Public

Of all the traffic that fills up and wears down the roads of Uganda, the most commonly seen are those vehicles that fall under the title, ‘Public’. Public, an obvious abbreviation of public transport, is the same sort of thing as it is in the UK, cheap transport of varying reliability. The most common mode of public transport is known as either a Taxi, a Mitatu or, as my family likes to call them, a Death Bus. These 14 seat minibuses, in my experience, can be seen all over Africa and there seems to be an endless supply in Uganda. If in Kampala and in a traffic Jam (Traffic out here makes me long for UK traffic. Just the thought of sitting in a comfortable, cool, car going nowhere and surrounded by people growing angrier by the second on the M25 sounds favorable next to sitting in the unbearable humidity, going nowhere, being covered in dust and surrounded by honking and shouting people in and out of the car…) you can be sure that most vehicles are Mitatus. There are other busses on the roads apart from the Death busses. Although I don’t know the official or local name for them I call them, ’Baby Giants’ because, as if some desperately silly person was having a shot at irony, these huge monsters all seem to have the words, Baby and Giant written somewhere on them. The Baby Giants (more like full giants, baby being the last word I would use) seem much taller, longer and somehow much faster then the sluggish coaches in the UK. Perhaps the coaches back home never get to top speed or perhaps the Baby Giants do and once reaching said speed are reluctant to let it go. The result is a massive formidable looking coach tearing down a pothole ridden road at what must be near 100 mph dodging and swaying dangerously. I can’t figure out why we don’t call those, ‘Death Busses’ but perhaps it’s because no one who has ever embarked on a journey on a Baby Giant has ever lived to see their destination and thus tell others of the horror. There is one more mode of transport that hardly fits in the category of Public but in my view more than merits a mention.
A Boda Boda is a motor bike designed to carry one or two passengers on the back. Or maybe even three. Four if your good friends with the other three. Five if you’re not a fan of comfort. I have never seen five to a Boda but I have no doubt it happens every day. Perhaps you need to move your bed all in one piece, perhaps take a sack or six to market, maybe your bike has broken down and you need a lift to the nearest shop, on a Boda anything is possible. I once took a Boda to Luweru to get some money out of a cash machine (the strangest thing in the world is a cash machine in the middle of the African countryside). My friend Fred drove me and before long I was convinced that if you can ride it without doing acrobatics off into the bush, a Boda is an awesome way to get around. This week saw my very first trip on pubic when I went to Kampala. I used two out of the three modes mentioned above because I have solemnly vowed that I will only get on a Baby Giant when I no longer value my life and wish for it to come to a very painful, very uncomfortable end.
At 8:30 am exactly I left the house to walk the short walk to Kiwoko, the nearest town. At 8:32 am exactly I left the house again with my hat, which I forgot. While I walked I listened to my MP3 player, a little device that has been used so much during my little excursions into the bush that I am beginning wondering what on earth I would do without it. Wouldn’t be riding the death busses alone today, Uncle Christopher who drives the tractor on Dave’s farm would be coming with me. I was perfectly happy to embark on this little adventure solo but I was running an errand for Dave which required me to withdraw a large amount of cash from a Forex and give some to Christopher to buy tractor parts. I met Uncle Chris (as I have not, and never will call him as he is far to serious) at the Kiwoko Crossroads and we went to catch a Boda Boda to Luweru. When I went to Luweru with Fred it was under the pretense of giving him some practice, he aspired to being a Boda driver as it is an easy fast income. I really did need to go but also Fred needed the extra cash so I asked for a lift. Apparently he really does need the practice. The Boda I took with Uncle C was much faster and much smoother. You hear of horror stories about Boda’s crashing head long into Death busses and Baby Giants and as we tore towards Luweru a Baby Giant flew passed us swaying uncontrollably and pulling the Boda a good meter off course …but I wont say that in case my mother or Aunty Alison is reading.
