The first day

12/17/08

This is the longest blog; I promise they will get shorter but this is about my trip here so it has a lot of details. It is all exciting so take a few minutes and read it! (Judah, if you need to, read a little bit everyday instead of all of it at once. I understand.)
I have now been in Uganda for one day and it has already been a crazy adventure. I flew from New York to Amsterdam on KLM on Monday evening. The flight was delayed an hour and a half because of engine trouble and then being 21st in line for takeoff on the runway. I was seated next to a Dutch-speaking couple who slept the entire trip which was nice except that I was pumped for an adventure already, seeking friends about whom I could write and tell you stories. Luckily, after a 4 hour layover in Amsterdam (another delay due to fog), I was seated on the plane next to a Ugandan Reverend who was pursuing a PhD in theology at the Dallas Theological Seminary and acting as a missionary in Texas as well. He was one of the friendliest people I have ever met, and we spoke about Ugandan culture, the commonalities and differences in our upbringings, and, of course, about G-d. I slept a couple of hours on the flight to Entebbe, but also managed to watch one full movie and then most of another one until they decided to land the plane with about 5 minutes left of it. It must not have been so good though because I honestly, right now I could not tell you what movie it was.
The moment we landed in Entebbe, the most incredible gorgeous song erupted from somewhere behind me on the plane, 30 or so young, vibrant voices singing an African tune. The only words I could make out were “Welcome,” “Uganda,” and “Jesus.” Everyone clapped, smiled, laughed. The excitement of the Ugandans to reach home was contagious. We deboarded the plane by stairs onto the tarmac, and then walked into the airport customs area. I waited on line, bought a visa (US $50), and once again was treated to the most beautiful tunes sung by these 30 young children, now accompanied by dancing. I then picked up my luggage, which all luckily arrived, and made my way outside. I was approached by maybe 8 taxi drivers, selected one, and borrowed his phone to call the friend in Muyenga (I think that’s how its spelled) at who’s house I would be spending the night. She gave him directions and we were on our way to Kampala.
Now driving in Uganda is an adventure unto itself. The wheel is on the right, we drive on the left. The rules seem to be as follows. If you have no headlights, use your brights. If you only have one working bright, use it except when passing anyone else, because they’re working headlights will probably shine enough light for everyone. Also, drive as fast as possible, honk before you pass someone (on the right by swerving into oncoming traffic), and if someone is passing you, slow down so they can swerve back into your lane before being hit by a car driving in the opposite direction. It seems to work.
I arrived at Jen’s in Muyenga at about 11:30pm, and was treated to some wonderful South African mango juice and some water, as well as a steaming hot shower (couldn’t get the cold water to work) and wonderful company until around 2am. I was given my own room with a big bed wrapped in a mosquito net. I slept until midday (that’s what they call noon…thanks Jen!) and then went for a drive with Jen into town where I exchanged my money for Ugandan Schilling. With an exchange rate of 1960 USh to 1 USD, I quickly became a millionaire. With a large wad of cash, I returned to our driver, feeling like I was smuggling something, not letting my bag out of my hands.
We then drove to the main bus park which is a chaotic market of a place. I bought a ticket to Mbale (15,000 USh = ~$7.65) on a bus I thought I wanted, since they told me it was the Mount Elgon Flyer (it wasn’t), and gave someone 20,000 USh to buy me phone airtime. We loaded my bags onto the bus, and I got on at 2pm. Over the next hour, 30 or so people came onto the bus selling water, corn, chicken, chips, sneakers, scarves, shirts, soccer balls, and children’s toys. They would come to me and say “Muzunge, you want wada?” (white man, you want water). I bought 2 600mL bottle of water for 1000USh (= ~$0.51). I was squeezed between two Ugandan men, both very nice and talkative and they offered to help me determine where to get off. On the way out of the bus park, we hit 2 cars, and just kept on driving. We drove through Kampala a bit and then stopped for gas. We then drove a bit more and stopped for food. More people got on the bus and this time sold oven-roasted chicken and meat on a stick (similar to a kabob but everything looked more like the animal than like the meat). We took off again, this time pulling onto the right side of the road in order to avoid the traffic in the left lane. This led to our holding up of all traffic flowing in the opposite direction and we had to pull off onto the right side of the road and drive on the dirt for a mile or two. We finally were let back into the left lane and sat in traffic for about another hour. At some point we started driving fast again and for about 2 hours we drove uninterrupted.
