City of red dirt, crazy traffic, a president/dictator, and a partial king! But I didn't really know any of that until now! Since I've been staying at the Mulago Guest House, there's only about a ten minute walk between my room and the front door of the Labour Suite. It's easy to let your whole world (or weekday world, at least) be within a one-mile radius.
For my last weekend here, I'd been considering some sort of day trip out of Kampala - rainforest ziplines? chimpanzee islands? the usual - but in the end I ended up staying in town. And it was actually really fun. I felt quite a bit more...socially embedded, I guess, than I have during the previous three weeks. Kind of found my stride a little bit - though right at the end of the trip, of course.
Friday night, the Mulago Guest House lawn was host to a rather fabulous barbecue, thrown by the Mulago Anesthesia department and deejayed at maximum volume by one of the house officers. Featured such excellent touches as a grill obviously custom-welded out of an old oil drum as well as a dance party dominated by completely uninhibited Ugandan men. Killin' it. I joined in on the outskirts but couldn't hold a candle to Erasmus, anesthesiologist by day and possibly Beyonce backup dancer by night. (Many men here have wonderful first names, not heard in the US for the past 200+ years: Erasmus, Gideon, Godfrey, Pius. It's lovely.) Good time had by all, with the possible exception of the goat who provided the main dish.
Managed to somehow avoid a Ugandan-gin-associated hangover and rally in time for...a bodaboda tour! An enterprising group of young guys in Kampala are out to convince visitors that not all bodabodas (small zippy motorcycles) are death machines. I'd been warned off/outright threatened by my residency director not to ride a single bodaboda during my time here, but another Dutch ObGyn visiting Mulago was dead set on doing the door. (I suspect Karoline is a adrenaline junkie.) And you know the East African motto: Doing anything with someone is almost always better than doing some preferred thing alone. And I'm pleased to say I am NOT dead or maimed, and actually had a great time. The guides took us all around the city - Baha'i temple, downtown matatu station (amazing chaos), highest minaret in the city, Bugandan king's palace - and in three hours I rather felt way better oriented in terms of geography and history. Kind of wish I'd done it on Day One. Don't tell Dr. Autry.
For my last weekend here, I'd been considering some sort of day trip out of Kampala - rainforest ziplines? chimpanzee islands? the usual - but in the end I ended up staying in town. And it was actually really fun. I felt quite a bit more...socially embedded, I guess, than I have during the previous three weeks. Kind of found my stride a little bit - though right at the end of the trip, of course.
Friday night, the Mulago Guest House lawn was host to a rather fabulous barbecue, thrown by the Mulago Anesthesia department and deejayed at maximum volume by one of the house officers. Featured such excellent touches as a grill obviously custom-welded out of an old oil drum as well as a dance party dominated by completely uninhibited Ugandan men. Killin' it. I joined in on the outskirts but couldn't hold a candle to Erasmus, anesthesiologist by day and possibly Beyonce backup dancer by night. (Many men here have wonderful first names, not heard in the US for the past 200+ years: Erasmus, Gideon, Godfrey, Pius. It's lovely.) Good time had by all, with the possible exception of the goat who provided the main dish.
Managed to somehow avoid a Ugandan-gin-associated hangover and rally in time for...a bodaboda tour! An enterprising group of young guys in Kampala are out to convince visitors that not all bodabodas (small zippy motorcycles) are death machines. I'd been warned off/outright threatened by my residency director not to ride a single bodaboda during my time here, but another Dutch ObGyn visiting Mulago was dead set on doing the door. (I suspect Karoline is a adrenaline junkie.) And you know the East African motto: Doing anything with someone is almost always better than doing some preferred thing alone. And I'm pleased to say I am NOT dead or maimed, and actually had a great time. The guides took us all around the city - Baha'i temple, downtown matatu station (amazing chaos), highest minaret in the city, Bugandan king's palace - and in three hours I rather felt way better oriented in terms of geography and history. Kind of wish I'd done it on Day One. Don't tell Dr. Autry.
In the evening, a bit of a different direction. I'd met a young woman named Juliet outside the Guest House a week or so ago who cheerfully chatted me up for a little bit. She dropped by my door twice more, once to offer a small mango as a gift, and then a day later to invite me out dancing on Saturday night. Having warmed up with Erasmus, I was ready. But it turned out Juliet's favorite club was only playing soccer games last night, so we (she, really) decided to head to her place for a drink. Turns out that Juliet and her family live in a pretty poor part of town; not quite a slum, exactly, but only by virtue of a little more space between walls. We wound our way by backdoors, streambeds filled with trash, little kids running around happily in the dark, before stopping at her one-room concrete home. She shares it with six others that make up three generations; only one is employed. Everyone was friendly and gracious, delighted to have an interesting visitor, offering me the only seat in the home and sending the kids out for a single Nile Special beer and a serving of fried chicken for me. I haven't quite learned how to gracefully navigate these kind of guest-fêteing situations; I know that it's meant as the proper welcoming gesture, but I also know that this family should not be spending money to buy me beer and chicken. (Especially true for me since I don't particularly like beer and actively avoid chicken.) I settled for sharing the beer with Juliet and the chicken with the kids while we all watched Ugandan music videos together on a tiny jerryrigged TV, hosting a string of curious neighbors who wanted to say hi. Juliet eventually sent me home with her trusted bodaboda friend (OMG terrifying - I made so many promises with the traffic gods on the back of that bike if they would only spare me) with promises to come visit me in San Francisco soon.
And so in 36 hours I somehow saw more of Kampala than I had in the previous three weeks. It's not going to be on any architecture list of beautiful cities, but it definitely qualifies as a fine bustling African metropolis. Next time: urban adventuring earlier the game.
No comments:
Post a Comment