To market, to market, to buy a ....

Sunday in Kampala. Bored out of my mind! No TV, tired of listening to radio, already cooked, washed and cleaned. What to do with my late morning? Why not go to market!
I love markets anywhere in the world, especially in South America and Africa. Owino in Kampala is pretty exciting. There you can find EVERYTHING under the sun. A great pastime if you have little to do and a small budget.

I knew I needed to get a few things still before leaving Kampala at the end of my contract and Owino was definitely the place to go. So armed with 40,000 shillings (about US$20, but I only planned to spend half) I hopped into a matatu (maxi taxi) and whizzed down the empty Sunday streets to the market.

Sunday in downtown Kampala looks like any other day. Full of people, cars, street vendors, garbage and red dust every where. I walked the half block from the taxi stage to Owino market. There it was, Owino, Shoppers Paradise. Picture a ‘post-armageddon’ Port of Spain National Stadium taken over by the Drag Brothers. Owino, for some reason reminds me of something out of a science fiction movie, like Mad Max or something like that.

I approach Owino, which is in fact a Stadium that has been swallowed by the market that started next door. There are several entrances across a ‘moatlike; canal. As you walk into Owino, you must be prepared, vendors, grab and touch, not harassingly, but that is their way of trying to persuade you to look at their goods. On this Sunday, one of the vendors kneeled and and blew me a kiss. I, for some reason, was VERY offended. I found the gesture a bit obscene. Then he held my hand, and said he knew me and couldn't understand why I was treating him like this. I slapped his hand and told him to let me go, which he didn't, again asking why I was behaving like this. I slapped his hand repeatedly. We looked like we were having a lovers quarrel, and I was very afraid that the man would hit me back and of course no one would defend me. Eventually he let me go, and I hurried away. Though hours later I actually did seem to remember him as someone I knew. A vendor who I had bought shoes from some weeks ago.

But I wasn't there for shoes, I was on a different mission. Owino, like many other markets in Africa is a place that you can get ANYTHING under the sun. I've bought predictable things such as fruit and vegetables, and shopping baskets, but there are more exciting things available there. Previous trips have produced miscellaneous items of new and used clothing, including designer labels, shoes, raffia for giftwrapping, an extension cord, a knife and even earphones for my walkman.

Today's mission was to find a leather jacket, some samples of nice shirts which I could give to my tailor as inspiration, and some good reading material. I heard that you can even find books at Owino, but I had never actually seen the booksellers myself.

I knew where the stall with the leather jackets was. I wove my way in and out of the narrow aisles, dodging soapy and muddy water, stepping over plates of lunch of matoke (imagine coocoo made of green banana) and beans, over piles of clothing being sold at 500 shillings a piece, until I found the Leather Jacket Man. Three of his jackets looked like what I was looking for. He took them down for me to try, while he got a pocket sized (!) mirror for me to see how I looked. They all fit well, too well. My guy didn’t understand I actually wanted to use my jacket in Autumn or winter when I had to travel, and not just for ‘style’. The jackets were too small. He tried to entice me with the price, going from 45,000 to 30,000 is 2 seconds. I was tempted, but left them.

I continued browsing, then it occurred to me, I had meetings in London on my way to Trinidad, and I had no formal business clothes. Maybe I could find a suit in Owino. Yes a suit at the market, this is Africa! I found the ladies who sold suits, and third time lucky. I found the suit of my dreams. Cream, nice microfibre suit, great fitting jacket, nicely designed trousers. This one had never been worn, it still had the original tags from a well known London department store, or maybe this was yet another Owino scheme for shoppers like me. I ask the price, and the tells me 38,000. I had no intention of spending that money, and had learned anyway ALL prices are negotiable. Our exchange went like this:
“Nyabo (madam), I’m sorry I only came to market with 15,000.”
“Oh madam, this is a good suit, nice fabric, you come, you try.”
I tried it on. It certainly felt good.
“Nyabo,” she said, “you are so smart, so beautiful!”
These women knew how to work it. She borrowed another pocket mirror from her neighbour and showed me how I looked. Yes it did look good. A little tight, but maybe I could eat less 'matoke' for the remaining few days in Uganda to shed a pound or two.
"So Nyabo, how much you give me for this suit?"
"Oh madam I only have 15,000, what's your best price?"
Our good natured bargaining went on for about five minutes. Eventually I got her down from 38,000 to 20,000. The bargaining always ends with the phrase "You bring cash money!"
So there, I had a beautiful designer suit, a steal of deal. I left Owino about an hour later laden with my suit, 3 shirts for my tailor, 5 novels, freshly made peanut butter, and just to remind myself that I'd been to the market, a handful of tomatoes.

