UGANDA FACT SHEET

Below is some useful information about Uganda as seen through the fresh eyes of a new Ugandan Mzungu.

Water- Many in the cities and towns have running water, but it eludes most, including all villagers. If you do have it, you probably don’t have it much of the time for specific reasons that I don’t understand, but for the general reason of it being Africa. If you do have it, and it works, and want to drink it, you must boil it first. If you don’t have it, and need it, then you fetch it from a tank or a spring. If you have running water, and it works, you might also have HOT running water. If you do, then there is a button outside of your shower that must be pressed on. Ours has been broken since I’ve been here, so I have been bathing like a typical Ugandan, which is by heating water on the stove, pouring it into small plastic basin and sponging or throwing it on me like an inexperienced child. Bathing like this isn’t a problem though, especially since it is never cool here. Don’t tell that to a Ugandan though – that it never gets cold here, unless you want a laugh. They will say that it is cool when it is 73 degrees. And it never gets hot here, but don’t say that unless you want them to laugh at you again. They say it gets hot at 83 degrees. They are kind of like San Diegans that way, only even more so. Uganda is on the equator, but the elevation keeps the temperature very comfortable unlike most African countries.

Food- Ugandans are blessed with extremely fertile land. Unlike many African countries, Uganda doesn’t have to worry about hunger. They say you can stick anything in the ground and it will grow here. So true is it, I believe a piece of planted scrap metal would sprout a Miata in a few weeks; it’s incredible. As such, Ugandans have a diet rich in local fruit and tubers. Papaya (called po-po’s), mangos, pineapple, bananas and passion fruit are very common. Fresh passion fruit juice is a house hold staple, which I boast as having made already (with some help of course). There are quite a few varieties of the mangos and bananas, including very small, sweet bananas; a blissful revelation to a fruit-loving former suburban American. Ugandans also enjoy a dish unique to their country called matoke. It is prepared with unripe plantains, which are boiled and occasionally stewed. It is somewhat of an acquired taste, and I generally limit my portion sizes. Otherwise, there are several other options at lunch and dinner including beans, rice, “Irish” potatoes, sweet potatoes, cassava (a tuber) and maize bread. The latter is a misnomer. It’s a spongy white dish that when forced to describe, I suppose most resembles polenta. Along with the overload of complex carbs, there is usually a vegetable at meal time; almost always boiled or fried cabbage, but occasionally peas, mushrooms or eggplant. Stewed tilapia is the most often served meat dish, then stewed beef, and less often, stewed pork or chicken. Since I am with a family that is better off than many, we have meat every day, but most Africans may only have it once a week or so. Breakfast is usually coffee or tea, bread with margarine or peanut butter and jam, fruit and either boiled or fried eggs. African tea is a mouth-watering drink of milk and water boiled with ginger, cinnamon, other spices and tea leaves. It is spicy, sweet and I wanna… (Insert crude Sarah Silverman joke about liking cheese, which can be youtubed if you aren’t familiar with this bit of hilarity.)

Ugandans, and I would imagine most Africans, don’t consume store bought food besides bread. It is refreshing to have a diet sans processed foods and, I can’t believe I am saying this, alcohol and sweets. The downside of the diet is that everything is fried. For those of you that thought I would be losing weight, I am experiencing the exact opposite problem. They even fry cabbage. WHO fries cabbage?! Ugandans.

The Air, The Earth- I mentioned in the previous blog about the horrible vehicle exhaust. There is also burning trash, burning stoves, and burning sugar fields, all pouring soot and particles into the air, then into the eyes and nose. Some trash is thrown into the trash heap, which the government picks up to, of course, burn. At times people burn trash themselves, or just throw it on the ground. It’s everywhere; stuck between the pavement cracks, crushed into the ground, piled on the grass, lying in the street; bottle caps, water bottles, tin foil, and mostly plastic bag bits. The bags have been outlawed, but lack of enforcement means that shop keepers continue to fill them with purchases for customers to briefly carry to their homes, then they float into the cluttered wilderness.

The Animals- I say Uganda. You think giraffes, lions, monkeys and the like. You are right. They are here, but like most Ugandans, I have yet to see them. The wildlife I have witnessed has been limited to mangy dogs and these horribly large, vile birds called freezans that resemble a cross between a stork and a pelican beaten with an ugly stick. The diminishing lands of the indigenous animals feel almost as far away to Ugandans as they do to Americans. Life here is simple, and often at or just above a survival level. Ugandans don’t have the income to travel to their parks and pay the nominal entrance fees, which is about $25 for foreigners and only $1 for Ugandans. Any extra cash that blesses a family is spent on needy relatives. Cousins, nieces, nephew, and grandchildren will sometimes just show up at a better-off family member’s door to stay for a while. A while may last years. An American-Ugandan friend told me before I left that there is no such thing as a nuclear African family. She is right.

The Language- Uganda is a former British colony, so English is the official language. Most Ugandans know at least basic English, and the educated speak it fluently. Each region has its own tribal language though, which is the preferred form of communication. I can get by using English with some difficulty. Sometimes my exotic infections and accent make communication borderline impossible. Additionally, the verbiage and sayings are very different. When I first meet people, they will say “you’re welcome,” but in such a way as an American would say in response to “thank you.” I was embarrassed the first few days because I thought I was being prompted for a thank you not given. Then I realized they meant it in the sense that I was welcomed to be in Uganda. The speaking style is also more simplistic, polite and melodic, reminding me of how language both reflects and informs collective and cultural thinking.

