Uganda Journal #2: Longitudes and latitudes

December 13, 2009
00°18′49″N 32°34′52″E

Uganda is very much a Christian country, a striking byproduct of European colonialism. In Namuwongo, however, because of the large influx of Sudanese refugees, there is a local mosque and the accompanying five-times-daily call to prayer. When called, many of the dogs here howl out their response and it reminds me of the sled dogs in Churchill who would howl back at the air raid siren that was sounded by the town every night to signal curfew.

I got my bags back after a lengthy ordeal at the Entebbe airport, including having to wait for half an hour to get a security pass which nobody ever checked. At least when I finally got to my luggage I found them under secure lockdown and all my shit was in order. Picking up a paper today, I'm glad I got them when I did - yesterday there was a fire at airport, something about aviation fuel tanks exploding, and I can only imagine the process it would have been trying to get my stuff back after something like that.

My driver on the way back insisted on taking some backward-ass route into Namuwongo due to the midday "jam". This basically consisted of climbing to the top of one of Kampala's seven major hills and coasting down the most decrepit roads available. We're talking potholes the size of small craters and water-carved ravines that rival the Grand Canyon. On a few occasions the car may as well have been right sideways with me smashed against the door and my driver trying to explain to me where we were and why this was a good idea. I don't think I'd ever even think about driving a vehicle here unless it was a 150cc motorcycle or something with some serious clearance and four-wheel drive. Any road that hasn't fallen apart is marked with speed bumps that would give a Land Rover a hard time.

Friday night
After work Matt and I headed to the gym and then proceeded to indulge in more pressing matters - most importantly a five dollar bottle of whiskey I found at the corner store. Half a bottle of what smelled like gasoline but didn't taste so bad after two or three half-and-halfs later, we headed out on bodas (motorcycle taxis) to meet up with Ian.

Ian is a doctor friend of ours who we met the last time I was around who we really only met one night at the bar because he, like both Matt and myself, is unreasonably tall.

Dinner was good and the beer hit the spot after the rough gas-whiskey mixture I had subjected us to. Matt and Ian knew of this party being thrown by a friend of a friend just up the road from the restaurant, and we decided to make our way over there to continue our evening, but not before securing another bottle of whiskey.

You'd think finding such a thing on a Friday night in downtown Kampala wouldn't be so hard, but it was. An hour and a harsh bargain later we end up at this Italian guy's house, bottle of Johnnie Walker Red in hand. Ian grabbed the Walker, split it into three tall glasses, and we proceeded to mingle with the crowd.

Everybody there was young and highly professional - aid workers, engineers, IT guys, medical professionals, doctors, lawyers, foreign service personnel from the world over - and the alcohol was flowing like milk and honey in Israel. It didn't take long to make young and highly professional friends and at some point throughout the night I ended up with my foot stuck in a tub full of ice with three other guys for nearly an hour in a competition to see who could keep it in the longest. Apparently somebody had money down on the bearded Canadian - me - winning the game so I wasn't about to pull out and shame my country. These things are important.

By 2:30 the party had mostly wound down and it just myself, Ian, Matt, and two ladies hanging out on a set of couches that had somehow found their way into the backyard. After a few more beers and an in depth discussion about the merits of ___________, we got those less mobile ready to move again and hit a cab to Bubbles where we played a variety of dancing-drinking games until they closed down the bar and the sun was nearly on its way up.

Another successful night in the KLA.

PS. Power surge fried the power cable to my laptop the other day. Some seemingly very capable Indian computer techs dudes are working on it but without a way to recharge my battery, blogging might be a little more difficult.