Friday afternoon I began to plot our weekend trip to the Ssese Islands. Skimming through “The Eye” (the fabulous “in and out guide to Uganda” that is widely distributed throughout the ex-pat community in Kampala), “Lonely Planet,” and the internet revealed that the Ssese Islands, despite their proximity to Kampala, remain largely inaccessible. Hence the reason the small numbers of tourists who find their way to Uganda skip over this beautiful group of islands in the middle of Lake Victoria. We ended up having to take a matatu all the way to Masaka, which is about a 3 hour drive southwest of Kampala, skirting the shores of Lake Victoria. From Masaka, one must go to a small town on the lake called Bukakata, where a ferry departs for Buggala Island three times a day (only once on Sundays). The thing with matatus is that you have to wait until they are full before the driver will set out for your destination. Sometimes it is only a matter of minutes before the matatu is crowded with passengers. Sometimes it may take an hour or two of patiently waiting in the back of the matatu, starting to feel your butt go numb even before the drive commences. Matatus are infamous for having the most uncomfortable seats- a 4 or 5 hour trip can make you feel like you’ll never regain feeling in your rump ever again.

Unfortunately, it was one of those days where we had to wait and wait and wait before the matatu even left Kampala- we finally pulled out of the taxi part around 10:30am. Thus, our 1:00 arrival in Masaka meant that we missed the noon ferry and would have to wait for the 4:00 ferry. Our time in the Ssese Islands was slowly being whittled away to practically nothing…. We arrived at Hornbill Camp around 6:30pm. The sun was already beginning to sink behind the low-lying clouds on the Lake’s horizon, but we had time to run down to the beach, roll up our pants and plunge into the water.

That night we had a fabulous Ugandan dinner of greens, matooke (steamed mashed green bananas), tilapia in groundnut sauce (a type of fish), coleslaw, beans, and the usual rice and potatoes. It was a family style meal that we shared with the only two other tourists visiting the island- both volunteer workers from Denmark- and the owner of the camp- a very eclectic fellow from Holland. After dinner we sat around a campfire, chatting and telling stories, before we crawled into our tent for the night.

Our options to get back to Kampala were even more limited for Sunday. Unfortunately, there was only one ferry back to Bukakata in the morning. Seeing as the previous days’ travel had been long and rather boring, we decided to take the alternative route back to the mainland- via fishing boat across the lake to Kasenyi. These fishing boats are more like large wooden canoes, with a motor attached. There is no dock, so local porters carries you out the boat- men on their shoulders and women slung like a baby in their arms. The water was rather murky and the risk of contracting bilharsia too high to risk wading out ourselves. The boat ride took 3 hours, past the islands and out into the open water of Lake Victoria, headed for the mainland. There was nowhere to sit in the rickety old boat, so we stood, leaning against the side, breathing in the fresh air, and gazing out at the never-ending watery vista of Lake Victoria. About halfway through the journey LaRuan began to feel queasy and decided to take a nap on the uncomfortable planks across the bottom of the boat. LaRuan can never make it through any sort of trip without falling asleep. Matatus are the worst- the second we start rolling he is off into dreamland.
After a while, the rhythm of the waves started to make me sleepy too, so I nestled between LaRuan, the side of the boat, and the large pile of slimy fish at my feet, and dozed off with whooshing sound of the water in my ears.

I awoke just as we were coming into Kasenyi. It’s a small, nothing of a place- a few shacks housing restaurants and shops, as well as a market selling the usual produce. The beach is lined with fishing boats. A crowd of porters, sporting bright purple shirts, waits impatiently on the beach. As the boat approaches there is a mad dash for the water as the porters swarm the boat and try to pull you out into their money-grubbing arms. After a somewhat uncomfortable tousle, I am scooped into one porter’s arms and dumped onto the beach, where he demands 6,000 shillings. Yeah right! I know that it should only cost 500- I’m not that ignorant! Such was the eventful ending to my weekend trip….

Last night I stayed at work until about 7:30- I've had lots of late nights lately. 10-12 hours is becoming the routine work day. When we left we had a nearly impossible time getting a matatu home- they were all packed, and the roadsides were lined with people shoving their way into the matatus. So LaRuan and I walked halfway home (I always walk the full route in the morning- about an hour- but I prefer catching a matatu home). Walking in the dark is totally different from walking in the gray light of morning. There are two main things I need to worry about: 1) falling through an open manhole or stumbling over one of the other many obstacles on the roadside; and 2) getting clipped by a speeding matatu, car, or motorbike. So far I have managed to avoid both.