How we can really help Africa

A Village called Kampala

Of course you know.... This means War!

...In the Picture, My Kenyan friend Emily by the Old Taxi Park. Photo taken by Kiti...
There is a war raging in Kampala on a daily basis. War, you ask? In Kampala? I thought the war was in the North of Uganda. Yes there is that horrible war in North Uganda that has been going on for almost twenty years, but I don't mean that one. I'm referring to a smaller war that goes on a daily, even hourly basis. The war between commuters and taxi conducters!
Twice a day I have to strategise for my commute to work or home, and at the end of the day, I must also plan my strategy for the following day or following few days.
There are several modes of transport in Kampala. There's is the 'boda-boda' system, convenient bicycle and motorcycle taxis that weave in and out of traffic, and get you where you want to go in the shortest possible time. Though sometimes GREAT risk to life and limb, as you are at the mercy of this driver, who could be in any state at the time. One friend has actually had the misfortune of discovering her boda driver was drunk after she had got on. She only realised when the reek of alcohol hit her face after they were heading down the road at breakneck speed. Luckily she got home safely. Another form of transport is the 'special hire', which is hired 'door to door' taxi. Obviously a more expensive form of transport. And finally there is the 'matatu', which we in Trinidad would refer to as maxi, also called taxi here.

Taxi fares, like all prices in Kampala, are negotiable. When you get into the taxi, you've got to know what you want to pay, or the conductor will short change you. Sorry for you if you don't have exact change! The fare also varies according to the time of day. Highest at rush hour in the morning, and around 6pm, and also high late at night when there are few transport options. Case of supply and demand.
After four months of getting robbed on a daily basis, I've worked out my strategy. I hum theme tracks from old war movies as I make my way to the taxi 'stage' (taxi stand). First I informed my employers that, since I live pretty far from downtown Kampala, and I'm at the complete mercy of conductors when I come to work at 8a.m. sometimes paying close to three times the fare, I would no longer subject myself to such exploitation. I changed my hours to 9 - 5. Instead of spending 1 hour in traffic on what should be a 20 minute ride, I now leave home at about 8.30 when taxis are looking for passengers, instead of the other way around.

My next strategy was to learn how to count in Luganda. Though most people in Uganda, including conductors speak English, Luganda is the first language in Buganda Kingdom, where Kampala is located. In the beginning I could count to five, as the numbers 1 - 5 were quite similar to Swahihli numbers. The fare that I should pay is 500 shillings from Kiwatole to Kampala Centre, 200 from Kiwatole to Ntinda, 300 from Ntinda to Kiwatole. So if the conductor said "Bi Tano" I knew he was meant 500. Now 600, 700, 800? It was all Greek to me, or should I say Luganda. So I decided it was time to learn: Lukaga, Lusanvu, Lunana, as long as I heard those words, I knew not to get on!

Finally, the key to winning the war, having exact change! I have gone through incredible lengths to ensure that I have the right change for the fare. I went to the bank recently and withdrew about US$20 in change - just for taxi fare. The tellers eyes nearly fell out of her head when I requested the cash in 500, 200 and 100 shilling coins (about US 25c, 10c and 5c). I then stacked all of my little coins into stacks for each day of the week. And I wouldn't use that change for ANYTHING else. I remember one day a poor woman asked if I had change for 5000 shillings. I sympathised with her, but told her point blank "Sorry, NO". I had gone through too much trouble to make my change.

