human beings are very diverse. Some have dark brown skins while others are beige, olive or pink. Some have big noses, some are very tall, some are Christian, some speak Swahili, some are financially secure, some are lesbian, some have specially evolved to survive in cold climates. Yet we are members of one family, the human family, God's family. All of us, Christian, Hindu, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, Atheist, African, Asian, European... all. An inter-connected global family in an increasingly inter-connected world."

"Our diversity requires of us to be tolerant and compassionate and respectful of each other."

So there, rest of world. Here at Salama Springs #21, we are one family, compassionate and respectful of each other.

Watching the news, anxiously

“Oh my gosh,” people say to us in messages. “We’re so relieved that you left Kiev when you did. You must be so glad.”

                No doubt about it, we are. But like so many other things we have encountered, our feelings are, well, complicated. On the one hand, there’s no way we would want to be in Kiev at the moment. But on the other hand, we find ourselves glued to the news, jumping at every New York Times news alert about Ukraine, Theresa keeping up with young journalist Olga’s posts on Facebook, both of us trolling the website of Kyiv Post and devouring the videos, the blog postings of friend Vlad.

                The detail maps of Kiev in the Times show many of the streets and areas we wrote about and had pictures of in our blog; the first week of the protests, Drew sent us a picture of one of the journalists we had worked with, now bloodied and bruised from an encounter with police.

                And then a week or so ago Sarajevo blows up again, and our attention is pulled back that way. “Protests are still ongoing. Who knows how this will end?” writes friend Magdalena. “People are poor and sick and tired of everything, but unfortunately it's almost impossible to change things for better, to get rid of criminal, corrupted nationalists governing this country. I'm sad.”

                Yes: surely, we are glad not to be there, where streets once decorated by festive lights are blocked by barricades; where photographs show the air full of the smoke of burning buildings; where now, tragically, bullets are flying. But there is something more as well, because now we actually know, if just a little bit, some of the very brave, idealistic and dedicated young people who are fighting these fights; and we know, just a little bit but in a first-hand way, the corruptness of the regimes (and oligarchs) they are fighting against.

                And so as we watch, and know that while we absolutely do not want to be there, we also feel a pull; we care deeply about what is happening, all the more because it is so personal, and vivid, for us.

                It is, we guess, an inescapable part of the choice we made, seven years ago – without knowing we were making a choice – to go to parts of the world where things aren’t quite settled yet, where some people are doing their utmost to retain their grip on power while others, some of whom we have worked closely with, are trying to figure out a new way. Journalism, with all its imperfections, can be a way of helping do that. We have been lucky to see some of it on the ground, in action.

KFC, malls and monkeys

We’ve been talking a lot about change and why we, like most people, are so resistant to it.

We first stayed in Kampala in 2007 – 7 years ago. Then we came again in 2008, and the last time we were here was 2010, 3+ years ago.  So we aren’t really surprised to see changes, just not that happy about some of it.

We feared the vendors would have gone, but they are in the market at night with their very evocative  kerosene lanterns.

One of the first things I noticed was fewer women in traditional dress – not necessarily gomez, the puffy sleeved dresses – but just the fish-tail skirts and fitted tops in African fabric. We’ve seen some, but not as many as before. Lots of Western clothing. Also, the kids seem more used to Westerners, none have yelled “mzungu” to us.

Then too, the market and mall situation. A new city official wants to do away with the small vendors and build malls instead. (The opposite, we’ve noted, of in the US where we are going more toward small farmer’s markets and away from the big supermarket.) Our local market is still there (and one lady remembered us!), but it’s changed. The cement stalls that were basically home to the vendors are empty and the women are all bunched together in the open instead. It’s hotter up there and hard to see whose vegetables are whose. The fly-bitten chickens in cages are still there, ditto fish, but not quite in as orderly a way as before.

There's a shiny new mall in Bugolobi, complete with KFC, a popular place to be seen

The metal workers that we used to hear in the mornings are gone, but in the evenings the women are still out there cooking maize on the little stoves (apparently illegally), and tables and chairs appear in the parking lot where the chicken sizzling on grills is served. And my tailor, Teddy, of course is there, she remembered us and now we can wave to her at her treadle sewing machine when we walk through the market, just like in the old days.

The new mall down the street has a Dutch bakery (okay, some change is good!) and a very popular KFC. Though most of the locals gathering at it are just drinking

The palm trees are still here, with their big pony tails of seed pods.

Coke – the Colonel’s chicken is super expensive. (We saw KFC opening in Ghana too; ah, the US export claim to fame.)

A good change is that the city is cleaner, no “drifts” of plastic bags and bottles against the fences. People tell us you can go to jail for two weeks if you are caught littering. We’ll see how it is when we get out of the city. Of course, everyone is still burning garbage.

Something that has not changed is that the monkeys are back at Salama Springs! They spent the day chasing each other and jumping from vine to vine in the garden. They’re a little more aggressive than they were in the past– someone might be feeding them. But they’re fun to watch. They lined up on the roof to watch Bill swim this a.m.