The dark-skinned people of Uganda are swallowed up by the inky darkness- shadows that only take shape when they are right before you. Often, I hear the soft shuffle of feet before the sound is given a body. Even though I am developing a bit of a tan (that is, what would be considered a "tan" for my Irish skin), I feel as white as purest snow - no chance of me hiding behind the cloak of darkness! The darkness also brings with it the soothing hum of crickets and night insects. Occasionally, the tinny sound of a radio or the distant echo of prayer being called from the mosque joins the chorus of night sounds. I find it very comforting.

A gray and rainy morning. Walked to work as usual. Wondered whether the rain would wash out the soap that is holding my hairstyle together- it didn't. Good thing because Walter's in Gulu for a few days. I need to get a lot done this morning, so I'm going to make this entry brief. I've been corresponding with Cati a lot the last few days, trying to get things organized for the rest of the trip. Time is flying by! I can hardly believe my time here in Uganda is half over....

I had a great weekend! I was trying to pull together a last-minute trip to either the Ssesse Islands or Murchison Falls, but it didn't happen. Instead, I stayed here and had a relaxing weekend in Kampala. On Friday the power was out at work all day, so I couldn't get anything accomplished. I actually went to the craft market instead for a couple of hours, and then home early. On Saturday we came to work to see if we could get anything done, but the server still wasn't working. Another lost cause. So I spent the afternoon at home, baking cookies for a big lunch get-together that was planned for Sunday, reading, and getting Walter to do my hair. He gave me a very retro style made of a ton of tiny, little twists (kind of like when you get your hair braided), but the twists are held in shape with soap. Very interesting. Soap works quite well to hold hairstyles together, by the way.

So then on Sunday we had a big barbecue that was sooooo fun! I helped Jennifer and Henrico make Indian food- we made chicken lollipops, daal, meat kabobs, and a peas and potato dish. I also learned to make chapati earlier this week. A bunch of Maria's friends, and then everyone from the house, was there. So there were 20+ people. We ate tons and tons of really delicious food, and then had a big dance party out on the grass.

I don't know if I've written much about my Ugandan "family." It's really like I've become part of a family here! Of course, I think I have told everyone about Mama Maria, the woman who owns "Maria's Place," where I stay. She is a very caring woman, and treats all of us like her children. LaRuan and Walter have totally become brothers to me. And then there is everyone else, ranging in age from about 13 to 27 or so- Monde and Tabu (who are Sudanese refugee boys who help at the house- Monde, especially, is a riot), Butu and Simon (Maria's real children), Sarah and Afunnel (Maria's niece and nephew), Julie (the cook), and Jennifer and Henrico (a young Indian couple who also stay there). They're the "regular" crowd at Maria's Place, but there are always a ton of other people in and out. It's a totally fun place to live!

I'm trying to put together a list of good books to read during my travels over the next year (in the hope that I'll come across some of those books on the road). If anyone has any good suggestions of favorite books, please email me: cara_dilts@yahoo.com

While thinking about books, I thought I would list a few of my favorites for those looking for a good summer read:

1. The Thorn Birds
2. The Cider House Rules
3. Memoirs of a Geisha
4. The Mists of Avalon
5. Wild Swans
6. The Power of One
7. Captain Corelli's Mandolin
8. Jane Eyre
9. The Count of Monte Cristo
10. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
11. Blindness
12. Hocus Pocus
13. The Red Tent
14. To Kill A Mockingbird
15. An Unquiet Mind

Of course, the list could go on and on- these are some of my recent good-reads and old-time favorites...

I won't miss the smells of Africa. The people, the laid-back atmosphere, the beauty of the countryside- yes; but the smells- no. I've started walking to work in the mornings instead of taking the matatu. It takes about an hour and would be very pleasant, if it weren't for the rotting trash heaps on the roadside. There are a few dumpsters here and there, but they are always overflowing with trash and I wonder whether there is any service that is contracted to dispose of it. Anyway, the dumpsters seem to be pointless because heaps of fermenting, rancid-smelling trash are all around.

