I am in a slightly different neighborhood this weekend, dog sitting Becks, who I introduced in my last post. Still walking distance from my usual hood, but the encounter I am writing about occurred just inside the gated community, not in my usual road.
Gratuitous photo of Becks sleeping last evening
As Becks and I returned from the supermarket on Saturday afternoon, we came upon 2 men and 2 boys who were cutting up a large jackfruit. I stopped to watch, explaining to them that I had never seen the fruit cut up – only on the tree or packaged in the store.
The jackfruit today was probably the size of the one in the top right. I took this photo in Jinja because the one of the top left was the size of a toddler!
These lovely gentlemen then cut off a section and gave it too me. I was humbled and grateful for the gift.
So home I came with my bounty. As you can see, the section they gave me was indeed generous.
I read how to clean a jackfruit after I started. Of course. Because I jumped right in instead doing research, my hands got very sticky. Jackfruit has a latex sap – according to the internet – and it sticks quite well to hands. I didn’t use the recommended coconut oil to get it off. Just an every day dishes scrub did the job.
Part way through
When you buy the little fruits in the store they still have the seeds in them. I recently learned that those seeds are edible, so in the spirit of maximizing the value from my food I took them out right away.
The fruits of my labour
Last week I tried roasting some jackfruit seeds, so today I tried boiling them. Boiled is better in my opinion. The seeds don’t get crunchy but they have a nice potato like texture.
The nuts have a white outer covering that comes off easily after boilingAnd the rest to compost
Look Siobhan, I’m wearing flip flops!!!!
Before getting to the gate I also bought all of these mangos from a local lady for 2,000 Uganda shillings. Total, not each. The equivalent of about 75 cents Canadian. The local mangos are small but tasty. This part is probably a little braggy 🙂
It was definitely a nice Saturday afternoon, even if I had to wear a face mask.
On March 30, 2020 Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni ordered a 14-day nationwide lockdown which began the next day.
Lockdown here is truly a lockdown, though less restrictive than neighbouring Rwanda. There has been a 7pm curfew since the beginning, but other restrictions have evolved as time has passed.
There iss a complete ban on private vehicles, with businesses and NGO’s requiring approval and special permits for their vehicles. As the lockdown has progressed I think more businesses have been approved, but not my workplace.
Like most countries, non-essential services have been suspended- yes I have lockdown hair. Thankfully I brought a few boxes of hair colour from home so I caved and used one of them 2 weeks ago, just after the last extension was announced. At least my roots look better! (Yes there is hair colour here but my experience has been that it’s a gamble whether or not the colour ON the box is the same as the colour IN the box 😑 )
They also banned bodabodas from taking passengers. They are available to do deliveries of food, groceries etc which has helped keep stores and restaurants in business.
I have been saved since the first weekend by great friends, my lovely boss and his wife. That’s a double poke at Phil – he hates being called lovely and boss hahaha! I don’t know what state of mind I would be in without Phil and Natalia.
Natalia with Becks, celebrating his recent official adoption after a year as a foster
Yeah, yeah, social distancing, isolation oh no! Well Phil and I were in the same room at work and then isolated, so we were already cross-contaminated.
I have spent every weekend with them. Not actually violating any rules either, as the three of us fit within the gathering limit of 5 people.
Weekends have been great!
Within 2 days of lockdown there were two daytime robberies of muzungu (white) women on my usual walking routes. This is understandable when people live day to day and now cannot work. Obviously some of us stand out as visibly more fortunate and therefore targets. The ladies were not physically harmed but lost everything- phones, laptops, cash. As such, my work has strongly encouraged that I do not walk alone. I have complied.
For the first few weeks of lockdown our office all worked remotely. Phil would walk over with their dog Becks, pick me up and walk back with me on Saturday morning. Sunday he would walk me home. I would shop at the supermarket on the way back home, and get fruit from my fruit guy.
Phil, Natalia, Tracy, Vishal enjoying the visit after a fantastic lunch
Several weeks back, a small group of us resumed working in the office – remember 5 is the limit. Since then, Phil picks me up each morning and walks me up to work, then back down afterwards. Making sure, of course to be home long before curfew. The exception is Friday, when I walk home with him instead.
We have had some great times. The three of is alone can be a party! And on a few occasions company has joined. For example, my day drinking birthday party on May 9th was a blast!
Yup, it was a great birthday This photo is not staged 🤣
The worst thing for me has been the loss of freedom to ever walk anywhere alone. Don’t get me wrong, I am keenly aware of my privileged situation. I have food, water, a safe home, plenty of toilet paper, wifi etc. But still, the lack of independence is both a mental and emotional strain.
