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"WHILE YOU HAVE WATCHES - WE HAVE TIME"
It seems that relaxation and peace of mind is the main currency in Uganda. Even in the jostling chaotoic streets of it's capital, the throngs of people are in by no means a rush. Conversations are delivered with tongues so laid back they could be swinging from hammocks. Words are merely implied and hinted, rather than articulately pronounced. As long as people get the jist of what you are saying, everyone gets by.
A few days ago we had a cultural lesson into the violent and shockingly recent history of Uganda. We began by visiting a Cathlic shrine dedicated to the now sainted 22 Christian martyrs who were tortured, beaten and eventually burnt from foot to head on 3/6/1862 (or around that sort of date). While the building itself was a perculiar design, it had been dedicated to the lives of the youths; some as young as 14. For example there are 22 pillars signifying each martry surrounding the very round structure designed to represent the traditional round houses of the Ugandan tribes people. Inside the roof is lined in beautiful mahogony and ordained with stained glass portraits of every martry. The alter istelf sat on top of the exact spot of one of their executions, and even featured a fragment of bone claimed to be of one of them.This is the story in a very very breif break down: The King of Uganda sent a letter to England asking for missionaries to teach his people modern ways. 2 years later missionaries arriveds teaching Christianity. The King dies and his 18 year old son takes his place. He gets very nervous about all his people worshipping a different King who they claim to never be wrong and lives in a great palace in Heavan. When a thunderstorm destroys half of his palace, he becomes very supersticious and attempts to make Catholosism ilegal by punishment of death. The first group of youths he comes accross defies him and so were treated to the worst tortures and prolonged deaths imaginable. At first it is easy to imagine this in a Medieval sense. But this only happened 150 years ago, hence why it is such an important part of Ugandan nationalisism and religious pride. Attatched to the shrine is a beautiful pond full of bright Kingfisher. For 3 weeks every year Catholics from all over the world come to attend an event in rememberance of this day. As many as 200,000 can be crammed into this pond.
To lighten up the day we went to a culture show featuring all variations of tribal dances that make up the people of Uganda. 4 hours long. A tad tedious. And the director / show man / audience participation entertainer, was a slight shade towards 'bizzarre maniac' than 'eccentric'. But the evening was thoroughly entertaining and it ended with everyone getting up and dancing which was a big laugh! The cast featured a celebrity as well; the main character in Africa United no less! To me he was just a chubby little kid, but if I had actually seen that movie I may have even been surprised.
Today after rushing around town to finalise documents, payments and other arbitrary processes to sort out all the essentials after the robbery, I am now sitting in a slightly air conditioned internet cafe in Garden City; Muzungu central. I have sampled the pleasantly sporadic taxi system. Here a taxi is the equivilant of a bus service; moreso a rusting van full of seats and spewing out smoke service. Instead of waiting at stops you simply walk down a road until one beeps at you and you flag it down. Fantastic when you need a taxi. Not so when you're just walking and being bombarded by hundreds and hundreds of screeching taxis blairing their horns at you! When and only when the space is sufficiantly cramped with commuters, the taxi sets off. Half an hour's journey from our house to the city comes to 1500USh (around 90p). When you want to get off you say "Masou Sebbo" (Stop Sir), of course whilst trying to maintain the local decorum by pronouncing this in as laid back fashion as the rest of the crowd.
We also sampled the Bodah Bodah service today. These are more personal taxis; essentialy a bike with enough room on the back to squeeze 2 people on and a driver. Half the price of the standard taxi, they are cheap, relentless, crazy, and totally not covered on my insurance! So you ask them politely "porah porah" (slowly slowly - a massively over saturated phrase among Ugandans). Determining a price is always hastle, as they will try every trick in the book to get money out of us Muzungus. As long as you are steadfast in the system that bodah bodahs are half the price of taxis then you can't go wrong.
There is yet another service that I have yet to sample; that's the bicycle service. Half again of the price of bodahs, this is simply a man with a ricketty nakkred steel bike with a cusion on the back and tiny stumps for you to put your feet on. I doubt I will ever use this service!
Recap of the last few days since the robbery; We have rushed around the place getting 1st hand experience of the appauling beuracracy that runs rife in Uganda. Dashing to get stamps to pay banks to provide us with a general receipt to authorise a police report to everntually be written up, which we ourselves type! Oh yes! Ali our house mate and felow volunteer, fully utilised her previous full time office job to type up our very own police report, with their very battered laptop. Quite surreal and very amusing! Then to the British council to fetch forms for replacement passports. The council itself is beautiful and surrounded by trees swarming with intriguing wildlife. But the process is strenuous, and Phil won't get her passport for as long as potentially 6 weeks. We are here for 6 and a half weeks (fingers crossed).
But despite all this relentless dithering for not much benefit - and more importantly time away from the school we are so desperate to help - it is hard to stay stressed for too long whilst in this reframed, dignified lifestyle. Initialy all the beeping horns and waving of hands seems nightmarish to us. Especially after growing up where beeping horns signify a hideous jam in London full of stressed out people desperate to get from A to B. Here it seems the simple car horn is a universal indicator for an entire secret language understood only by Ugandans. It is used to enquire pedestrains if they would like a lift. It is a warning to oncoming traffic round corners or behind the numerous and atrociously worsening pot holes. It is used to attract bodah bodah drivers to ask for directions or to signal approval for a quick car wash. The basic horn has many many appliances, and eventually the drone loses its alertive nature and becomes a communication tool - because the people are just too laid back to say whole entire sentances, when a task can be done with the centre of the driving wheel.
So I am off to the food court for a massive meal for less than $4, then we'll probably head back to the house to greet our brand new volunteer member (bringing the grand total staying at the house to 5). Then the rest of the week and hopefully the whole of next week will be spent either back at the school or visiting households in need with the community outreach programme. In many ways our experience hasn't properly begun. But now we are totally of the Ugandan mindset and would blend easily if our skin didn't make us stand out like white thumbs!
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