I don't want to give the mistaken impression that it is like this everywhere in Kampala. On the contrary, there are areas of downtown and, for example, the street where I work, that are blessedly free of trash. The center of Kampala is actually quite interesting in this respect. It is built on a hill. The farther up the hill you go, the nicer the area- this is the locale of all the government buildings, parks, and posh hotels. As you descend into the heart of the city, the streets fade into chaos and poverty. A friend once stated that the streets of Kampala are laid out as if someone dropped a fistfull of noodles from the sky, and where they fell, they became the streets. At the very bottom of the hill is the site of the Owino Market and the taxi parks. I love this area of Kampala. If ever you want to do any prime people watching, this is the place to go. Women and men weave their way through the crowds, colorfully clad in traditional clothes or western garb, balancing heavy loads on their heads. Baskets, bananas, water jugs, fire wood, huge wood planks, laundry.... I think anything could conceivably be perched on the strong, and capable heads of the Ugandans. In fact, you'd be absolutely amazed at some of the loads that are transported by this method!

For those of you interested, I thought I might post my "thesis" on what this gender report I am doing is all about (at least where it stands at the moment):

This paper focuses on how gender has played a role in Uganda’s development since the commencement of governance reform initiatives by the National Resistance Movement (NRM) in 1986. The paper will first look into the current social, political, and economic roles of the genders in Uganda, emphasizing a number of issues central to the perpetuation of gender inequality, and thus fundamentally impacting development. It will then investigate the influence that regional and international human rights instruments and development structures have had on the formation of gender and development policies in Uganda. Finally, the paper will elaborate on what Uganda has done to mainstream gender into Ugandan society, and comment on the gains achieved in this process.


So this is what I spend my days doing! Hopefully it will turn out to be a really interesting paper. Maybe I'll post some more excerpts as time goes on....

Yesterday I was walking home from work when I heard a huge "crash" and then "thump." I looked across the street just in time to see a motorbike crushed on the ground and a man flying across the hood of a car, crashing into and shattering the windshield. Amazingly, no one seemed seriously hurt. There were a number of police walking down the street also, but none of them rushed to help. In fact, one who was walking right in front of me started laughing and shouted out- I think the phrase was something along the lines of, "way to go, dumb-ass!" Of course, I really have no clue what he said, but that was what I ascertained from the tone and expression. Police officers in developing countries have a completely different sense of their job than elsewhere. In fact, I would characterize the police here more as a military force with a policing function. They walk around in hordes, guns slung over their backs, but don't seem to do anything productive. Part of the problem is that the job is very low-level, and hardly pays anything. Unlike police officers in the U.S., there is no sense of pride in what they do.

Saturday morning we set out bright and early for Sipi Falls. LaRuan, Walter, and I, bedecked in our clothes for the weekend, toting sleeping bags and sandwiches, hailed a matatu to take us to where our trip would begin: the downtown taxi park. This taxi park is truly an amazing sight. Hundreds of matatus crowd together, seemingly without any order, onto a plot of dirt in the middle of the busy downtown streets. It is a big muddle of white vans, and I always wonder how the ones stuck in the middle of the lot can get out, but somehow they must. I just haven't figured out the order to the chaos yet.

So we found a matatu to take us to the town of Mbale, in the east of Uganda. The ride lasted between 3 and 4 hours, and cost a total of 9,000 Ugandan Shillings- approximately $4.50 US. I slept half the way because it was still about 7:00am, but for the second part of the trip I watched the changing scenery flash by. Uganda is a very lush, green country. The road was lined with fields of sugar cane, palms, rolling hills, and many small villages- until we reached Mbale, with a view of Mt. Elgon (doesn't that sound like a name out of Lord of the Rings?) in the distance.

In Mbale, the motorbikes of Kampala were replaced by bicycles with tasseled cushy orange seats for passengers on the back. Besides the ever-present matatus, these bicycles seemed to be the major mode of transportation in Eastern Uganda. We bipassed the bikes, and strolled across town to find another matatu that would take us on to Sipi- this time a grand total of 5,000 shillings ($2.50- which was actually a bit of a rip-off for the hour or so ride). As we wound our way into the hills, our matatu sputtering with the effort of making the long, continuous ascent, I could tell we were getting close to Sipi by the small waterfalls shooting down the cliffsides. We came into a small town and found ourselves unceremoniously dumped at the roadside. Looking around, I noticed a sign for "Moses Campsite," which I had remembered reading about in the guidebook. Moses was onhand, and apparently we were the only tourists looking for accommodation (our only company being the many cows who roamed the campsite). Originally, we had wanted to camp, but decided to stay in one of the bandas (a hut made of cow dung and straw) instead. After dropping my bag in the banda, I went in search of the toilet. Foreign toilet experiences are always something to write about... in fact, I could probably write a whole book on the many lovely toilets I've had the opportunity to experience. This one was along the lines of your typical "hole in the ground" type- except that the hole was miniscule and one had to be an expert at aiming to hit the "bulls-eye"- even my more capably-endowed male friends laughed at the impossibility of that feat. So you can imagine the stinky mess that the bathroom became....

