Talking to Strangers Ugandan Style

In England I go for a walk because it is good exercise but also because it allows space to think and reflect. During my time in Uganda there was not a lot of space on my own so I decided to go for a walk one Sunday along the dirt roads alongside the Nile. It was a hot, sunny day so I didn’t have the problem of huge amounts of sticky mud forming part of my shoes and making my feet weigh four times more than they did at the start of the walk as they would on a rainy day.

I decided to take one road that goes to the Nile and then go back and onto the village of Bujagali Falls, which is gradually starting to be called Bujagali Lake following the recent construction of a second dam in this part of the Nile for hydro-electric generation which drowned the Falls.

Any thoughts of a quiet, reflective stroll were quickly dismissed. Firstly there is the importance of greetings and since almost everyone else is travelling by foot or bicycle or are busy in their yards in front of the house there are a lot of people to greet. I am limited to “Jambo!” (Swahili but accepted here from foreigners) or a somewhat sing-song “Hello. How are you? I am fine”. Secondly “mzungus” (white people) stand out just a little and generate a lot of excited interest from small children and most of the school age children will recognise my face at least from school “Teacher Joanne”. There are lots of children and so lots of attention. Neither of these allowed for long enough to switch off into reflecting mode.

However, when I swapped notes on my experience with a volunteer couple at the school on my return, they were surprised at just how many people had engaged me in conversation in addition to the basic greetings. On the way to the Nile Eva started walking alongside me carrying her 6 month old daughter who she said had malaria, her elder child a 3 year old girl was at a neighbour’s house. She walked me all the way down to the edge of the Nile where her mother and other family members were planting grass in a field along the banks of the river. I had been told there was a nice spot to sit and read but I quickly realised that I would be too much of a novelty to be left to read so I headed back the way I came, thanking Eva for showing me where to go, but she insisted on walking back some way with me. Her nephew Brian, who is a pupil in one of the lower years at the primary, joined us. My cynicism was waiting for the request for something, after all she had a sick baby, however I was wrong and I was just being offered friendship. Eva explained to me she had continued at school until Senior 2 until finances meant she couldn’t continue. She also pointed out several different crops to me and explained the process of cultivating beans.

Beautiful blue dragonfly that sat beside me

As we walked Anthony, the young man in one of the yards who had advised me that the river Nile wasn’t much further, came out to greet me and find out where I was from and what I did. We chatted for a while and he told me that the following day the President of Uganda was coming for the inauguration of the new hydro-electric power, which explained the helicopters we had heard overhead in the previous days. Eva explained as we walked on that Anthony’s mother had died some months earlier.

Finally Eva decided she’d come far enough with me and turned back. Shortly afterwards Brian reappeared and I realised he had been sent to give me Eva’s phone number.

A little further Fiona and Sandra, who turned out to be Primary 5 pupils greeted me and took it upon themselves to walk with me and try and teach me some Lusoga words (the local language) before inviting me to their home, which I hope I politely declined.

Having barely got 5 minutes further on my walk Aminah a Primary 3 student greeted me and we went through introductions to her younger siblings and an older sister. Aminah said she’d like a friend in England and with some extra input from her sister I came to the conclusion she may have heard about the letters that had been written to pupils in one of the volunteers schools in England and she was looking for a pen friend. By now I was close to the entrance to the restaurant I was planning to visit and after explaining I’d be in school on Monday and promising I would be passing back that way later she reluctantly allowed me to continue.

Lunch overlooking the Nile

The minute I emerged more than two hours later Aminah came running over to me calling her friend who it turned out had written me a very nice letter on her behalf, explaining that Aminah had lost her mother and she would like me to sponsor her and be her new mother and take her to my country signed “Your pen friend, Aminah”. Clearly the concept of a pen friend was a little different than mine! I tried to explain that she had all her brothers and sisters here with her and that it wasn’t very simple to just take someone to my country.