Though I said 'finally' in the last paragraph, this last point is the real 'Victory Point'. The conductors, like to collect the money before they reach the stage, in order to save time, or to have enough time to find the wrong change to give you! So they ask who's coming out at the next one or two stages, and request payment before they reach. Me, I've learned. I just keep silent. When we reach my stop, I just push my way out, and regardless of the fare - lukaga, lusanvu, lunana, I just put my five hundred shilling coin into the conductor's hand and walk away without looking back, whistling my victory tune to myself. The Daily Battle - fought and won!

Coming of Age Rituals in Uganda

Odeio gente fresca!!

Hah hah, este blog vai em portugues, desculpe, mas vai assim mesmo. Este fim de semana fui para Sipi com tres amigas minhas. Elas tinham os planos de ir, e como eu sou a aventureira, me queriam como companhia. Tem certeza, eu avisei, olha eu nao sou viajante tradicional. Geralmente meu programa e um pouco mais 'rough'.
Sim Lesley, elas confirmaram, voce e tao legal, tao viajada, tao experiente, etc. etc.
Ok. Beleza, mas falei que, "Olha, sabado to um pouco ocupada, so posso viajar depois da uma. Mesmo assim Lesley querida, venha! Cancele seus compromissos mais tarde. Sipi vai ser legal! Esteja pronta a 12 em ponto!
Ok. Acordei cedo no sabado resolvi tudo que tinha em 1 hora e meia, e entao recebi um SMS. Lesley, a gente se atrasou. So podemos te encontrar as 12.30. Ok. Tudo bem, o que poderia fazer ein? Eu que tinha um montou de coisa para fazer, mas bom. E ja estava a caminho ao ponto de encontro. Mas o ponto era um restaurante, e eu ainda nao tinha almocado. Entao comprei um jornal e sentei para almocar. Ok. 12.30 veio e foi

Grasshoppers in Season!

You know the matatu rides are very culturally rich and informative!
The other day I was waiting for the matatu to fill up at Kiwatole stage. Stage is the local word for bus stop, and Kiwatole (Chi-wa-to-lay) is my neighbourhood. The Kiwatole stage in Ntinda is always bustling with activity. People selling everything! Fresh fruit and vegetables like pawpaw, pineapples, tomatoes, cabbages, green peas and fresh red beans etc. As well as food for those on the run like roasted plaintain or 'gonja', roasted corn, groundnuts, chapatis and 'rolexes' - which are chapatis rolled with a fried egg, chicken, liver, beef or goat on a stick etc. In between we have the guys carrying everything on bikes - like bananas, cloth, coal, water, as well as the 'boda-boda' (motorcycle taxis) drivers just sitting around waiting for passengers.
So I was scanning the Ntinda-Kiwatole scene looking around to see what was new, if I needed to get anything to buy, or could convince the conductor to go and buy it for me, when my eyes fell onto a boy with a basket of something VERY VERY new, in between the green peas and the ground nuts. It looked like a basket of some kind of bush - some short pieces of grass.
Until one moved!
They were grasshoppers! Considered a delicacy here in Uganda. I thought it was a rural practice, but there they were for sale, right in the middle of Kampala.
The following day at work, I asked about the grasshoppers, and got lots of helpful information.
"Oh you just fly them"
What???? Oh you mean "fry".
"Yes, you just fly them. After removing the leftover wings, then they have to be washed, then after that, just put in the saucepan, add salt, then you start flying them." said the office assistant Robert.
So what do they taste like?
"Oh my friend, I've failed because of the taste! At least me, I prefer ants, because they don't have that smell like those grasshoppers, and they don't have that much oil."
Well me, I'm still thinking about when and whether I will in fact buy a kilo of grasshoppers instead of a kilo of nuts and munch on them on the way home.
I'll let you know when I do.