Hence today’s post inspiration. Today, May 18th, 2020, around midday, I walked from work to the supermarket and back all by my own self, just like a big girl!
It was fabulous, liberating and refreshing
I went with 3 things: my umbrella because it had just stopped raining, an empty bag for my produce, and the equivalent of about $16 Canadian secured in my bra. No purse, no phone. Can’t steal what I don’t have. I encountered no problems whatsoever, so I may do it again occasionally, taking the same precautions.
Face masks only became a requirement 2 weeks ago when the latest extension was announced. Reqiired in all public places, so even when walking outside. Nobody wore them for the first week but now most people have them. Many are worn as chin guards but compliance is rising. We are told people not wearing them will be sent home but haven’t heard from anybody who has experienced it.
Tomorrow the president will update us about another extension and/or changes to the rules. I am not speculating or holding out hope. But I am thrilled that on occasion I can stroll to the store by myself. It’s the little things, right? Stay safe and sane.
I was recently recalled back to Uganda early from a work trip to Zimbabwe. The recall came on March 18, 2020 and was based more on the volatility of the governments involved that the virus itself. At that time neither Zimbabwe nor Uganda had confirmed cases of Covid-19.
I was originally going to fly back today, Sunday March 22. I would not have been able to however because Uganda closed its borders today. Being stranded in Zimbabwe would have been fine by me except my visa would have expired on April 12th. Zimbabwe does not do in-country visa renewals, so if things were not opened up by then I could have been in a bit of a pickle.
Anyway, the first available flight out was on the morning of Thursday March 19th. 11:15 am departure to be exact. The experience was so unusual I was compelled to start writing about it on that first leg of my trip from Harare to Nairobi.
On the night of the 18th the Uganda president made an announcement regarding travel in that caused no small degree of confusion for many of us looking to come back. Based on the speech it was vague as to which countries would result in putting people into quarantine and it also looked like that quarantine could last up to 32 days.
While the people in Kampala worked out if the quarantine would apply to me, I considered taking my employer up on a previously declined offer to repatriate me to Canada. If I was going to face a 32 day quarantine, Canada was looking pretty good. At least they would only lock me up for 2 weeks! (at the time of writing the Uganda quarantine period as been confirmed to be 14 days not 32)
I was assured that Zimbabwe was not on the list of countries to be quarantined so I booked the last minute one way flight back to Kampala.
The next day, when I arrived at the airport with my South Africa colleague who was also heading home early, I first noticed how empty the airport was. It was 9 am on a weekday and looked more like 2 am.
I proceeded to the front of the line for check-in. Actually, I was the line.
I handed the attendant my passport and he pulled up my reservation. What happened next was a first for me. He spent about five minutes running around talking to people to determine if I would be allowed to enter once I landed in Uganda. He eventually concluded that I would and proceeded with my check in.
Once through security, again there was no line at all, I walked into a near empty waiting area.
The shops were even more empty than usual for the Zimbabwe airport. I bought a t-shirt for myself and a trillion dollar Zimbabwe bond note from 2008. Actually, I paid a little too much for a full suite of notes (one million, 100 million, 10 billion etc) But I knew that the two gentlemen I bought from could really use the money.
When my flight was called it was probably the fastest boarding of a midday flight ever.
view from the silent flight
The flight itself was well under half full. The Embraer 190 for Kenya Airways has an economy seating capacity of 84 and don’t think there were much over 30 of us on board. We were a second stop, so some were already on board.
The only row with two people seated side by side was filled with two travel companions. Every other row had one person per side, only one for the whole row, or was empty.
In the Zimbabwe airport and on the plane it was unsettlingly quiet. No laughter, or chatter and nobody dared to cough!
After a quick disembarkment in Kenya we walked to the shuttle. People maintained a distance from each other. One quarter to one third of the passengers were in various types of face masks. Of those of us standing on the shuttle I saw only one very briefly touch a handle. The rest of us kept our arms crossed or at our sides.
Again it was grim, silent and all business.
I believe Kenya might be the busiest airport in East Africa. It is certainly a hub airport. Our shuttle passed several baggage processing bays. A few had a scant amount of baggage moving along but most were completely dormant.
Workers were sitting and chatting. Some wore face masks, some had them hanging below their mouths.
Waiting for us when we got inside was a person in a white coat, mask and gloves and a temperature reader. All of us stood while he read our temperatures, without touching us of course.
That is not unusual in East Africa since they are vigilant about Ebola, but the heavy presence of soldiers in fatigues seemed significantly more than I remember from my last time in the airport.
Given the usual volumes at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, there are many well equipped stations for security screening. We were directed to the furthest station, passing six or seven that were completely empty. It was the middle of the afternoon and we passed through security in record time.