My final encounter was with a man and two women who had obviously just left their Sunday morning church service at the local “born again” church. I think that the man was the preacher and one of the women was his wife. The preacher greeted me and then immediately wanted to know if I was a Christian and if I was saved. When I replied in the affirmative he got very excited and said how God had convicted them that they assume white people are Christians and don’t check they have faith and preach the gospel to them. I was quite glad I was the only one of the 4 volunteers on the project that had this encounter as I doubt the others would have been so able to feel comfortable with it and honestly it was probably more likely to put them off God. Since we were all walking in the same direction I was part of this conversation, although a fairly quiet participant, until the pastor and his wife turned off to make an important visit. The third lady continued on which me until we reached her home and she told me about the President’s visit the next day and how she had been invited to the event along with some of the other villagers and was clearly very impressed with the President.

By the time we said “Goodbye” I was left with only 10 minutes left of my more than 2 hour walk, so I had no reflection time, but I’d met a lot of rural Ugandan friendliness. 

Converted to Blue

One of the things that Westerners living in or visiting poorer countries tend to comment on is how pristine school children look dressed in their uniforms coming out of areas which look like it should be impossible to keep anything clean and that running water is not something to be relied upon or taken for granted. I remember the shock I first felt seeing school children in some areas of Guyana and it is no different in Nicaragua or the Philippines. Each day as I'm driven to work we pass very poor communities with children coming out in beautiful white shirts and even going home looking as pristine, or as a friend put in his blog recently looking cleaner than his kids did when they left for school in the morning (Krish's impressions of Haiti).

In Guyana many of my local friends used "blue" a laundry soap which you'll be amazed to hear is coloured blue! However coming from a land of washing machines I felt it must be much better to use laundry powder to wash my clothes even by hand than a bar of soap. Of course I should have known better: that it's normally worth following the local way of doing things as there is a reason why it's done that way, but I never ventured to try. That was over ten years ago.

On moving to Malaysia a couple of months ago and not having yet found my well hidden washing machine in the apartment I thought I'd have to resort to hand washing again and stumbled across "blue" in the supermarket so I thought I'd give it a try. I have a great propensity for spilling things on my clothes or getting mess and oil stains from work and I've never found a good way to get the stains out, not long soaks or scrubbing nor Vanish, so I finally decided to try "blue" and so easily the stains scrubbed out. I am converted and could have been over 10 years ago if only I hadn't subconsciously felt my ways from mechanised, developed countries must be best.

How secure!

I don't think I have ever been subject to so much security, I thought one advantage of going the other direction from the UK would be that I would avoid all the security checks of the US airports, but actually it seems to combat local threats security in the Philippines is even higher. To even get into the airport terminals you must have a valid ticket for travel which you present before you are allowed into the main doors, at those same doors you also have to go through a metal detector and send all your luggage through an X-ray machine and this is all long before check-in, immigration and the pre-flight security checks. If you are not flying, you are not entering, no family farewells inside the terminal.

In addition every time I walk into my hotel I pass through a metal detector, it seems to go off every time but now they are getting used to my face they seem to check less and less. The same applies every time anyone goes into one of the many shopping malls, the entrance will have two lines separated into male and female, you are scanned with a metal detector, and the guard with a stick moves the items around in your bag to check you are not bringing in anything you shouldn't. Exiting the mall is easy and unchecked so they don't seem too worried about theft. However the most surprising of all was this morning when I went to church for the first time and there were guards at the entry to check our bags as we went in. Except at the airport it is all very efficient and the guards are pleasant but it is non-negotiable and even at the airport it's not unbearable.

When we arrive at work in the morning the security guards use a mirror on a stick to inspect the underside of the vehicles before we are allowed to enter.

Last week a colleague reminded me of the incident with the bus that was hijacked a year or two ago by rebels where many people ended up being killed in the stand-off. I knew some of the islands further to the south of the Philippines are not recommended to travel to due to kidnappings, just this week an American-Filipino woman was released but her son and nephew remained held by kidnappers. I don't feel insecure but perhaps it is as a result of ignorance or the frequent presence of police and security.