The absolutely stunning view more than made up for the less-than-pleasant toilet. The bandas sat on the edge of cliff that looked out over a lush valley, with the largest of the Sipi Falls at the eastern edge, crashing more than 90 metres into the valley below. I sat on the very edge of the rocks, knees tucked up under my chin, watching the way the sunlight projected the shadows of the falling water onto the rock wall behind.

Our plans for the weekend consisted primarily of hiking around the waterfalls and enjoying the beauty of the area. Two things almost ruined our enjoyable weekend: 1) the locals have gone overboard on exploiting the natural wonders of Sipi by charging to see every single waterfall- twice. First you have to pay to even walk down a trail, and then some local entrepreneurs have erected gates just before you reach the end of the trail and the climactic sight of the waterfall and they force you to pay yet again if you want to go on; 2) every single person in Sipi wanted to be our guide and they would not leave us alone. Of course, we just wanted to hike around by ourselves. The trails were well-marked, and really, it isn't hard to find your way to the waterfalls- you just follow the stream or the sound of water. Still, although we said "no" probably a thousand times, these people (mostly young men I might add) would follow us everywhere and try to annoy us until we gave in. We almost offered money just so they would leave us alone!

Miraculously, we managed to get rid of the crowds of "guides" on our heels and finally experienced why we came to Sipi.... Sitting on the top of one of the falls, my feet bobbing in the pool of water that formed just before gravity dropped it to the world below, with only a skittish shepherd boy (and Walter and LaRuan of course) for company, I breathed a sigh of relief and let the echo of water in the otherwise silent world soak in. It really was a magnificent place. And I can understand why the locals wanted to take advantage of their natural wonders. Uganda is an extremely poor country, and living in a region where the natural beauty attracted people from all over the world was stroke of luck for those people. So maybe it was petty to become so annoyed by the seeming exorbitance of what they wanted from me.... In the U.S. I probably wouldn't have thought twice about dolling out quarters to see some waterfalls. Then again, an operation like this probably wouldn't have been in effect in the U.S.

Janna and Tim have been here for a little less than a week, and are now headed off to Kenya. It was kind of fun hanging out with them for a week- definitely "spiced up" the normal routine of work a bit! It'll be interesting to see what type of article comes out of this. They are planning to do an "Africa" special in the DU Magazine a year from now- next summer.

Not much new to add. My supervisor just got back from Zambia- he's been there for the last couple of weeks. So I am trying to get myself organized to meet with him tomorrow morning and see if I am headed in the right direction on this report.

Last night we had a big get-together at Maria's Place. Alex, his wife, and Irene (the people from the church that Janna met), and the King's brother (who is super cool and happens to be a friend of Maria's), all came for dinner. Tonight is movie night at the Marine House again. And then this weekend I am planning a trip out to Sipi Falls- near Mt. Elgon in the east of Uganda.

I ate grasshopper for the first time the other day. It was actually kind of tasty- like salty shrimp. Hmm, what else have I been doing? Well, work and more work. I normally leave for work between 7:00 and 8:00am, and then come home anytime between 6:30 and 8:00pm. So I have some long days! I'm working really hard to put together a quality report and I want to make sure it's done by the time I leave. This is a rather ambitious endeavor, so I need to keep focused and work long hours. Lately I've been out around town on interviews. Yesterday I went to the Ministry of Gender, the Human Rights and Development Program, and the Women and Children's Crisis Center. Today I will go to the Human Rights Commission and the Media Women's Association. Then I think I need to take a break from interviews for awhile. I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed with all the information I have, and I need to take some time to sift through it all and figure out what is relevant.