Where does gravel come from?

My matatu stops at Kamokya (Ka-moh-cha) market everyday next to a several piles of marble stones, pebbles and slabs. I normally sit near to a window, and I idly look at the marble and admire its beauty.
One beautiful Friday afternoon, as usual, we stopped at Kamokya market and I lost myself in the beauty of the marble piles. Large slabs, small slabs, fist-size rocks, penny size rocks and finally small gravelly pebbles.
As a designer, I appreciate the colour, shapes, sizes, repetition of design etc. We normally have to wait at Kamokya for a good while, for other passengers.
This time a noise, a little metallic 'tak,tak,tak', brought me back from my usual daydream to the land of Marble. My eyes followed the direction of the noise, and today I was able to see how all that marble was created.
A man was sitting next to one of the piles and chipping away at the little stones until he had fine pieces of gravel.
I remember about ten years ago, a similar scene in Brazil. There I would lose myself in the beauty of the pavements with the 'Copacabana' black and white wave patterns. Then one day also at a bus stop, in Salvador Bahia, I saw how these patterns were created. Men would go down on their hands and knees and put each little stone in place. I was horrified then. 'That was slave labour!' I had thought, 'How could a man go down on his hands and knees to produce a pavement in 1994! '. Today however, a little more grown-up and maybe hardened by world travelling, I thought almost nothing of this scene, a man turning a slab of marble into gravel, by hand in 2005. It only reminded me of time when I valued human labour so much more.
The matatu had filled up and we pulled off, and my view changed from marble to houses, banana trees etc. I would be able to forget about the man and the gravel till another day.

Kiira Road Blues

We do the Watusi... and we're seven feet tall!

In the picture, chaotic Nairobi Inter city Bus Stand. The 'picturesque view from Gaianthiwa Lodge and photo of Kamau (right) and another Gainthiwa member of staff

Some of you might remember that old campsong:

Oh we're from Nairobi
And we're on the destiny????? (doubt this was the word, but I was too young to make sense of the song)
We do the watusi
and we're seven feet tall

Well last week I was in Nairobi. I didn't do the watusi, and didn't see any seven feet tall folk. But Nairobi was cool. Literally maybe more like cold on the first day. This was my second trip to Nairobi, though the first time I spent less than twenty four hours. Nairobi is a bustling modern city with skyscrapers and slums. It somehow reminds me of Johannesburg. Maybe only because it's so modern, yet so African. You'll see the guys in the suits and leather jackets next to the Maasai with red hair and red blankets.

The song continued:

The cannibals may eat us
But they'll never beat us
Coz we're from Nairobi
And we're on the ball!

Nairobi has a reputation of being one of the most dangerous cities in Africa. Travellers are always warned not to arrive in Nairobi at night. I arrived early morning at about 5:30 a.m. I had studied my guidebook well, and memorised the name and address of a popular backpackers hotel so I wouldn't have to look like I didn't know where I was going. Anyone asked I was from Nairobi, and on the ball ;-) So I spent one night at Hotel Terminal, a rundown, cheap but overpriced roach motel, but with very pleasant, helpful staff. That was the first time I had ever seen cockroaches just crawling casually all over the place. I felt like they would run off with my bags if I didn't keep an eye on them.

Anyway I had two phone numbers of people I knew in Nairobi. I needed to find some locals to hang with so I could know what I was doing and where I was going fast.
After a few hours I found one of them, a friend from Kampala, who was on the exact same beat as I was - shopping for her business. I knew I had to stick to her like glue.

So she invited me to move to her hotel, but warned me that there were no sit-down toilets! Me! Been there done that - no sweat. So I moved to an even cheaper cheapie hotel for traders like me. US$3.30 a night! Gianthiwa guesthouse with its walls that badly needed a paint job, shared squat toilets that no one ever remembered to flush, shared showers, but on the bright side - there was running water so the toilets could flush if you really wanted to do that, but no one really wanted to, and low and behold hot water anytime day or night, and there was security - the manager, Kamau, a big strapping Kikuyu man with dyed teeth, stood at the door every night to ensure the safety of his guests.