While on the shuttle and then sitting in the airport food court I was struck with this thought a few times – that burqas seem like a decent idea right now. They definitely provide some good facial and body coverage. I imagined some of the women wearing them snickering at the people wearing the little paper masks (just my imagination – no snickers were heard!)
The final leg from Kenya to Uganda was close to normal. The plane was smaller, so the same number of people filled the plane to half capacity or more.
There was even a small amount of talking and laughing.
Before take off we were given a new medical declaration form to complete for Uganda. When I flew back to Uganda from Burundi on March 11th we were still filling in the Ebola focused form. Now it is a Covid-19 focused form with a short question or two about Ebola on the bottom.
At the Kampala airport they did the usual review of the medical form and my yellow fever card while looking at my passport photo page. I stated that I came from Zimbabwe and I was waived through to customs for my declaration. That was it.
There was a group of twenty to thirty people gathered by officials just on the other side of the person who reviewed my form. My assumption was they might be heading for quarantine. They were being guided somewhere just as I proceeded to customs. We mingled for a few seconds but don’t worry, I didn’t touch anyone or anything.
The rest of my return was completely normal, except I suppose, that all the workers were in face masks.
On a non-travel related note, the entire time in Zimbabwe I was able to charge my phone and turn on the lights. This was unexpected since Zimbabwe has been subject to planned power outages due to short supply for over a year. When I got to the apartment in Kampala however, all was dark. The power was out for hours. And again the next night. It was actually out for about 12 hours Friday evening/night and Saturday morning. Of all the aspects of Zimbabwe that I might want Uganda to mirror, power supply would not be on the list!
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.
Tank Hill Road – Photo by Kim Kennard
Kironde Road
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.
The Bodaboda stage is the empty wall. The shops are immediately to the right. I must have taken this photo just after the shops closed.
Kim asked the drivers for a photo. The man in the red even turned his bike around for the picture
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.
This is the road I walked, only in the reverse direction, taken on the way to work instead of home. The pub is behind me, the bodaboda stage a couple minutes walk ahead
My rolex being being made
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.
Football field-cum-barnyard – a versatile bit of land
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.
The beautiful home of my dear friend Debbie where I stayed in Harare – found on Airbnb
October 5th is my Afriversary – I landed in Harare, Zimbabwe October 5th 2018 just past midday. It has been an incredible 365 days for me.
There have been challenges for sure, but no regrets. Of course my social media is a highlight reel, not to be phony but because I enjoy sharing the positive.
My challenges have included times of self imposed isolation and loneliness, feeling out of place and issues in the romance department. But that all happens in Canada too! Haha!
It is common here for bodaboda drivers to ride by and steal the bag from your shoulder or the phone from your hand. The first was attempted on me in front of my mum, aunt and sister. I was pulled off my feet and bruised a bit but he didn’t get my bag! Unfortunately my mum wasn’t so lucky when a thug reached in the car and nabbed her phone out of her hand. With the window 3/4 rolled up!
The bruise from where my bag strap pulled on my arm
I have also struggled with adapting to a much lower income. And I am going through a divorce which is never fun.
Now back to the highlight reel!
I have accumulates 26 stamps in my passport – I counted this morning 🙂 Zimbabwe, Botswana, Zambia, Uganda and Kenya. I’ve spent hours in Ethiopia and Rwanda as well but just in the airports which doesn’t really count. All of this travel and my luggage was only lost once!
Random photos from Zim, Zambia and Botswana
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I am a fan of sadza/posho/nsima/ugali, braai, certain recipes for matoke, ugandan pineapple and the tiny natural bananas. I have also acquired a taste for the greens we get as a side with many African meals, a bitter spinach dish.
I am blessed with some new great friends and professional connections.
I was able to introduce my Mum and sister to Africa and they want to return. And my Aunt’s love of the continent has been refreshed.
I have jumped into the gorge at Victoria Falls and ridden a horse along the mighty Nile. I had the best girls’ weekend at the breathtaking and mysterious Chinhoyi Caves (see December 10 2018 post).
I am somewhat of a veteran and Kampala life now. I use SafeBoda for longer trips (Uber for motorbike taxis) and street bodas closer to home. And Uber is perfect for night rides and those with friends.
Harper women on the Nile
Sezibwa Falls
Sunset in Muyenga
Fuego with my family
Goretti’s Drummers
I will be home for 20 days in December. Why do I return to Canada in the winter when that is one of the things I am trying to avoid! But I will be back before the new year.
No details, but I do have a job offer for 2020 – an employee position in a new country. Still the part of Africa though. I don’t want to jinx it by announcing prematurely as it is contingent on a program award.
I am considering a Q&A post, so if you have any questions or things you are interested in, please let me know!