The fruit has not changed. Prossy brought us a bounty of bananas. Best pineapple in the world! (Sorry, Hawaiians.)

Some of our old friends are still here in their same position, some not. Unfairly, we feel bad about things not staying exactly as we put them in the deep freeze of our memories. Maybe, as Bill says, we resist change because we are more comfortable with what we know, that’s it’s all about security. I think it’s that, and nostalgia for the good times we’ve had here.

We’re letting go, however. Time to forge new experiences that we might miss next time!

The Ugandan Way

Funny how quickly you forget how it is here.

We arrive after 27 hours of travel, blurry-eyed and fuzzy-minded, in Entebbe. At baggage claim, fellow passengers haul their bags away, except for the substantial group of losers – including us - standing there watching the carousel go round and round. Having some experience of this, we pretty quickly figure it out and run to the “office” where 3 people are processing delayed baggage claims.

 

Jet lagged us: Tempted to check into the Middle East Nursing Home

Fortunately, we are towards the front of the line, but pretty stressed because our driver is waiting and might leave – it‘s 11 p.m., mosquitoes are circling like tiny hyenas, babies are crying, etc. Bill's racing to find the driver and tell him to please, please wait. I'm trying to find the damn baggage claims - I know they are here somewhere. When our turn at the counter comes, we are reminded we are in Uganda . The conversation goes like this:

Ugandan Lady Clerk: Hello. How are you?

Us: Fine, how are you?

ULC: Fine, how is home?

Us: Home is fine. Can we have our bags? Here are our tags, boarding passes, passports.

ULC: Are you together?

Us: Yes.

ULC: I will process one by one.

Us: But …

ULC to Bill, men first: What is in the luggage?

American Thought Balloon: Come on, lady. It’s just stuff for two months in Uganda. Who can remember? Clothes. Toothpaste. Stuff.

Bill: Pants, uh …

ULC: How many trousers?

Bill: Uh, maybe two. Swim goggles, uh …

Etc.

ULC: Please sign these thousand pages. … Please wait while I copy these papers.

Me: You could copy mine at the same time!

ULC: I told you, I will process one by one.

American Thought Balloon: Oh, brother. If you walk down that hall we’ll never see you again.

Wait. 

ULC (My turn): Are you married?

Me: Yes.

ULC, smiling: Then why is your name different?

Me, laughing: Because he does not own me. I don’t kneel to him!

All smiling. Best women friends.

Me: I like to be independent, don’t you think that’s a good idea?

ULC: Oh, yes. But our Ugandan men … Lots of head-shaking by both of us. Solidarity.

Bill, rolling his eyes. Crowd of people behind us melting into mosquito-laden sweat puddles.

ULC: What is in the luggage?

Me: Sandals. Skirts. Insect repellent! Debby’s whiffle balls. T-shirts that say ‘Love Condoms’. Stuff.

ULC: How many condom t-shirts …

Etc. Please wait while I copy these papers.

ATB: Argh.

ULC: Bags might come in tomorrow night, might not.

We arrive at the flat after 1 a.m. Basket of fruit on table and water in fridge. Thank you, thank you, Salama Springs. All is as we left it. We put our hats on the same shelf as before. Fall into bed.

About 6 a.m. I hear the swish, swish of the twig broom as Michael sweeps the compound. The alarm-clock hadada ibis flies overhead, clacking and squawking us awake. We roll over, look at each other and smile.

We are back.

PS - Bags arrived Monday afternoon. All's well.

Sunset from our porch. There's an ibis on the roof, hard to see.  They are the first bird in the a.m., last at night. Squawk, squawk.

Oyee Uganda, Take 4

Our bags are packed, it's time to go ... that ol' jet plane will be taking us back Uganda, land of green bananas, red dirt, golden hot sun -  and the warm people we are privileged to call friends. It's been three years, we're excited, but we aren't so crazy about change, and we have some questions .   

For example, will the huge pothole at the intersection in Bugolobi still be there? What about the monkeys at Salama Springs? New shiny buildings in Kampala? Pavement Sizzles and Flames in business? Will our old friends remember us, the ladies at the market saying, "You were losed to us" as they did the last time? Will we remember how to shake hands using our thumbs and that back-and-forth thing? Is everyone okay/happy/thriving? New babies, well, we expect that!

Some other nomad told us recently that the place you went first always takes on the most romantic nostalgia, and that certainly seems true for us when it comes to Uganda. One thing we are curious about is how it seems after our more recent Africa trip - to Ghana. Certainly it will seem cooler!

This time we are going for 10 weeks, 8 of those for work training journalists. And I'll try to squeeze in some more writing work with children - as I did in Ghana. We also are very excited that daughter Kate and her husband Elliot and his sister Deborah are planning to visit in March. Safari time!

Thanks, everyone, for being excited with us about our trip and begging for the blog to be cranked back up. We'll try to post often and well. We like to know you are along for the ride!