Anyway to cut a long, long, long story short. I spent about 10 days travelling - 4 in Nairobi, 4 in Dar Es Salaam, and two more in Nairobi on my return. Though I planned my trip to Nairobi from Kampala well and arrived in the morning, I had no control over the trip from Dar back to Nairobi and arrived at about midnight. I had the misfortune of sitting next to a lecherous cannibalistic wolf of man, who had bought me some cashew nuts, a Coke and an apple, and had figured that by midnight that he was going to eat me and invited me to share a hotel room with him, you know since I was new to Nairobi. I pushed him aside and said "I know where I'm going!" and walked away singing to myself "Coz I'm from Nairobi, and I'm on the ball". I could see Kamau the Kikuyu guard looking out for me, smiling on the stoop of his rundown hotel. "Mzungu, you're back."

That's how we do it in Finland!!!

In the pictures.... 'Family' outing - Eric and I have dinner with Kiti and her parents. Kiti and I at the monthly National Theatre open air Jam session.


My room-mate is a wonderful person. She's from Finland and is everything that we imagine Scandinavians to be - very pale with white blond her and very, very light, blue eyes.

She really enjoys her African experience. She works with children and adolescents in both urban and rural settings. Everywhere she goes little barefoot Ugandan children run behind her smiling, shouting and waving "Mzunguuuu, mzunguuuu, Hellooooo, Muzungooooo" or "Mzunguuuu, mzunguuuu, Byeeeee Mzungooooooo". Mzungu means foreigner, but is used mainly for white people. Many of them had never seen such a white person in real life. But she loves Uganda, Ugandan food, Ugandan music, Ugandan culture, her Ugandan friends.

This week she was really excited because her parents had decided to come and visit and see for themselves why she really liked Africa so much. She told them okay, you're coming to Africa to see how I live and understand the culture. You're coming from Europe, I want you to bring your luggage full of toys and things to help the Ugandan children who I work with, and I want you to contact all of our friends and encourage them to give you used toys so we can distribute them to a few foundations here.

So they emailed her to tell her of the progress, they had got so many donations from people, just like she had requested. They'd bring everything with them.
The day came and she went to the airport with a Ugandan boyfriend to collect her parents. They all came home and we waited very anxiously to see what they had brought with them for the African children.

First they apologised profusely, they didn't realise that their luggage allowance was only 20kgs each, so they had to leave lots of stuff at the airport, but they had chosen carefully, and thought they had brought the most useful items.

What we wondered had they chosen? Did they chose shoes? clothes? toys?

They opened the suitcases. Look! they exclaimed.

We looked but could not understand what they were showing us. What on earth had they brought??

"Look" they showed us excitedly. "We brought reflectors!"

Eric, a Ugandan, and I looked at each other blankly with big imaginary question marks in speech bubbles over our heads.

"Yes, reflectors are very useful. In Finland it is the law, young children have to wear reflectors!"

Then slowly I began to see the light (no pun intended). Mr and Mrs F. come from a part of the world where it is dark for 6 months in the year. Of course the children have to wear reflectors. They had no idea what the little Ugandan children might need, but surely they must need reflectors!

Good intentions but... they had brought about 30 kg of relectors to distribute to children all over Uganda!

Anyway I was still excited to get my reflector, as I'm sure the kids will be too.

Now those mad matatu drivers can see me in the night trying to walk along the side of the road, while dodging the cars and trying not to fall into the gully!
I imagine some little children in a village like Bugiri which might not have electricity, opening their packages of reflectors and wondering what to do with these plastic things, but as resourceful as African children are, I know they will become well appreciated toys.

Do you want to help African children?