If I take a taxi from the hotel the doormen write down my details and insist on seeing the ID of the driver. When I got a taxi outside a mall today to return to my hotel I realised the person directing me to the taxi was from the police and gave me a slip of paper, when I asked what the paper was for he informed me that it was the details of the taxi in case I had any complaints – including the taxi number, time and contacts numbers of the tourist police etc. I didn't have any problems but it felt good someone had it noted down.

Last night as I sat with a colleague getting a coffee at Starbucks hoping for the rain to ease so we could walk back to the hotel I noticed three policemen with shotguns at the corner protecting the popular dining/shopping area. We had both commented that for a city with a lot of poor we were surprised how few people hassled us in the fairly affluent area where the hotel was and we feel comfortable walking around after dark on our own in the immediate vicinities of the hotel. I was left with a nagging feeling that perhaps the security also deterred begging and street vendors.

So the fact there is more security than I personally have ever experienced, does that make me safer?

The Bare Necessities

Working on projects means I spend a good part of my time planning and then trying to control outcomes to meet the plans. There always seems to be a Plan B at hand and often we end up on Plan C, my job is to control things to bring a project to conclusion in a timely manner without spending too much money. We like to be in control or at least to feel we are in control and yet every moment of our lives things are happening over which we have absolutely no control. Often I get frustrated but every now and again I remember since I have no control over this thing or another there is little point getting stressed over it.

I have no control over the weather. Therefore I have no control over whether I can fly from A to B according to my hoped for schedule, normally things work out within an hour or two of the plan, but we only have to watch the anger and chaos that builds up when suddenly an airport shuts down or reduces flights due to snow or winds or volcanic ash.

I am reminded of one of the prayers that was often read out in school assemblies and I believe attributed to St Francis of Assisi

Lord give me the courage to change the things I can change, the grace to accept the things I cannot change and the wisdom to know the difference.

I should have been arriving in the UK this morning, but on Saturday night with less than 12 hours before I headed to the airport I learnt all my flights through New York were cancelled as a sensible safety precaution in the face of hurricane strength winds heading up the US Eastern seaboard to NY. I thought maybe I could get diverted to London instead of Manchester thus avoiding NY but it seems many other people had that idea before me, so after an hour on the phone to the airline I learnt the earliest flight they could get me on even to London was Friday, 5 days later. I accepted it after all what else could I do and whilst I wasn't initially happy I realised spending another week in Managua with a room and a job and lots of friends around was most definitely better than being in queues for standby places day after day in Houston. Of course after several farewells people were surprised to see me but generally everyone seems pretty glad about it at this end.

So having packed or given almost everything away in anticipation of the grand departure I went to the supermarket across the road last night and bought what I deemed the bare essentials for the next 4 days, at least the bananas give a glimpse of healthiness to my choices.

The Bare Necessities

Thinking positive about leaving

Three full days to go and then I get on the plane out of Nicaragua. I'm sad to be leaving but in an endeavour to try and see some positives three have leapt out at me over the last week or so.

First it forces you to sort through all that STUFF you accumulate, especially when you have to whittle it down to three checked in bags (hoping they let me through with number 3 all be it paid for) and a maximum of one cubic meter of ship freight I won't be seeing for at least 3 months. I didn't think I had a lot of clothes until I started packing, I thought books would be my problem. Writing the packing lists of what is in each box or bag makes me realise just how much stuff I have. How did I keep thinking I didn't have enough socks? I have 30 pairs I discovered and my laundry is done 4 days a week!

Secondly and more fun than the stuff sorting is the fact that suddenly spending time with people becomes a priority. The fact you are leaving means both you and others suddenly try and make space in the diary to meet up. For example for more than a year now a couple at church and I have been making sporadic attempts to meet up for dinner and it has never worked out, once I heard I was leaving suddenly we were getting together for lunch on Sunday that very same week and chatting for more that three hours.

Monday's fine dining. Goodbye to friends.