Friday September 6, 2019 marked the death of Robert Mugabe, father both of the nation of Zimbabwe and its dramatic decline. In the past two days I have read articles extolling him, celebrating his death and even one that was somewhat balanced. This isn’t a post about Mugabe though. It is a post about Zimbabwe, specifically twelve of the things I love best about it.
During my three months in Harare at the end of 2018 I fell in love, with the nation and her people.
This isn’t on my list, but I felt like I fit in very early in my stay. While coming around the corner at work, on the wrong side of the hall because I’m used to driving on the opposite side, I nearly collided with a co-worker. Well, not nearly collided. We were at least a foot and a half apart. But before I could utter the standard Canadian response in such a situation, he said Sorry! First! Yes, Zimbabwe is the Canada of Africa, where they also apologize for no real reason.
Zimbabwe is in dire straits right now. 18 hours plus of power load shedding, hyper inflation, currency, fuel and food shortages and a drought that has made things even worse. Not to mention the political climate and increasing government infringements on people’s constitutional rights and freedoms. Yet, it is still beautiful and the resilient people are still plugging along, even continuing to poke fun at the situation. I follow an account or two on Instagram that regularly make me laugh with the Zim memes, such as this one about the availability of power
ZESA – Zimbabwe Electricity Supply Authority
So, here are twelve things I love about Zimbabwe, in no particular order and definitely not an exhaustive list:
Red eyed dove call: I woke up to this call every day, and also heard it from my desk. It may not be the most musical but I continue to be amazed that it is so structured and consistent. Yes, I hear it in Kampala as well but not every day and not everywhere.
I was so fascinated by the sound that I had to figure out the bird. Googling bird calls is not a quick and easy search. I ended up listening to a 15 minute YouTube video of bird calls of Zimbabwe. The call came more than half way through and it was quite the Eureka moment for me. They usually repeat the series three or four times and then break. This link isn’t to the 15 minute version, it has only the dove’s call : Red eyed dove call
Braai – In Zimbabwe barbeque is called by the South African name, Braai (br-eye) and it is mmmmm good. It is made even better because they cut their pork chops at about half the thickness as we do in Canada, or maybe even 1/3. These chops are never, ever dry. So they have the yummy grilled outside and still retain all the delicious pork taste. Oh, and boerewors sausage, another South African import is an additional braii delight.
Sadza – aka ugali, posho, zsima. Per the internet – “Sadza is a generic term used to describe thickened porridge made out of any number of pulverized grains. The most common form of sadza is made with white maize meal.” It I perfect with the above braii items. No utensils required. Just rip off the portion of meat, grab a generous finger full of sadza, some cucumber and tomato for salad and, heaven. *disclaimer: cream of wheat has been a favourite of mine since early childhood and I also love oatmeal, so I am definitely pro-porridge.
Technically this isn’t braai, it was my dinner at the hotel in Chinhoyi. But it has my favourites – the pork chop, sadza and greens
My walk – despite the 25 celsius and above lunchtime temperatures I went for a walk almost every work day. The neighbourhood behind my work is beautiful and quiet and the streets wind into themselves allowing me to vary my walk time and views depending on my daily moods. Unlike Kampala I could walk without worrying about traffic or having to tell a boda boda driver “no I’m walking” every 60 to 90 seconds. I truly miss the beauty and peacefulness of that walk.
I didn’t take many photos of my daily walks but I think the peacefulness comes through here.
Victoria falls – yeah, I don’t know what I need to say here. I was there in the low season and it still made Niagara Falls look like a creek. Just wow! I look forward to someday witnessing Victoria Falls in is fullest spectacular glory.
Because when one has a photo of oneself doing up their fly on the precipice of Victoria Falls, it is the photo one must share
Gorge swing – the video of this is on my Welcome page. I did a package to lead up to the gorge swing. Started with the flying fox, where you are strapped in to a harness and run off a platform to fly across the gorge superman style. Next was the zipline, where I dipped lower into the gorge but always under tension. The final adventure was the gorge swing, basically a bungie jump but bum first instead of head first. So for quite a ways down it is a free fall, no tension until you get to the end of the line. I was over my fear and dread before I hit tension and began to swing. It was THE greatest experience. If they had offered for me to drop a second time I would have hopped off that platform with glee. (see my December 4 post Vic Falls – Adrenaline Day for more)
The Big Tree – I love trees. LOVE trees. And the baobab tree is tree royalty as far as I am concerned. So I was looking forward to getting to see some of them during my trip to Victoria Falls. My driver from the airport did my dreams one better though. He took me to see The Big Tree. You can actually Google The Big Tree Victoria Falls and you will see it. It may be as old as 2000 years but it is most certainly several hundred. I posted about the tree in my first Victoria Falls post last November.