We arrived in Luweru and got the usual, “oh look, a Muzungu” stares from just about everyone before reaching the Kasana town bus stop. (Luweru is divided into Luweru town and Kasana town. Bizarrely Kasana, where New Hope supposedly is, is located on the far side of Luweru town. Well that doesn’t seem quite so bizarre now I’ve put it in type but it struck me as odd at the time. Anyway…) We eventually got on a death bus headed for Kampala with a large crack in the windshield and as the bus stopped every twenty five meters or so to pick up more passengers, the buss got more and more crowded. As I mentioned earlier the busses have 14 seats, there is even a little sign on the side of each that reads, “Licensed to carry 14 passengers” though it seems like more of a ball park figure then a rule set in stone. By the time we reached Wobelensi there was over 20 of us on board. I'm not sure of the exact figure because there was at least two to every seat and quite a few laps were occupied. The bus stopped in Wobelensi because apparently the driver didn’t have any faith in its ability to reach Kampala. We boarded another one with yet more cracks in the windshield and pelted off again to Kampala.
When we finally reached Kampala and I strove to find a landmark I recognized. We reached the bus depot and our bus was swallowed into the great and swarming mass that was hundreds upon hundreds of minibuses trying to find a way and in and, once there, a way back out again. Our bus finally got stuck and stopped somewhere in the middle of this epic Jam and we disembarked. We made our way to Kampala road, as you can guess from the name it’s the main, and therefore most busy, road in Kampala. I asked Uncle Christopher if he knew where the Forex was, he confessed he didn’t but seemed quite content to walk around this insanely busy section of the capitol risking life and limb trying to find it. Finally I insisted we get a Boda and a few roads later we found ourselves at the Forex. The rest of the day passed without major event, Christopher and I went our separate ways and I took a Boda to Garden City where, greatly to my dismay, I found there is still enough Christmas chocolate on the shelves to give you a headache.
I am at the moment sitting in my bedroom at the Browns house. I spent the last week sleeping on the Clays sofa. Not altogether uncomfortable but it did mean I was rudely awakened every morning by whichever child reached me first. It has also been a busy week at the clinic. I have had plenty of blood, puss and gore to work my way through and just this morning actually taught the nurse how to give a malaria test. She had been giving out injections for malaria to every Tom, Dick and Harry with a fever without checking for malaria. I told her I knew roughly how to do them having watched Uncle Roger do one once. Apparently that was more then she has ever seen so it was my job to teach her. The patient was a little boy with high fever. I had to prick the poor little kids finger three times before I could get enough blood for the test which finally came out negative. All that stabbing for nothing but at least I saved him an injection in the rear.
Next week in envisioning and I am back at the clays and on duty in the mornings. Aunty Katharine who has been here just over a week now is settling in well but still might need me around to play bad cop with certain children if need be.
I hope you all have a good week and sorry it has taken so long to get this posted, hopefully I will be able to access the internet easier now it’s just around the corner. God bless,
Dr Dan

What Dan did Next...

Its strikes me as slightly strange that as I write this entry I am approaching my 4 month anniversary away from home and in this foreign land. In many ways it feels like I have reached the home stretch of what has been an experience that has challenged and changed me in many ways. It has been a time when all the things I ‘know’ have been shaken and tested. When my faith has sometimes been all I have to hold onto and my family has been a real tower of strength with me…
But after all that talk of finality and things coming to an end I still have two months to go. And it seems to me that those two months are going to be the busiest, though you wont here me complaining. The end of January holds a week long event called ‘Envisioning’. As far as I can tell Envisioning week is a week where you have meetings all day long full or worship and talks aimed at the vision and mission of new hope. In other words it’s a week of extra long church. Church out here is usually a rather entertaining event, I have learned to love the worship, lack of African drum and cranked up presence of the cheesy keyboard not withstanding. The enthusiasm, passion and simplicity of the songs is rather contagious and I have been found clapping and dancing like a moron on a few occasions. A week of that however is not a particularly comfortable thought. A few rumbling of Dan reassuming his child care duties during the event have been heard and I can’t say I'm upset about the thought. The Clay children however will soon have another climbing poll, punch bag, insult tester, lunch server and baby sitter.
As of the tenth of January the guest house key will change hands, with only a slight…ok with a large amount of regret from yours truly. Aunty Katharine will be the new resident and as a result I will be moving into a room with Jed and Moses. As you can imagine I wasn’t amazingly joyous about the prospect of spending my final two months with no sleep or privacy to speak of. Therefore when the Browns offered for me to move into their spare room for the remainder of my stay I accepted. I don’t look forward to moving out of the Clays house and off the farm at all. I have made many friends with the guys who work on and around the farm as well as growing closer to Dave and Raych in the past months.