Can I politely suggest that the children in rural Uganda who walk to school barefoot in threadbare school uniforms would greatly appreciate it if you donate shoes, clothes, books, toys, money to the local hospital, library, schools, etc. etc. not reflectors, even though they make a really great fashion statement.

This tiny episode illustrates just what happens with a lot of the foreign aid.
Thanks for my reflector Mr. and Mrs. F. You're great people.

Keeping up with the Joneses - Part 2

As I said in the last blog, I normally live simply, and I'm quite contented with this simplicity. I like my space and my privacy that's all, don't really care about how other people live.

Well one day I left work pretty early and decided to beat Kampala evening mad rush, paid a 'boda boda' to get home, and finally got home around 5.30. I had an appointment later so I wanted to get ready without any hassle. I strolled up my wonderful paved road, and idly put my hand in my bag for my key. Hmmmm, wasn't there. Must be in a another pocket I thought.... no not there either. Okay, now where the heck is this thing. I called our caretaker - yes the caretaker has a cell phone and speaks English. "Joseph, I've forgotten my key at work can you come and open the door for me?" Sure no problem, he came opened the door and I went and left my bag in the shared kitchen, and decided I had to go back to work to get the key, as Joseph said he didn't know where the spare might be or if there even was one. While leaving my bag in the kitchen I got an sms from my Congolese friend Christian saying that he was on his way to see me to give me some cloth from Congo and another 'make-up' gift - we had had a 'falling out' the week before. So I replied and said "if you are nearby I'll meet you along the way if not I'll meet you at the office as I have to go back to get 'something'".

So Christian said he was already on his way and would be there soon. I was to wait for him at the bus stop. My friend Christian who claimed that he was nearby, in true African time style, took a whopping 45 minutes to get to the bus stop, and then when he finally got there we couldn't find each other. The bus stop is more like a bus terminal with no proper landmarks so it took another 5 - 10 minutes to actually find each other. Of course me and my impatient self I was very angry and shouted at poor Christian in my broken French about why he had made me wait for so long, I could have gone back to the office and come back already!'What are you doing now Christian? If you think I'm going to stand here and talk to you, you lie! You better come with me and talk with me in the matatu!' So he jumped in the matatu with me and accompanied me back to work, but was so sheepish that he didn't say a word. As it had already gotten dark, and Christian being a man of honour, decided that despite Lesley's wrath and terrible temper he could not leave this Mzungu (foreigner) woman to go back to the office alone.

We arrived at the office about half an hour later in almost complete darkness. Luckily the caretaker lives on site, so he opened up for me and I ran inside to find the key. I checked everywhere on the desk, under the table, behind the computer. No KEY! Now I was really upset! What to do? I ran back outside to meet Christian, who was still waiting to give me the cloth and the gift. Okay I half listened while he apologised for last week's disagreement and presented me with the gifts. Two beautiful wooden trays to beautify my home! Sure, wonderful, but what if I could never get back into my home! He escorted me back to the bus stop and left me to make my way home. I hadn't told him that I had no key, because of course I could do without the offer of 'stay by me!' from this man. I called and cancelled the other appointment.

What to do, what to do? I arrived home and went to look for my landlady who lived in the building next door. Apparently she was over in our building with the caretaker and some other people. They were at an apartment that had just been vacated. I went across and knocked tentatively. "Irene" I called out, "did Joseph tell you I lost my key????" "What? no he didn't. What now? Where are you going to sleep? We don't have a spare for that room!" The ground could have opened and swallowed me up. I thought there was a spare, just that Joseph did not know where it was. So Irene told me to come in and sit and wait till they finished their meeting and afterwards they'd decide what to do.