Me and the Big Tree
Avocados – just loved them. Big and tasty. I learned that there is a bit of a Zimbabwe debate between having your avocado with salt or sugar. I have tried sugar and it’s good. I’m more on the salt side though. (sorry Cliff)
Boiled peanuts – ew right? I bought some to try and at first was on the fence. They aren’t crunchy like roasted but they aren’t quite chewy either. It turned out to be an acquired taste and I came to love boiled peanuts. I even made sure to buy some on my last trip back. A happy indulgence.
Chinhoyi caves – I posted about my weekend trip to the caves last December. The pool, the caves and the surrounding scenery is simply glorious. Even on a day of gentle rain. I hope to return to scuba some day, much to the horror of my Zimbabwe friends. The caves are surrounded by mystique and lore which keeps most locals out of the water. But crazy tourists can book excursions that included scuba and now free diving as well.
Jacarandas in bloom – the jacaranda tree is not indigenous to Zimbabwe but they have been there long enough to be huge and impressive. I arrived at the height of their bloom so I was treated to a lavender coloured canopy on my trip in from the airport. And the blossoms were around for the first weeks of my stay.
Imagine rows of these lining the roads with a magical purple canopy. I was too mesmerized to take a photo
The people – I know I am not the only visitor to be enamoured with the people of Zimbabwe. They always have a friendly smile and polite greeting. They have an ability to laugh at themselves and their situation. And they are resilient. They have been through a great deal and still they smile and just get on with getting on. I made some great friendships that are still going strong and I am confident they will remain so.
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I felt at home in Zimbabwe the first morning I woke up in the hotel. Before I met my friends Fran and Debbie, before I got to know my coworkers and friends at Ark, before I experienced the tastes and textures of braii. And I confess that if I ever have the opportunity to go back for work I will jump at the opportunity despite the hard times the country is in right now.
I hope it is on the road to recover soon because I didn’t even get to Great Zimbabwe, Mana Pools or the Eastern Highlands. I haven’t experienced half of what the country has to offer.
‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:40
This was such a day. It was a Sunday and I feel like I got to live the gospel, just a little.
The plan was fairly low key and even involved me buying new shoes. Derrick and I were meeting at the usual place, Café Javas in Old Kampala. We were going to take some clothes to a young woman and maybe talk with some of the street kids, likely also getting them some food. But afterwards we were going to shop the Sunday street market. I was planning on getting some new black flats for work because mine are looking a little ratty. And I was also considering buying a new backpack.
Phase 1 – According to plan
We did manage to find the young woman Derrick wanted to give the clothes to. She lives in the slum and is a roadside vendor of sorts. She wasn’t in her usual spot when we arrived so we took a little tour into a bottle recycling lot to ask after her. When we walked back by her usual place she was there. She was happy with the clothing Derrick brought her, and we also left her with one item from my bag – a sweater. We took the rest of my things on to another place for other girls or women to access.
I was amused that she was wearing a red I am Canadian shirt. She consented to a photo with me, and then also in one of her new shirts. She was friendly and polite and it as a pleasure meeting her.
Phase 2 – Mark’s place
From there we walked on to a new place Derrick decided to show me, where we could leave the clothes. I think it was a spur of the moment thought for him, but it was meant to be.
The place we went to is a large room, though I was shown later how it is actually 3 smaller rooms but without the walls in place. There was a man working with several boys, teaching them to box. They were clearly very into the lesson. We were greeted by Mark, the man who runs the operation there for the benefit of the street kids and other children in the neighbourhood.
Mark showed me a table with African carvings and some paintings displayed. He explained that one of the things he does for the young people is teach them carving and painting (he may have people come in to teach on a voluntary basis. It was a bit loud because the boys were boxing)
This is special to me. I asked for the one above with Derrick and then they all wanted one with me too.
The place is somewhere the young people can come to hang out, sleep and be safe. There were some boys sleeping along the walls in the area where the boxing was going on. You know they had to be exhausted because that would not be an easy place to sleep.
The middle section is where I was talking with Mark. Then in the third section were three more boys sleeping.
Phase 3 – The clinic
These poor fellows were sick. One had already received malaria treatment, so his sleeping was part of his healing. But two of the boys had not yet seen a doctor. It’s not an option to seek medical help without any money. Derrick looked at the boys and decided he had to take them to the clinic. So we headed off with the two sick boys and one other boy who was helping the sickest of the two walk. We were also joined by one more boy along the way.