Moving up to New Hope makes sense from another angle though as I will be working with Steve Brown. The week after Envisioning is known as ‘P7 week’. P7 week is a way of welcoming the Kids in the school into their last year of primary (hence the P) school before their first year of secondary (S1, S2, S3 and so on). The week consists of games, talks and various silly team style activities designed to gel the group together for their final year of primary school.
After that I will be involved in a larger way with the Investment year. In early to mid February the investment year are having a two week long vocational course teaching them the basics of all sorts of trades as long as a little about the business world. Steve will be organizing a lot of this and I hope to be a big part of that as well. In between all that activity I will be doing work at the Clinic. New hope is mean to slowly repopulate over then next week and we are expecting people to come back with plenty of malaria. Plenty of ‘customers’ as Uncle Roger calls them.
Christmas out here was really fun. I woke up on the big day with the sun shining outside and a nice stack of presents awaiting me. My little stash of sweets and goodies grew considerably that day so you wont here me complaining. We went off to church at ten and I was surprised and impressed to be met with carols. I must confess I didn’t sing any because I was too busy trying to contain myself. A personal favorite was, ‘Oh come all ye faithful’ sang twice as fast and twice as high. Church was followed but a brief visit to the Browns which was flooded with presents from those back home supporting the family on their first Christmas away. We then had Christmas dinner. If I had it my way I would have had turkey with as many trimmings as you can imagine and more with a glass of wine in hand, a cracker in the other and a stupid hat on my head surrounded by family. What I got was Matoke, Chicken, Pork, Beef, Chapatti, watermelon, a Coke and a sill hat I found in Kampala on my head. But I was surrounded my family and upon reflection although it wasn’t Christmas at home, it still was pretty good.
The last few days my roommate Peter (spending his holidays with us) and I have been doing various odd jobs around the house. And when I say odd, I mean odd. This morning we replaced a section of the tin roof, yesterday I painted the guest house, on new years day I cleared out a kind of overhead storage area with enough bat poo to fertilize a small farm but the most fun was playing Rat Busters.
Over the past few weeks we have become aware that we are not alone in the house. On Christmas Eve I was on the verge of saying, “T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house…”when a small mouse ran from the cover of the sofa to the book shelf. After that there were many creatures (mainly the pink two legged variety) stirring (and screaming) around the house trying to get the new visitor out. Raych and I finally mad a run for it out of cushions, opened the door and banged around until the little fella scampered out. We then went to Entebbe for a quick Christmas break (great food, average weather and swimming every day) only to return to the news that Peter had killed a rat the day before. So when Peter and I were told the clear out the kitchen because there might be a rat there, we pretty much knew what was coming before it jumped off the top shelf landed on my shoulder, climbed down my back, landed on my foot and ran into the parent’s bedroom. Big mummy Rat was hiding on the top shelf behind a Jerry can and after a solid ten minutes of Battle in the bedroom, Peter and I finally emerged triumphant with a big rat still alive but stunned swinging from its tail. The rat was taken outside, placed on a wooden block and made very close friends with a Panga…you may be wondering why I called it Mummy Rat. Well it wasn’t a slip of the finger. Apparently in our absence Mummy rat found a home in the kitchen, had babies, met peter and I and was no more. The babies however met their end when their mother’s choice of home fell slightly short. Raych decided to make some good old British scones and upon lighting up the oven some rather pained squeaks met our ears. The three baby rats were found in the bottom of the oven, slightly toasted and mostly dead… (I put one out of its misery). All the Rats now gone we all slept a little sounder.
Until three in the morning when Daddy rat came to check on the family but got lost…in Dave and Raych’s room. This time Dave had a 30 minute battle on his own, emerging the victor…for now. We are now confident all the Rats have gone. So no doubt I will be finding, hunting and killing more in the not to distant future.
I write this on the third which means I have only a week left in the guest house. I will be very sad to move out but I hopefully move on to bigger and better things. Until I write again I hope you’re all well and nicely rounded after the holidays. I look forward to seeing you all again in March. Take care,
Uncle Dan