Getting Around- If traveling a short distance, you can hoof it, or take one of the ubiquitous boda bodas. These motorcycle taxis are not very safe given the road conditions and the inexperienced young male drivers. I try to avoid them as much as possible. If traveling between towns, most people take a “taxi.” You’re envisioning a yellow sedan; don’t. It’s a beat-up white van with writing on the side in English, and sometimes in Asian characters, with a saying on the back window in English or Lugandan such as “Obama is Big Big,” or “Jesus Saves.” The vans are usually full and seat up to 14 during the day and as many as humanly possible after dark when police oversight is hampered. They are pretty safe, especially where I reside between Jinja and Kampala since congestion limits their speed. Also, with a small number of Africans experiencing increasing personal wealth, there are also a growing number of private drivers.

Music- Ugandans listen to many local musicians, which sound like a cross of American R&B and reggae. They do listen to some American music, namely rap and R&B. They also, incredibly, listen to American country music. In fact, there is an entire radio station dedicated to the genre. The first time I heard it I was sitting in the family’s living room and Dolly Parton’s distinct voice waivered in through the open window from a neighbor’s stereo. I realized that the people in the house all knew the words to the song. And the next. And the next. Don’t break my heart. My achy brakey heart. OKAAAY?!

Obama the Superstar- It would be an understatement to say that Africans love, I mean, LOVE Obama. There are Obama restaurants, Obama shirts, Obama calendars, Obama posters, Obama markets, Obamania! Ugandans will ask me where I am from, and strangely they never guess the U.S. I get Canada (What? Am I that unfashionable?), U.K., Belgium, but never the U.S. They inquire, and I say, “The U.S. You know. Obama.” I brace myself for a HUGE smile. They pride him as an African leading the world.

Uganda: The North and South- To understand Uganda is in part to understand the difference between the North and the rest of the country. The North has been decimated, victimized, pillaged, raped, massacred and terrified for nearly 20 years by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) lead by one Joseph Kony. It is a pseudo apocalyptic movement whereby Joseph claims to be a savior with a mission to overthrow the Ugandan government. He is not supported by civilians, so must abduct young children and turn them into soldiers. He has a following of a few thousand, and supports his troops by travelling from village to village stealing supplies, raping woman, killing men and taking children. It is also suspected that the Sudanese government supplies his modern weaponry. Fortunately, Kony has been forced into the forests of the neighboring Congo by the Ugandan, Sudanese and Congolese armies, and his demise appears imminent. He is a popular story with daily developments appearing across local headlines.

The North has had some respite from Kony in the last few years and stability has returned to the region. As one may expect, decades of war have left the area without infrastructure and the people simply without. Southern Ugandans do not travel to the North and view the people there as different from themselves. I have heard people around here call them “wolves.” Negative stereotyping aside, I imagine that merely trying to survive in the midst of prolonged violence, poverty, and uncertainty forces one to be selfish and untrustworthy; at times inhumanely so. Many Northerners stayed in their towns and struggled through the chaos, while others fled to an equally abysmal alternative, Internally Displaced People camps (IDPs). IDPs are like refugee camps, but the people are not from another country, rather their own.

A couple of years ago, my friends Jan and Don built a school on their own outside of one of the IDP camps to the North. (I am staying with Don’s family, the Balazas.) Jan originally came to Uganda though a non-profit organization, but unfortunately like many NGOs in Africa, she found that it didn’t live up to its stated morals and promises. Nonetheless, she was determined to finish her project and in the meantime met and fell in love with Don, and the two completed the school’s development. Successfully building a school - securing funding, developing plans, overseeing construction - is extremely impressive, but doing it in alone in a foreign war-torn region is absolutely amazing. At the time peace was still settling over the land, and the people, roads, hospitals, etc., were significantly more dangerous than now. I will be travelling to the North soon to see the school for myself, which is now run by the government, and to help a woman that still lives there who showed Jan unconditional kindness during her difficult times. Jan and Don, I hope you aren’t embarrassed by my writing about you, but your experiences are an important context to my work, and what you did is so INSPIRATIONAL! You deserve some recognition! ;)

Children- Uganda has experienced a population boom in the last decade with I believe just over 50% of the population being 18 and under. They are E-VER-EE-WHERE. I had another interesting encounter with them yesterday.

I left the house about quarter to seven in the evening for a short walk. There were about eight children pelting rocks at a freezan in front of our house. The bird was collapsing; its long wings and scraggly legs twisting around its oblong body; its head slowly bowing down as rocks thudded loudly and hollowly against its side. I yelled at the kids to stop, they called back in Lugandan, but continued to maul the bird. Ester was with me and said that they yelled that the bird ate one of the chickens. I didn’t feel bad for the bird any longer, but its gruesome body is still lying in front of our house today.

My walk took a lighter turn when I decided to take a different, more populated route than usual and walked into a group of children who instead of just stopping to look at me, walked behind giggling. This of course prompted more children to follow and before I knew it there where a dozen kids behind me laughing. I turned around and asked them if they wanted to run and they squealed “Yes!” So off jogging we went. More children joined and soon there were probably two dozen kids running behind me chanting and clapping. It was absolutely hilarious.

All my pictures at: www.flickr.com/photos/natalienicolecrane