We then were stopped at a police checkpoint. An officer came on, looked at every face in the crowd and then yelled at the bus driver in Lugandan. He pointed to the aisle which was piled high with random goods, and I think he was upset about that. As we pulled away from the checkpoint, we hit a car. Hard hit, nice whiplash, big loud BOOM. The cops looked our way, and then we just kept driving. We passed the Lugazi sugar cane farm, some livestock farms, and gorgeous landscapes of green hills and trees and mountains. It is the pearl of Africa after all.
I got off the bus in Mbale at around 8pm, but at a different place than where I had told my host I would be since I was on the wrong bus. So I called her when I got off and she sent someone to meet me where I was waiting. A muzunge with two big suitcases is an opportunity, and I was constantly approached by young boy after young boy asking me if they could help get me a special hire (taxi) or a boda-boda (motorcycle, comes from border-to-border, a route often taken by motorcycle back in the day). I kept responding “no, no, someone is meeting me.” They respectfully backed off and I finally met up with Joseph 20 minutes later at the clocktower in town. He gave me a big hug and with the biggest smile said “you are welcome.” I replied “thank you.” We hired two boda-boda’s, strapped my two suitcases to one (I wish I had been lucid enough to take a picture), and climbed onto the other. We followed to one with my luggage in order that we could tell him if the luggage was off-balance. After 3 days of travel with very little sleep, I was holding on for dear life. But we made it to Anne’s house (after some stops to rebalance the luggage and some off-roading where necessary), and the guards opened the gates and let us in. Everyone in the home (I don’t yet know who is family and who is not) came out to welcome me, with a double hug from Anne, hugs from the boys and handshakes from the girls. They all kept saying “you are welcome, you are welcome.” I kept responding “thank you, thank you.” I’m pretty sure they meant “Welcome, Welcome” but luckily “thank you” fits the bill as a response either way. There are 2 young girls named Fazira (Faz) and Mary, and there is Joseph who picked me up and Matthew. They also have a woman from Sweden named Anna who is doing her doctorate attachment (thesis) in econometrics (Dan, you’ve got a future here), focusing on developing economies. Anne, Anna and I sat down for dinner and I accidently took a drink too quickly. As soon as I put it down, and took off my hat to reveal my kippah, Anne said to me in a slow, precise English “I know Maital and Adam said grace differently than we do. How would you like to bless the food?” I apologized for drinking too quickly, embarrassingly mumbling that I had whispered a blessing of my own before downing the juice. I answered that I would love to see how they do it, and I would do my own way after. So Anne and Anna bowed their heads and opened their palms. Anne said a beautiful prayer thanking G-d for my safe arrival and for bringing her enough food to feed her guests who bring her such delight. We all answered amen and then helped ourselves to boiled potatoes, beans and onions of some sort, matoke which is steamed plantains (it is bland itself with the texture of slightly undercooked butternut squash but it is eaten mixed with some green and salt, making it substantial and absolutely delicious). The food was wonderful but I was afraid to eat too much after not having really eaten in 2 days. I took a shower after dinner (no hot water this time) and came to the conclusion that this just won’t be the cleanest 3 weeks of my life, a fact about which I am perfectly happy. As I learned on the bus, cleanliness and smell is not of utmost priority here, and it’s nice to change values for a small time. I was given a room with two beds, a mosquito net, and 1 outlet. I called my parents to tell them I was alive and lay in my bed, tucking the mosquito net under the mattress. I woke up at around 3:30am, wide awake and unable to sleep, so I read a bit and now I am writing to you. I hear the chickens and dogs outside welcoming in the morning (I can almost hear the chickens saying “you are welcome, you are welcome”). I hope I can sleep a bit more (it’s now 5:15am) before my day gets going, but I am excited to see the clinic and deliver all the supplies you have all sent with me. I will hopefully have internet soon in order to post this and I look forward to hearing back from you! Email me at jrothwax@gmail.com!!