Rewinding back to the first couple weeks of April, Janani left Uganda in pursuit of the next phase of life. It’s Janani I have to credit with life as it so contentedly is in Uganda. She’s responsible for introducing me to Amos, everybody’s favorite vegetable man at Nakasero Market, for teaching me Luganda slang unfailingly capable of eliciting local laughter (tuswala!), for showing me true Kampala night life, for giving me pumpkin curry, chana masala, and dahl cooking lessons. As a parting gift, she left me with a cupboard full of her extra kulambu chilli masala, madras sambar power, dhana jeera, coconut milk powder and a whole slew of other Indian spices that I have absolutely no idea what to do with…but high hopes for.
So, there was lots of “celebrating Janani’s time in Uganda” to do prior to her departure. A pool party, one last night of dancing ‘til the cows come home at Mateo’s and Rouge, one last dinner at Krua Thai, one last trip to Rugby Club, and one last round of crepes for breakfast…before we gave her her teary-eyed “push” to the airport. Here, a picture of us with some of the AFFORD team at her pool party. Come back soon, pipsqueak!
Fortunately, Janani’s departure overlapped with the arrival of Carla – my first real live visitor from the States. Carla is one of my nearest and dearest from Cornell, and one of world’s best travel buddies. We realized while she was here that we’ve been to an impressive number of places together in our seven years: Italy, Switzerland, France, Mexico, Vegas, LA, Tremblant, Montreal, Niagara Falls, West Palm Beach, Lake George, Ithaca, Philly, New Hope, Marilla, Buffalo, Fulton, Baltimore, DC…and now, Uganda and Kenya.
She got in late the night of April 8th, and I didn’t give her much of a chance to ease into life in Africa. Rather than greeting her with my smiling face, Ali, our driver, held a sign with her name on it and I hid behind him. It’s not really an arrival in the motherland without someone holding a sign with your name on it. A shower of any sort after her near 24 hours of traveling wasn’t an option that night as my hot water pipe burst earlier that day (for the second time since I’ve lived here), nor was a warm shower possible the next morning as we waited for a more permanent fix. (Update: I now have a taller-than-I-am telephone shower, mounted on the wall, and have figured out how to turn on – and, importantly, off – the hot water heater. Still waiting on the shower bar and curtain…). I handed her an MTN SIM card and 10,000 shillings worth of airtime in case of emergency, and the next morning Carla was up and off to the clinic. Carla's a 4th year med student – graduating this Friday! – and volunteered at Hope Clinic, one of AFFORD’s Good Life Network Clinics during the week while I was at work. Still no rest for the weary – right after work I made her run up, down and around Kololo’s hills with me. And then go eat Ethiopian and then go get a drink at Bubbles. The strategy? Boycott jetlag.
The rest of her stay was equally as jam packed as we tried to squeeze as much as we could into her time here. Mini highlights: comedy night at National Theatre; exploring craft shops, sampling Ugandan coffee and buying produce from markets in “town town;” cutting up jackfruit – undoubtedly one of nature's stickiest crops; watching Ndere Dance Troupe, whose performance was narrated by one of world’s worst MC’s; walking around Makerere University in an attempt to relive our college days; experiencing Kampala night life; and overindulging at a number of Kampala’s eateries, including “expat” places (e.g. Pavement Tandoori for Indian, Mamba Point Pizzeria, Kyoto for Japanese), and local joints (e.g. the Hakuna Matata Rhino 4 Pork Joint, and a rolex stand on the side of the road in Ntinda).
As proper tourists, we felt it was only right to visit Kasubi Tombs, “trumpeted as the largest thatched mausoleum in Africa.” This particular former home to one of the kabakas (kings) of the Buganda people is now home to four deceased kabakas. Not so much the history buff myself, I spaced out during our briefing. Carla, however, picked up on the fact that our guide told us one king fought in World War I…and proceeded to cite his date of death in the 1800s. Below is Carla hanging out with some dead kabakas, and me not entering the Royal Drum House. Traditionally, the keeper of the drums lived a life of celibacy, so women’s entrance was forbidden. When we asked if the keeper of the drums still practices celibacy, our guide only laughed…
Like a champ, Carla quickly came to know and appreciate Kampala’s (Uganda’s….Africa’s…) quirks: the morning rains that result in mud splattered work attire, Ugandans not-so-subtle yet innocuous way of delivering what we’d normally interpret as insults, the futility in trying to get change for anything larger than a 5,000 shilling note, the occasional tied up goat or precariously balanced stack of [insert item of your choice] on the back of a boda-boda, the fact that adopting Ugandan phrases – which usually involves leaving off a word or five at the end of a sentence (pick me, drop me, we go) – makes communication a lot easier, the rarity of finding Coke Lite at your average soft drink selling venue, the “there is no hurry in Africa” philosophy that permeates every aspect of life, not the least of which is internet connection speed.
I won’t even broach the big highlights – weekend trips to Masai Mara (Kenya) and Murchison Falls (Uganda) – in this entry. Suffice it to say that Ali and I gave Carla her push and put her on the plane with no bouts of malaria, boda-boda head injuries, or animal attacks to speak of. The definition of a highly successful trip to Uganda, in my book :-)
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