Sunday brunch at my flat with friends in anticipation of my departure

This too seems to be one of the advantages of living out of your home country when you visit home because you are only there for a short period people are much more willing to find ways to accommodate meeting up since there isn't the option of leaving it for another week or another time when it'll fit in better. Doesn't always work of course, but it seems to be the general trend.

Finally people consciously start saying nice things about you and what they'll miss. Of course you hope they are being honest not just polite:-) It almost starts to feel like getting to eavesdrop on the nice things one hopes they will say at your funeral, only better - well maybe not better depending on what happens after death. I also find myself thinking what I will miss about those I take for granted around me every day.

Well more packing awaits.....

Dentist

When you know you are leaving several things that you have been postponing suddenly become priorities to get done, among those things are dentist and doctors appointment, after all with almost 5 years here I have found medical professionals I trust.


So probably to the surprise of my dentist I turned up for my six monthly check up and cleaning before the six months had elapsed. She knows I hate the visits to the dentist, I never used to but having left it 10 years without visiting as I moved from place to place it seems the enamel is not as strong as it was as a child, when I used to wonder why people were afraid of the dentist.Less enamel equals more discomfort in the cleaning, at least as far as I'm concerned. Since the husband and wife dental practice I attend worked for 10 years in the USA during the difficult years of the 1980's in Nicaragua they have the added advantage of speaking fluent English, particularly useful since my dental related vocabulary isn't as well developed as my sewage and engineering related vocabulary.

My dentist visit at the end of the day reminded me of another thing I like about being in Nicaragua. My dentist builds in extra time knowing she'll have to go slow and use less abrasive and quick techniques, break and talking time is built in. Each time I learn something new about them as people, admittedly there are certain moments when the two way element of a conversation is somewhat limited as some implement or other is thrust into your mouth. Since it was the last appointment on Friday there seemed no rush, no desire to shut up shop and be gone, we talked about politics both Nicaraguan and the riots that had broken out in England, about racial prejudice, about our tendency to be more fearful and risk-conscious as we get older and about moving countries.

As I left my dentist asked where I'll get my next check-up I replied that my hope was to wait till I come back to visit although whilst the treatment is cheaper than the UK if I have to add an airline ticket onto the costs it will be a very expensive dental check up! Nicaragua should do really well out of medical tourism being so relatively close to the very expensive US, but me I just like the fact that there is time to talk about more than just teeth, like older people tell us what visiting doctors in the UK was like before everything was governed by costs and targets. 

Traffic Lights

Moving away temporarily from posts related to the Middle East, I am remarkably going to make this post about traffic lights. I say "remarkably" simply because if I was still living in the UK I can't help feeling it would be a real challenge to try and find anything interesting to write about traffic lights beyond the very practical details of everything already contained in the Highway Code, which lets be realistic is a necessary, but far from interesting read!

Living in Nicaragua on the other hand affords all sorts of interesting observations related to what would normally be a mundane traffic control apparatus. Traffic lights are a business opportunity to offer all sorts of services and "drive thru" sales without the need to even pull off the road to drive through. The quantity of things that can be bought in those few seconds that you stop on the red light is almost unbelievable. There are the standard items like newspapers in the early morning hours, chewing gum, fruit, sweets/candies, peanuts or little blue, sealed, plastic bags of purified water. Then there are more specialised vehicle related accessories like seat or steering wheel covers, windscreen wipers especially now we have entered the rainy season, window shades, small flags of the country, political party or Barcelona FC to stick on your dashboard and a variety of bumper stickers. Mobile phone accessories and sunglasses are also common items to be available for sale.

In addition to the more common items there are also some traffic light junctions where there are more specialist items for sale, which you have to know which traffic lights to go to. For example the obvious one which I pass daily on the way to work is the coconut products intersection. A group of people arrive early in the morning with a cart full of coconuts and whilst a few people sit under the tree by the roadside and prepare the coconuts for the different forms of sale chopping off the husks with machetes to leave a ball of clean coconut flesh exposed and draining the coconut water into plastic bags, the others walk around the passing vehicles selling them. By early afternoon they have generally sold all their wares and sweep up all their refuse and push it away in their cart until the process starts all over again the following morning.