So I entered my neighbours' apartment. Though the apartment was directly in front of my room, I had never even glimpsed inside. Now here I was inside waiting for the meeting to finish. I sat on the edge of the faux leather sofa and looked around the apartment. Hmmm what a nice place. I sat back a little bit more comfortably, and reached over for the remote control. Wow a working TV with CABLE!! I flicked the channels till I found East Africa TV, which is like a local MTV. I hadn't watched TV in 2 months! I heard the door open and Irene and co. walked out. 'Okay we've decided that you won't find a locksmith tonight so you can stay here, and in the morning we'll decide what to do.' WOW!!! Thank you!! She went back to her house, and Joseph stayed around for a little bit and said he'd check on me later when he came to turn off the generator. I forgot to mention that we had no power in our neighbourhood every other night, but the luxurious apartments in front are serviced by a generator. So there I was in a nice posh apartment with a living room and dining room, an 'inside' toilet and shower with hot and cold water, AND electricity, instead of in my little hole with candles. I could get accustomed to that.... Imagine not having to walk outside to go to the toilet or use the shower!

Anyway I decided to just go in the back to get something to eat from my bag, which was still in the kitchen. I felt my way around in the darkness, got the bag, got the food, then I thought, let me just try my door... I put my hand on the handle and turned slowly. It opened. What!? It was open? But where was the key? I lit a candle and looked around. No no key, but of course the room was a mess anyway so I couldn't find any key in that half light. So I took my food and went back into the Joneses apartment to watch some telly, sprawl out on the sofa, use the toaster, microwave etc. I walked through the whole house, flicked the lights on and off, turned the water on, flushed the toilets (yes there were more than one!) I was like a child at Christmas.

Anyway it had to come to an end sometime. Lights came back around 11 and I decided to go back 'home' to look for the key. I sent Joseph an sms to say that my place was open and I'd gone back home. I looked everywhere in the room, overturned everything, and then finally gave up the search around midnight. I got ready for bed and closed the door. As the door shut I heard a little jangle... there were my keys in the door right where I had left them in the morning.

Keeping up with the Joneses - Africa Style1

Well you know what they say about keeping up with the neighbours? That has never really been my concern. I normally just mind my own business, live in simple accommodation and spend my money on other things...

Here in Kampala I live in pretty okay accommodation. A one room flat at the back of some apartments. My landlady is really 'savvy'. She designed an apartment building with four apartments and four 'servants' quarters, based on her experience living in London while her husband was studying. She used to work in people's homes and became accustomed to the standard of living that Europeans were accustomed to. So on her return to Uganda she built these four apartments and furnished them well. She charges a whopping US$1000 per. As none of her tenants have the servants that she expected them to have, she then upgraded the servants' quarters and rents them out to single people like me. Currently only two are rented, one to me and on eto my Finnish colleague.

These 'servants quarters' are fully furnished with everything - even towels. The laundry room services the entire block, so imagine we even have a washing machine, as well as other niceties like microwave, hotwater kettle, toaster etc. etc. And we have nighttime armed security, as well as (my Trini friends might not understand this luxery) paved roads!

So I decided why not - seems like an OK place, and I have a housing allowance. I asked her how much and she told me "Two hundred". I took the place, but around the time to pay my rent, I couldn't decide if it was "Two hundred dollars" or "Two hundred thousand shillings" - about US$116. My work colleagues all told me - "Nah, we know your landlady - so she means 200 dollars. So I went and searched to find all the dollars that I had and went and paid her the rent.

You should have seen her eyes gleam when I gave her the money! She was so excited her eyes nearly fell out of her head :-) And she asked me 'How much money is that?' So I told her $200, then she said 'No - in shillings'. Then I realised my mistake. But I had already given her the money, which she willingly took and sent me off on my way.

I cursed myself - how could I be so stupid! She had said 'thousand' not 'dollars' on the phone. What to do now? I wrestled with the possibilities for about a week! Eventually I had resigned and said "oh well, I'll look for a new place next month and leave it at that", then in the middle of the night I got a brain storm.
Next morning I sent her a text message as follows "I know you're busy, but could you send the gardener with my receipt? Please note that I've paid part of the next month's rent as a deposit. Thank you, Lesley-Ann".