Went to the tombs of the of the old Buganda kings at Kasubi yesterday. It kind of reminded me of something that would be found in traditional Alaskan Native Culture. There was a large "palace" that was a giant round hut (I think it was 30 meters high and 30 meters in diameter)- the roof was grass and the rest was made of logs and sticks. For that reason I guess it kind of reminded me of a longhouse. I drank some traditional brew (really strong alcohol made of bananas and some other stuff that I am not sure what it was) and listened to the history of the Bugandan kings. Most had like 84 wives, and when the king died all the wives had to live in little one-room huts around the palace (which became the tomb) and tend to the tomb. In fact, many of the women of the royal family still have that duty. There are strict rules about who must be on which side of the tomb too. There are 4 photos of the dead kings and the women are not allowed to be on the side where their father-in-law's photo is... I think that somehow applies for later descendants too. It is kind of confusing. There are grass lines that demarcate who can go where inside the structure.

Ok, for some reason the link feature isn't working, so I will just type it in: www.raftafrica.com

crap. sorry the link didn't post- here it is:

Earlier I observed that there are signs for anything and everything all over Kampala. These are my three favorites:
1. A giant billboard-style mural painted across the second story of a building that advertises “Stayfree Maxi with Channels.” Next to these words there is a huge painting of a maxi pad.
2. The sign that advertises “Expert Haircutters.” There is a painting of a man from the front and profile, but the painting stops abruptly at the top of the forehead. Apparently, not only do they cut your hair for you, but they also cut off the top of your head. Either that, or the haircut is so atrocious they can’t actually show any hair in their advertisements!
3. A billboard that advertises “Ridsect,” an insect repellant that is so strong it can kill anything. There are pictures of dead insects everywhere.

I had quite an adventure this weekend. I decided that I absolutely needed to raft the Nile River. So I signed myself, and the reporter and photographer from DU who are out here doing the story on my internship (Janna and Tim) up for a full day of rafting with a company called Nile River Explorers. On Saturday, we set out for Jinja (the town at the source of the Nile) around 6:30 in the morning (this was after a scant three hours of sleep because I had decided to go out to a night club with LaRuan and Walter on Friday night). After a timely arrival in Jinja, we met the rest of the people who would be sharing the raft for the day. Dave, the guide, was from Northern Britain and had been working out here for three years, after previously working in Scotland, Austria, Switzerland, and on the Zambezi for a number of years. We couldn’t have had a better guide. He was highly trained and very thorough in his explanations. Our fellow rafters were a group of young Brits: Emma and Emily (two 19-year olds who were spending their gap year teaching in Tanzania) and Guy and Nick (Guy was on a Cairo to Cape trip and Nick was a friend who fortunately worked for British Airways and decided to jet out for a weekend in Uganda with Guy). Fortunately, everyone had a great sense of humor. Emma was a source of constant amusement because she didn’t know how to swim very well, and was afraid of fish, so rafting didn’t exactly seem to fit with these phobias very well. She was on a mission to conquer her fears though.

So, I’ve been whitewater rafting before but NEVER had an experience that can even compare to this one! To begin with, it’s an awesome river- there are five big Class 5’s and the rest are mostly Class 4. It was a 5 to 6 hour trip, followed by a barbecue at the end.

So let me just start by saying that our raft flipped over in 4 of the 5 hugest rapids- the first two and the last two. Luckily, there aren’t many rocks to worry about on the Nile, but the sheer force of the water is so strong and deep. You come up against a wave that is so huge that it feels as if you just hit a brick wall, and then it just flings the raft off to the side, sending you flailing into the rapids. On the first two flips I managed to keep hold of the safety rope as I went flying through the air and into the water. Once the raft came down on top of me, but with a grip on the safety rope it was easy to pull myself out from under. The last two class 5ers were a different matter. On one, we went over a small waterfall- there is nothing like coming down into the water below at a steep angle and knowing there is no way in hell the raft is going to make it through this one… As we flipped through the air, one of the guys on the raft smashed into me and I was swept away down river. Luckily, Nile River Explorers accompanies every raft with another safety raft and a safety kayak. Within seconds the kayak was there and I was hanging onto the front of the kayak as we rushed the rest of the rapids. That was pretty fun actually.