Clearly, the street vendors also know how to maximise their opportunities with seasonal products. These include umbrellas on rainy days, Nicaraguan or Sandinista flags in July and September for national holidays, fabric roses for mothers day and Valentine's Day and what to me look like a rather strange cross between an alpaca and a reindeer as Christmas approaches.

However traffic lights are not just limited to sales you also have the opportunity to be entertained mostly by children and young adults juggling some with painted faces or dressed as clowns. I am particularly impressed and concerned by the ones who juggle kerosene fueled torches, the sensible part of me always wonders if it's such a good idea to juggle with fire so close to petrol engines. Recently I noticed in the constant endeavour for people to get their act to stand out from the crowd a couple of young men dressed as clowns were juggling fire torches whilst one stood on the other's shoulders - as far as I am concerned they deserved the Cordoba (approx 3 pence) they were trying to get from the stationary drivers as they finished their brief act, the coordination of the timing alone is impressive. Lights turn red, one jumps on the other's shoulders, the lower guy lights the torches and passes them up to the upper one who then executes his routine before blowing out the torches, jumping down and then running around the nearby cars soliciting a donation all before the lights turn green again. There are mixed opinions, mainly among foreigners, on whether to give anything or not, but I've come to the conclusion it certainly looks like work when they offer this type of entertainment.

Perhaps the most common encounter of all at traffic lights are the windscreen cleaners, anyone with a plastic bottle of water and a squeezy window scraper can embark on this, some are friendly, others are insistent, still others are aggressive - a firm "No!" along with wagging the first finger indicates you don't want the windscreen washed, but you have to be attentive since the insistent to aggressive style means trying to sneak up and wash without allowing you time to refuse and then the obligation is to pay the required cordoba. Whilst it is a potentially useful service it can be exhausting when on the way home you pass at least five different traffic lights where everyone wants to wash your windscreen, and sometimes your windscreen can end up dirtier than before it was cleaned.

Perhaps unsurprisingly amongst all these other activities are also beggars, mostly children, women carrying children or people with disabilities. Sadly it seems most foreigners have a story of how the begging is a scam, that the children are sent out by their parents or women rent other people's babies as they earn more money that way or how the blind man and the child who guides him spilt the money they collect and they earn more than a labourer in a day. I think all of us outsiders find it a constant assault on our emotions and our guilt for a long while. I know for a long time, especially at the end of the day when I was tired, I found myself feeling extremely angry at having to face this barrage of demanding people repeatedly when all I wanted to do was get home and instead I was faced with anger and guilt, after all even if I believed all of the scam type stories there was no doubt I had more than them. It seems everyone in the end has to find their own coping strategy. What is mine? I decided that spending several hours going from car to car asking for change in the hot sun, facing frequent rejection, certainly constituted some form of effort or "work" and that sometimes, to some people I would give the odd coin and other times I wouldn't and whichever it were I'd neither feel good nor guilty but that I'd try and smile at them instead of scowling and feeling angry at the way their presence made me feel guilty about wealth.  

It is strange in some ways I suppose when I think about the few individuals on my work route who I frequently meet when the lights turn red, only in exceptional cases do I learn their names and yet multiple times a week we interact perhaps for 10 seconds and now I can recognise our shared humanity.

So the above is a glimpse into the 10 to 60 seconds transactions at the traffic lights which I do multiple times a day, almost unthinkingly now. In a few locations, especially where the number of vendors is high, there is an added challenge of ensuring that the few rogues in the crowd don't steal your side lights. I've learnt to be especially vigilant when some insists on washing your window even when you've said "No" and then their free hand drops out of site onto the wing of your car. Half the vehicles in Managua go around with one of their side indicators missing.

How to navigate traffic lights in Managua is a skill to learn, can be overwhelming, requires attentiveness but there is plenty to see, they serve a far wider purpose than simply traffic management  and no-one can say they are boring!