My mother senses were firing hard on the walk. Derrick led the way, the second sick boy and the late addition were next and I decided to pull up the rear. I didn’t want that poor sick child falling or having issues without someone there to catch him and help him up. So I noticed fairly quickly that he was barefoot. I know it’s not cold in Kampala, but most people at least have flip flops. My heart broke. I wanted to get him shoes immediately and planned to get them before we left him. It didn’t happen, but for good reason.
When we got to the little clinic in Kisenyi, the doctor was able to get to the boys fairy quickly. There was only one patient in the front area, a young woman their who looked like she was getting some fluids or medicine via syringe. The boys had blood drawn and we learned they both have malaria, and severe enough that the doctor wanted to keep them and put them on IV fluids overnight. The older of the two boys also has typhoid, which explains why he needed help walking.
Clinic Prices in Uganda shillings
I cannot imagine how they would be doing if Derrick had not taken charge and gotten them to the doctor. I was more than happy to use my shoe money to cover the medical costs. Derrick went back later and the boys were still at the clinic, still weak but sleeping. When he checked on them the following day they were both healthy enough for him to get them something to eat.
Phase 4 – waiting, talking, walking eating
While we were waiting for the doctor’s diagnosis, we went outside to sit. In the same way I describe in my first “Derrick” post City Centre Sunday, the street boys flock to him. The doctor gave me a chair to sit on which it felt rude to decline, so I wasn’t right in the thick of the conversation. It did allow me to get this photo, which I think shows how truly engaged Derrick is with these youth, and how they look up to him, trust and respect him. And I think he also represents some hope because he was one of them. The one boy had this amazing calendar pendant around his neck. I got to feel smart because it was me that figured it how the calendar mechanism works.
Once we were given the diagnosis and paid the clinic, it was time to get the remaining entourage some food and drink. Given the medical bills we had just paid, the cash situation ruled out getting everyone a full meal. Instead we went back to the same place as my first day and got the boys chapati and water again. 2 of the boys really didn’t want chapati, so Derrick sent them off with a small amount of money to get something else.
Again the two oldest boys expressed their gratitude and then they politely walked off to enjoy their meal. There was one boy remaining and Derrick had another plan for him
Phase 5 – full meal deal and a pair of shoes
We took this boy into a restaurant. I am not sure how to describe it, because I don’t want my first world friends to view it in a negative way. It was bustling. There were several different “kitchens” serving people. So many tables. An organized chaos of sorts. I was amazed by what the woman running our area was able to produce from just a series of small clay cooking pots, and a deep freezer/fridge full of beverages.
The clay pots on the floor are her stoves! So impressive
He received a plate of rice, matoke and meal and a bowl with a large piece of chicken with the juices. We were at a small table so the woman in charge ordered him to wash his hands (there is always a hand washing station) and then sat him at a larger table. He ate EVERYTHING. He cleaned the plate entirely and I sneaked a peak as he drank the juice after making sure he got every piece of meat off the chicken bones. He finished up his pepsi and washed his hands and we set off again.
While walking to get him the meal I noticed that he was also barefoot and I pointed that out to Derrick. So the final thing we did before parting ways with this last youth was get him a pair of new sandals so he doesn’t have to walk around barefoot any longer.
It was such a full and rewarding day. I am truly blessed.
In my last post a couple of weeks ago I touched on my short experience meeting some street kids. I also introduced a plan to get to know some of the boys on an individual basis and share their stories, with their permission of course.
The week following that first meeting, Derrick and I got together again for a trip to Entebbe Botanical Gardens and to begin formulating a plan of action. Every time we talk our plans seem to grow beyond sharing stories and raising awareness to how we might do more to really make a difference to some of these youth. What started as a chat at a birthday party on July 27th now has us talking about a potential social enterprise to help fund and run a transition home to help kids more from the streets back home. We are certainly only in the brainstorming phase, but it is exciting and invigorating to say the least.
I digress. During that day to Entebbe we decided on a plan to take one boy at a time for a day off the street, get him something new and clean to wear, a good meal or two and some kind of activities so he could just be carefree and a kid for a few hours.
On Sunday, August 18th, Derrick and I put the plan in motion. We met in Old Kampala in the morning and strolled back to the slum area to meet some boys. We were immediately spotted by Gideon and Brian (Captain Brian I soon learned) who we talked with briefly. As they walked off, Derrick decided to ask Brian if he wanted to spend the day with us and tell us his tale.
This may be lacking in story details, but I didn’t want to pepper the Brian all day with questions. It was first and foremost supposed to be a good day for him. And it was. I will share all that we learned though. It is not a happy tale of course, but Brian did enjoy his day.
First of all, despite physical appearances, it turned out that Brian is not a boy. He is 21 years old. I don’t think he looks a day over 14. That makes sense given that more than half of his life has been on the streets of Kampala.