The best part was the last rapid- the second half on Itanda Falls (you have to put in at the middle of the falls, because the top is not raftable). Dave made us get out and climb up the bank above to check out the rapid and so he could explain the somewhat tricky way to maneuver through. Looking below, I swear it looked like Niagara Falls or something. Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it was far and away a bigger challenge than the rest of the trip, which we all thought had been pretty intense! We kept joking that at least we were becoming pros at crashing and swimming the rapids. This is when Dave revealed that in all the times he had shot this particular rapid, he’d probably made it through without flipping only 15 times. Great. It was another rapid that wouldn’t be whitewater rafting, but whitewater swimming. This time, he warned us, don’t even try to hold onto the safety rope, it was too dangerous because you’d be jerked around so much- better to let go and then swim for shore.

Our raft was banked at a steep angle. We pushed ourselves into the swirling and thrashing white foam, desperately back-paddling to lessen the speed of entry and hit the first big wave at the optimum angle. The wave was so big that we couldn’t see over it. We only discovered what awaited us as we went straight down into a giant hole created by a standing wave on the other side- probably literally at a vertical angle. The raft cartwheeled off as we were flung in all directions. I was sucked down into the massive hole, where I remained under water for probably 20 seconds, bashing into my fellow rafter’s legs, and then nothing... It felt as I imagine it would feel to be in a washing machine, tumbled about with no control whatsoever. Eventually I popped up out of the hole and had just enough time to take a gulp of air before another massive wave broke over my head. In a matter of seconds I was out of the rapids, swimming for the shore, carnage all around. Our raft was upside down, headed downstream. The safety rafter and kayaker were chasing after it before it disappeared around the bend. Clad in orange life jackets and blue helmets, we rafters bobbed about all over the river, paddles still in hand. (We had been told that whatever we did, DO NOT let go of the paddle because it would be lost forever. I held on with a death grip as the massive force of the river fought to steal it from my hands.)

Once on shore, eyes shining, laughing and gasping for breath, we exchanged excited versions of our impressions of that last rapid, the aptly named “Bad Place.” Emma, it turned out, had decided that she really didn’t want to have to deal with another flip and being sucked through a massive rapid, so she was going to ignore Dave’s instructions and hold on with everything she had. She actually managed to cartwheel WITH the raft and not fly out. I don’t know how she did it!!

So, I have to say this was the coolest rafting experience ever. I only wish I had a video or something so I could show what it was really like! I don’t think words can paint an adequate picture…. There was certainly high adventure on the rapids, but there were also peaceful periods of floating and swimming. We saw monkeys in the trees, not to mention many naked African boys swimming. In fact, there was a particularly funny incident with one boy- he was maybe ten years old. He stood on top of this big rock, stark naked, in a fighter’s stance, and kept yelling at us, “come here! I want to fight you!” It was hilarious. When our kayaker yelled back to him, “you come out here and we’ll fight!” the boy, shook his head, and said, “I am not dumb! You come here!” It was all done in a very friendly and jocular manner, and I thought I had never heard such a good-natured invitation for a fight.

We also had to portage one of the falls. It was probably a 12 to 15 foot drop and only the kayak could maneuver that one safely. I really wish I had some pictures of this majestic river!! Tim, the photographer from DU, managed to get some photos after the trip was over, and he said he could get me some copies though. I thought I might add the link to Nile Rive Explorer’s website- they have some pics under “rafting” so you can kind of see what it’s like!

Environmentalists would be apalled at this city. Walking, I choke on the air- many of the vehicles emit thick black puffs of pure poison. It's not always so bad. But today, when I walked back from the offices of the Legal Aid Project it seemed that every car left a black cloud in its wake. It put me in mind of Manila, where the air was so heavy with fumes that it inspired bouts of retching. At least the pollution here hasn't risen to that level.

Ramshackle huts and non-descript buildings line the roadsides. You would never know what they are- a residential home, an office building, restaurant, or shop of some sort- except for the hundreds of signs everywhere on the sides of the road. These signs advertise that Kampala is jam-packed with all types of small-time operations. Nonprofits of every sort abound, as do child care centers, schools, churches, restaurants, and computer centers. I like to sit by the window in the matatu and read all the signs on my way to work. Everday I discover a new place that I hadn't seen the day before. The signs de-mystify the purpose of a building, but the real mystery is unveiled when you walk inside. What looks like a slightly grubby, and very small bar from the outside, opens into a beautiful rooftop club, complete with pool tables, dance floor, and stylish patrons. And there are a lot of these places in Kampala, which is known for its extraordinary nightlife.