Great brainstorm. I got my receipt "toute suite", slipped under the door next morning, ,in dollars with the conversion rate and the balance due next month.
:-)

Ok Andre for your benefit....last week's quarrel

Andre complained with me that I have not been updating my blog regularly. So here's a new post. I should complain that noone reads my blog :-( Or they read and don't comment!
So let's see, what's new in UG?
Last week I threw a tantrum at the office! Not a real tantrum, but I work with a Canadian girl who is an intern, and when I came everyone assumed I was an intern too, but actually I'm not. I'm getting quite a lot of money to do baloofers!
So fine I got into 'intern' mode for a little bit, but aftersometime I said this is ridiculous! and when the secretary introduced me to someone as the new intern I nearly went ballistic!
So after quarrelling with everyone, I sent an SMS to the Chairperson, and asked if this was supposed to be a six month holiday, because if it was I'd gladly take it! She assured me that no it wasn't supposed to be like that. And probably also quarrelled with everyone else. But since then things have been great.
The truth is inspite of quarrelling with everyone, I do enjoy the job, and love being out here in UG. I'm even considering applying for another six months.
Not sure what the long-distance BF will say about that! :-(
Will update again soon.

The Matatu ride to hell!

We left Kampala ridiculously late! at about 8 p.m. on a trip to Jinja where we were going to work at/attend a conference. Think Gilligan's Island, our trip should have taken 45 minutes, but took a whopping 3 1/2 hours!
Our overzealous matatu driver decided to beat the traffic by overtaking a zillion cars at once! Of course a very attentative policeofficer stopped him and we had to endure one hour of lecture and a fine before we could continue along our merry way.
Later in the middle of nowhere after a passing a vehicle with flashing hazard lights a man called out in a very timid voice "Parking.....Parking...Conda... Parking"
The conda/conductor just quarrelled with him and told him to sit down and be quiet. The polite gentleman got up again and said in his East African voice "Parking, parking". Now everyone in the matatu turned around and shouted at him to sit down and shut up!
Mr. Polite stood up and started to try to walk to the front of the matatu over all of the people in the 'jump seats'. In his polite voice he explained "but I'm taking spares to that vehicle that we just passed about 3 km ago!"This brought the matatu to a screeching halt. Mr. Polite tried to negotiate with the conductor and the driver as the poor soul would have to walk back 3 km in the pitch black. This was too much for all of the passengers. They all shouted at the poor man in Swahili, English and Luganda" Oh Shut Up and get off!" and the conductor pushed him out of the bus into the darkness and we sped off.
About 20 minutes later, we came to a long line of trucks. The weary passengers all started to talk excitedly in Luganda. I thought we had reached a weighing station. Our travel partner probably embarassed by all the excitement of the journey was quite slow in translating and left us listening to the Luganda chatter for about 10 minutes. I kept pressing, 'what's happening.... what's happening' then she said that 2 petrol tankers had creashed further up the road and the bus driver was trying to decide whether to wait in line or take another route. Eventually he chose the other route, much to the dismay of a few passengers who were stopping along the way, but the 45 minute trip was already over 2 hours long so the driver took the other road through the banana plantations and cane fields.
As there was no moon we could see the hal;o of the petrol fire in the distance and drove through the fields for another 20 minutes in silence, possibly fear, as every now and again we would pass groups of people who were shouting at the bus in Luganda. I later found out they were complaining that the roads need to be fixed because people only remembered them when there was an accident on the road. Then we came to a fork in the road, and the driver's spoken thought broke the silence....
"Which way"....
At that point I looked at Naila, who I was travelling with, and had to laugh. One road would have taken us further into the banana plantations, sugar and coffee, but even I who had never been there instinctively knew that we had to go right. Finally he chose right and we continued down the road.
Eventually we saw a few other cars in front of us and after yet another obstacle - this time a truck stuck in the mud, we made it to the city of Jinja at 11:30p.m.

Lesley on the way to the Jungle

Well, while I should be agressively preparing for my trip to East Africa, you can actually find my preparing harder for my trip to the Savannah stage for Carnival!!!