As a small child he lived in the Bundibugyo district in western Uganda. His mother died when he was young and his father remarried. By the time he was 10, life with his stepmother was so difficult that he got enough money to get himself on a bus to Kampala. According to Google Maps it is a 6 hour and 20 minute journey but you know it was longer than that for him by bus. He got off that bus, alone in the city at 10 years old and he has been on the streets ever since.
He has some siblings and his father is still alive. It sounds like he has some awareness of their lives and possible some contact but I didn’t push him on the subject. He wasn’t eager to talk about them so I let it go.
He told us he was in school until grade. He is very well spoken in English for that level of education. The only time all day that his lack of education was obvious was when we discussed his age compared to my daughter. He did not know the number of years between 21 and 26. He guessed fairly closely but did not know how to calculate it. I did my best to remain poker faced, because that made me very sad. It certainly doesn’t bode well for his future opportunities without some kind of adult education which is probably not likely for him.
I think he would tell you he had a great day with us. Here is how it went:
We met up with him before midday. We proceeded into the street market to find him some new, clean clothes. He picked out the tshirt and pants that you can see in the photos for a total cost of 13,000 Uganda shillings ($5 CAD).
We then headed to a restaurant to get him some eats while Derrick headed home to get the vehicle. I was impressed with his confidence when he ordered his lunch. He was hoping for chicken but that was not available. He ended up getting matoke (cooked banana/plantain) and some beef. It looked very good in the sauce and he basically cleaned the plate as you can see. He had a fruity soda to wash it down.
After lunch Brian went off to bath and change into his new clean clothes. For 2,000 shillings, approximately 75 cents CAD he was able to wash up and return like a new person. Not surprising to me, he put his head down on the table to rest while we waited the last few minutes for Derrick. A full belly and nice bath would leave most of us relaxed and sleepy.
Once Derrick arrived we walked back to the car and headed out to Entebbe after a short rendezvous with a few other former street boys and a stop for bananas to feed the monkeys. It’s a 30 to 45 minute drive to Entebbe and Brian slept most of the way. I don’t mind sharing this picture because I showed them all to him as well. He laughed at this one.
As we were driving out of the city Brian mentioned the he LOVES pork, so when we got to Entebbe Derrick asked some locals to recommend a good place for roast pork. We went to the Mayors Pub and placed our order. 4 skewers of pork, some salad and beverages. The time elapsed between the pictures of our plate was 6 minutes. This was some very good pork, roasted on this simple oven.
After this awesome meal we took Brian to the Entebbe Botanical Gardens, his first trip there of course. We took our bananas and fed the monkeys. It didn’t take long but was so much fun!
Brian was keen to swim (note for future trips, bring swim wear and a towel). The look of joy on his face when he came out of Lake Victoria was priceless. It made the entire day for me. His life has been so difficult so giving him this tiny moment of happiness was such a blessing to me.
That’s Brian in the middle
Derrick is skipping stones, Brian was watching
Three amigos
Believe it or not, by early evening Brian was ready to head back to his home on the streets. Sadly my guess is it was drug related. I don’t judge though. Street life is probably only bearable through some kind of artificial escape.
There is more I want to say about Brian and the day, but this is already a long post so I will stop here. Feel free to provide feedback if you want to learn more or if you have specific questions.
Derrick and I are planning to continue with these days for boys. We are looking at how to change it to keep the costs down. My funds are limited and the trip to Entebbe, food and clothes add up even at these prices. As I said above, we are also starting to dream of ways to help these boys off the street, even one at a time. I will keep you informed if and when we are doing more than brainstorming.
Maybe this is why I have ended up in Kampala at this time and why Derrick and I sparked up a conversation at that birthday party. Life is like that, after all.
Recently I spent a Sunday afternoon exploring some of city centre Kampala with a new friend. Derrick was the photographer at a friend’s birthday party and we got to chatting about pictures, life etc. He has an inspiring story that I hope to share with you soon, but the portion that is especially relevant to this post is that he spent some of his childhood as a street kid. He was given the opportunity to get off the street and into school and is now a 21 year old journalism student at Makerere University in Kampala.
I don’t want to spend all of my time in Africa in the comfort of the expat circle. I want to see and know more of Uganda and it’s people, so I am thrilled when I get the chance to do it. Derrick offered to take me through the slum to see some of the street boys. He regularly visits them and makes sure they get a little something to eat.
So we met Sunday around 2 at the city centre Cafe Javas, which is basically an African Starbucks. I indulged my basic bitch self and had an iced caramel mocha, as usual.
We then headed out to explore. Sunday there is a full on market on the city centre street so I was thankful I didn’t bring much money. Can’t shop without currency!