Yesterday was a public holiday- Martyr's Day. I worked during the morning, but then took off in the afternoon to explore Kampala with LaRuan, Hannah, and her roommate Danny. Hannah and Danny have been here for a couple of years, so they led the way to Owino Market, the central market here in Kampala. I've been to many markets, and I generally love them, but this was an entirely different experience. The market sits on a very muddy plot of land in one corner of downtown. The stalls are crammed together tightly into a labrynth of corridors selling clothes (mostly second-hand Western styles), shoes, bags, and sheets. It's a very intense experience because the rows are so tightly compacted that you can barely walk down them, and the place is teaming with people. Sellers feel compelled to reach out and grad your arm as you pass and try to drag you into their stall. People are generally very friendly though- maybe over-friendly at times- and it is not a threatening experience. Although I must admit that I was not happy about being grabbed, and would generally yank my arm out of their grip and progress on my way. Sellers try to get your attention by holding up various articles of clothing and repeating "my size, my size," which actually means that it is your size. Whether it really is your size or not is questionable.

Random lesson of the day- If you ever come to Uganda and you need to use the bathroom, what you should say is, "I need to make a short call" or "I am badly off."

I like to watch my mosquito bites grow. I never see the mosquito actually bite me, but I feel a slight prickling itch, and I can spot the exact region where the white bump is going to grow and grow and grow, until it resembles a large country, squiggly borders and all. Right now there are five of these countries surrounding my right elbow, each one threatening to invade its neighbour. The smallest one reminds me of the elongated shape of Malawi, whereas the largest is more boxy, like its northern neighbor, Tanzania. If I don't occupy my time by creating some fantasy for these mosquito bites, the itch will become too much and I will succumb to the need to scratch.

-Cara

Arrr, I just deleted my whole blog by accident. That is so annoying. I should probably write my entries in a Word document or something so that I don't have that problem. But alas, I am too lazy to go to all the effort to open a separate document. I was writing about how, on friday I had some very unexpected visitors. A local pastor and his wife came to see me at Maria's Place. It turns out that their head pastor is in Denver, and he met the reporter from DU who is coming out here next week. She told him about me and then I guess he told this other pastor that it would be nice for them to come check in on me and see how I am adjusting to life in Uganda. Well, I was sure surprised to have visitors!! But of course, it was very nice. That just goes to show what friendly people the Ugandans are. And then today I went with them to their worship service. It's not something I would probably normally choose to do, but they were so nice and I thought it would be an interesting experience. It sure was! They held the service in an old school house. Everyone sat in the children's desks. Not that much time was spent sitting. The African people are very expressive, and they voice their religion mostly through song and dance. I've never seen dancing like this in a worship service! I guess that comes from my knowledge of Catholicism, which is so much more ritualistic and sedate, compared to the free, impromptu aspect of this church. I did find it a bit uncomfortable at times, as I'm not really one for loud expressions of religious fervor, but I definitely appreciated their faith and capacity to find joy in their religion. I also had a rather random thought that if ever the world were to become like the world of musicals (Colleen and I always used to ponder what it would be like if people really did go around just singing their thoughts and emotions), that it would most likely happen here, in Africa, where music is more a part of life than anywhere I've ever been.

Another unique experience I had this weekend was to attend a wedding reception on Saturday. Maria's niece was married. We didn't go to the ceremony, but we did go to the reception. It was, in fact, quite similar to a wedding reception in the Unites States, except more formal. The wedding party also dressed in similar attire as a western wedding party would, but with the guests it was different! I saw so many beautiful swirling colors. People came in the formal attire of their tribes. Some wore the long dresses, with the pointy poofs on the shoulders of the sleeves and wide obi-like belts, others had their heads wrapped in the style of West Africa, then there were the gossamer sashes over long, slim-fitting dresses, Indian-inspired styles, and an array of evening gowns that might be worn in the United States. In fact, I spent most of my time at the reception just observing my surroundings. Both the people and the "wildlife." For a long time, the largest, most exotic butterfly I have ever seen hovered around the flower arrangements. This was juxtaposed by some of the largest birds I have ever seen- the Maribu Storks- fluttering around in the trees outside. Well, I can't exactly say "fluttering" because they are enormous, and rather ungainly creatures. When they land on the branches of a tree it bows and bounces under their considerable weight, and they spread their wings as if trying to keep their balance, before the branch finally finds its stillness.

-Cara