Uganda, land of contrast. I have shared posts about my life in Uganda that show how idyllic life here can be for me. I have constant access to amazing fruits and vegetables for a fraction of what it costs at home. Friends, local site seeing, in country travel to amazing locales, bars with the best live music. I love my job and my coworkers and have the satisfaction of working for an organization that helps people to help themselves.
But today, as I walked home after my pilates class, leisurely dawa tea and shopping for mimosa fixings for brunch tomorrow with friends, I saw another side of life right here in my neighbourhood. Not a new observation for me, as I walk by every day, but today I am compelled to try to put it in words.
I have no pictures to share of the people I describe. These are my neighbours. Regular people who were simply born to a much different, harder reality that I was. My elevated position in this society is 100% attributable to where and when I was born. As my mother would say when we passed a person begging on the streets at home – There, but for the grace of God, go I. Thanks Mum.
I walked from the shops, up Tank Hill Road in Muyenga, a nicer area of Kampala. I passed some nice restaurants, a football field where some of the more affluent (middle class?) children were playing a match. I turned down Kironde Road and walked downhill past several NGOs and nicer private homes. I said high to several people I see regularly. I have lived here for a year so we are familiar with each other.
At the bottom of the road I hit a different area entirely. First there is a Bodaboda stage. Hardly a formal transit station by first world standards, yet it fulfills the function just the same. I turn right and walk through it. Is it a slum? Not really, but probably just because it is so small.
There are a couple small shops immediately ahead. Mud brick buildings operated by local women. Truly industrious women who are always working. They sell what seems to be an assortment of everything a household could need including women’s clothing, which they put out on mannequins every morning.
Another woman sits roadside right beside the shops, always working as well. In the morning I see her peeling cassava and making food for other locals on her small charcoal stove. After work she has usually switched to roasting corn cobs. I say hello to her when I walk by as she is husking ear after ear.
She is sitting in front of a small community of dwellings. They are basic mud brick dwellings but the ground around the homes is always impeccably swept. Clothes are always on the line drying. Everybody, from adult to the smallest child, is clean and dressed in clean, pressed clothing. I am almost positive that today I saw at least one door that is just a sheet. I suppose theft is unlikely when you have nothing. The mosquitos must be hell at night though.
I stroll along and cross another NGO area where it looks a bit more upscale again. Then I go through one last little spot where my immediate neighbours live. A bit of an outdoor pub – two televisions showing football and a small pool table. The pub is in front of a slightly larger and more official looking shop.
Across from this pub is a small shed that functions as a store for a lady I have such respect for. Life is clearly a struggle. She has children. At least two – a toddler boy and girl between 6 and 8. Every morning when I go by she is working, often with another woman or two. They make dough for chapatis and then she makes and sells rolex (fr. roll eggs) a chapati with and omelet on it, rolled up like a burrito. In the restaurants in this neighbourhood they sell between 8,000 and 20,000 Uganda shillings, depending on how fancy you go. She sells a single egg rolex for 1k and a two egg rolex for 1,500. I have tried many and hers are as good as the rest. Basic but tasty and fresh.
Today though, what struck me was the people doing their laundry. I have a front loading washer and nice clothes lines on the balcony to hang my things to dry. They are washing in a small plastic tub. Not even with a washboard to help them out. Just tubs, some kind of soap and brushes. And then they will hang on the line. Somehow keeping them all clean despite the dust and red dirt that is always blowing around.
This is not 100 meters away from my apartment. So I recognize my privileged existence. My multiple blessings. I am thankful for all that I have. I am thankful that I get to be here. I am thankful to be part of this community.
The only business I have patronized is the last lady, buying my rolex and the odd vegetable. I say hello how are you, every morning and evening like I would to any neighbour. Sometimes I stop for a short conversation, so long as I am not intruding on a gathering of her and her friends.
In comparison to the well maintained football pitch on Tank Hill Road, sometimes the local boys hold their own matches in this field. Usually a ball that is barely holding together and some of the boys are in flip flops or bare feet. The beauty of football/soccer is that it can be played almost anywhere and you just need something roundish as the ball.
If this area was an astrological sign it would be Gemini to represent the two extremes.
These pictures here are from similar areas, if more rural. The stores and houses look much the same. I share to help add visual to my words.
A Travelling Accountant 
Hi Tracy lovely to hear you describe your neighborhood. I love all your pictures. Take care. Steph
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