We decided to visit the Uganda National Mosque. It is a beautiful building and also has a tower that affords amazing views of the whole city.
The route Derrick chose to the Mosque took us through the slum area where the street boys hang out. It may seem like a crazy thing for this Canadian chick to do, but Derrick goes regularly and I was perfectly safe. Almost as soon as we walked into the area a gaggle of boys descended on us, ranging from my shoulder height to several inches taller. They were obviously familiar with and fond of Derrick. The tallest (oldest?) took Derrick’ hand and they walked on ahead. I followed immediately behind with the others. They were respectful and polite. Only one made a small overture for me to give him food/money, but only once.
Derrick led us to a small shop and ordered each of the seven boys a chapati. I tried to quietly slip him 20,000 Uganda shillings to pay for the food but I was not as subtle as I hoped. With the 20k, the boys all got a chapati and a bottle of water. And there was change. 20,000 UGX is approximately $7 Canadian. So for $5 they all had at least one thing to eat that day. I know I failed at being subtle because all of the boys thanked me before they happily headed off to enjoy the fresh hot food.
I hope to do it again. Derrick and I are planning a series of interviews/stories to introduce some of the boys. I will ask for and hopefully get some pictures with them as well. I also hope that Derrick will share his full story as well, maybe even write it for me. His story shows there is hope for the others, with the right supports and opportunity.
After we left the boys the afternoon took a turn back to the touristy. We walked over to the Mosque. I paid a modest admission of 15,000 shillings. A lovely lady wrapped a scarf around my legs and my head and shoulders and then we headed in to the building. We joined a tour that had just started.
From Wikepedia: The Uganda National Mosque is a mosque located at Kampala Hill in the Old Kampala area of Kampala, Uganda. Completed in 2006, it seats up to 15,000 worshipers and can hold another 1,100 in the gallery, while the terrace will cater for another 3,500. Colonel Muammar Gaddafi of Libya commissioned the mosque as a gift to Uganda, and for the benefit of the Muslim population. Uganda has many mosques but this one is a skyscraper mosque.
The completed mosque was opened officially in June 2007 under the name Gaddafi National Mosque, and housed the head offices of the Uganda Muslim Supreme Council.It was renamed “Uganda National Mosque” in 2013 following the death of Colonel Gaddafias the new Libyan administration was “reluctant to rehabilitate the mosque under the old name.”
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The final portion of the tour took us up 304 stairs to the top of the tower. The views did not disappoint! This is just a sample. You can walk around the entire circle and see the whole city.
After the tour we weren’t finished with the day. We strolled over to the Kampala National Theatre to see what was going on there. There was an event but it was already underway so we did not go in. At this point we were close to 10k so we needed to push the odometer over that limit. Obviously we couldn’t stop short of such an achievement.
We rested on the grass of the garden behind the theatre for a while and then decided to walk on. All the way to Lugogo Mall to see if there was a hockey game going on. *Canadian clarification – field hockey.
We watched a bit of a game and at this point I was ready to head home and rest up! According to the app on my phone we covered 12 kms! I wish I had worn my heart monitor so I could how you the entire route we walked. It was insane but very enjoyable. A great Sunday.
Wow, I noticed this morning that I entirely missed posting in July. I’ve gone longer without posts before but it is my intention to post regularly, if not weekly.
So why the silence? Well I was going through a series of interviews for an incredible job. Four interviews actually. No, I was not the successful candidate. Again. It can be very hard to keep your chin up through multiple almosts. I am trying.
At the same time I was starting the interview process for that position I was also called back to interview for a role with an organization that summarily rejected me a month earlier as too senior for the role. So in I went to meet with them. I know it went well because, hey you can tell, and one of the interviewers flat out told me so.
A month later, only after my AFID recruiter followed up, I got – ” I must highlight that we found your background and skills very impressive. However, after careful consideration, in this instance, yada yada” and “Given the strength of your application and candidacy, we will maintain your records and should a position open that matches your qualifications, we will contact you.” Please, if you are a recruiter, do not use that final sentence. It is an empty platitude and candidates know this. It actually has the opposite effect to what is intended.
I hope this sounds frustrated, not bitter. I am plugging along on my job search and still hope to stay in Africa.
My confidence in me and my abilities is still strong. After all, the NGO that hired me for three months starting in January has extended me yet again until November. They would hire me if funding permitted.
My confidence that I can get a job in international development wavers at times. I am even toying with getting an online masters because graduate degrees are definitely preferred. My French is improving in baby steps mainly due to lack of dedication to my practicing.
I am certainly still enjoying my life in Africa. Later today a new friend is taking me out to meet Kampala street kids. He used to be one. I will write all about it within the week.
A Travelling Accountant 