Dry season Archives - Nancy Wesson Consulting https://nancywesson.com/tag/dry-season/ Sat, 17 Jul 2021 16:55:08 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.5.2 https://nancywesson.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/cropped-Nancy-Wesson-Icon1-32x32.png Dry season Archives - Nancy Wesson Consulting https://nancywesson.com/tag/dry-season/ 32 32 Frogs in the Toilet and a Mouse in Space https://nancywesson.com/frogs-in-the-toilet-and-a-mouse-in-space/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=frogs-in-the-toilet-and-a-mouse-in-space Fri, 22 Feb 2013 09:30:00 +0000 https://nancywesson.com/frogs-in-the-toilet-and-a-mouse-in-space/ I take back everything I said about this being a “kinder, gentler” dry season.    What ever relief that was rendered with the teaser of rain on Sunday (by various account – 4 drops of liquid fell from the sky and that may have been bird droppings for all I know) has been  compensated for with ... Read more

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I take back everything I said about this being a “kinder, gentler” dry season.    What ever relief that was rendered with the teaser of rain on Sunday (by various account – 4 drops of liquid fell from the sky and that may have been bird droppings for all I know) has been  compensated for with a vengeance.  It’s horrid.  Even the white ants have vacated. And Lizzy, thank you for your offer of a roll of duct tape to fix the holes in the screens to keep the little bastards out.  Unfortunately, there’s not enough duct tape on the planet to fix this place.   They come under the doors, through the “screened” vents, through the open places around the windows.  Too bad I can’t learn to like eating them. Next lifetime perhaps.  

Soon – and it’s already getting there – it will not even cool down at night.  The upside is – there is still water, though my neighbors say they have been hauling theirs.  I think I just still have some in the tank.  Thank you God.  Climate change, whatever its origins, is also manifesting here according to the locals.  This year there has been spotty rain in the middle of dry season – almost unheard of.   Usually, when it’s dry season, there’s not a hint of moisture anywhere. 

Last weekend I spent a day playing tour guide to an Irish woman who will be here for two years with VSO (Volunteers Services Overseas). I love it because the lovely woman has a potty mouth (or trucker’s mouth it’s been called) to match mine, but she does it with an Irish brogue and it is somehow … charming. You’d hardly know you’d just been told to “go to hell.”  I’ll have to work on a different accent I guess. She’s also closer to my age (i.e only 20 years younger as opposed to 40 years younger…) and it’s nice sometimes to pal around with someone in your century.  It was fun showing a new person around, but in this heat – exhausting. 

I also paid a visit to Peter, my “surrogate Ugandan child” who has now finished a week plus in school.  He greeted me with a reminder that he still needs 13 notebooks.  This is costing more than I anticipated.  Silly me – I should know better.  So – in the god-awful heat, I went to find 13 more notebooks… and delivered them back to the school.  This is going to be interesting and I can only hope that it will help him change his life. Maybe just knowing someone out there cares will make a difference for him.  If he’s a good student and can stay engaged, it will be he’ll have a better shot at life. Anyway, after the errands the only respite from the heat and grit was a few minutes in the shower.  The perversity of it is, that dry season  – when all you want is a cold shower – is the ONE time of time the year that the water is hot.

So today, there was another planning meeting.  Ugandans love planning meetings.  These things take on a life of their own, so I sat chatting with the only other Munu in the room, another British VSO volunteer who told me his tale of going to a workshop in Pakwach – I think.  Stayed in a hotel (loosely called – a bed and a “proper toilet.”) Went to flush the toilet and three frogs came out.  After being flushed into the bowl, they climbed back into the tank.  So of course – the entertainment value  of this frog-show being high in the village of Pakwach – he flushed again: again producing three frogs – and so on and so on this went.   Then he told the tale of going to a restaurant which he assumed would have a “proper bathroom” and found it – but had to share it with a pig.   

The other adventure was the purchase and cooking of a frozen chicken.  Yes – even cooking a chicken can be an adventure infused with mystery here.  Here, if you want a chicken – you kill it yourself.  My last effort at this – and I was just a bystander – was gruesome because cutting off a chicken’s neck with a knife that will hardly cut butter – is well – grisly for both cutter and cut-ee.  Not doing that again… So I have found two places where I can sometimes buy a very pricey frozen one.  Still – it’s not all that straight forward, because one needs to know it’s been frozen the whole time since processing.  As you know, power has the habit of going in and out, so that’s the way a lot of stomach problems happen here.  You eat something you think has been refrigerated from start-to-finish, and realize it’s been thawed several times. 

So, back to the chicken.  It was a scrawny little runt of a thing, but I took it home and cooked it.  Most chicken you get here is so tough it is truly un-cuttable with anything but a bandsaw and I haven’t actually tried that.  It gives new meaning to the term rubber-chicken.  This one was edible, if a little tough. From the carcass of this entire chicken – picked absolutely clean, I got a little over a cup of meat.  With the broth I made Mexican chicken soup with fresh (or shall we say “revived) cilantro on the top and it brought me right home to Texas.  So it was worth it every shilling.  I doctored the rest of the meat with the Marsala spice Mix and have had a few meals from it. My new excitement is iceberg lettuce, which I would hardly give a second look in the States, but it’s a rare delicacy here.   So I’ve chicken salad, tuna salad, veggie salad!  Life is thrilling.

In other worthless news, but perhaps it will re-ignite the pioneer spirit deep within, is the adventure of the stopped up sink.  Normally one might hop in the car or maybe if you’re an environmentally sensitive sort – you’d hop on your bike or walk to your local supermarket-hardware-store-Jiffymart: any of which would be likely to have drain cleaner. You’d pour some of the toxic stuff down the afflicted drain, go have a cup of coffee or ICE TEA, watch an episode of Downton Abbey, do a chore – something…. And in a bit of time you would return to a clear drain.   

Not so here.  After wasting my time pouring boiling water down the drain, picking tidbits of slime out with a pair of tweezers, etc. I walked through a cloud of dust dodging Bodas, bikes, cars and goats to the nearest grocery store and tried in vain to explain drain cleaner.  Clerk: “Ah! You need JEK (local Clorox product).”  Me: “No, I don’t want to sanitize it; I want to open it up so water can move.”  Clerk: “ You first try   …. (demonstrating a plumber’s friend with great up-and-down clasped hands motion.”) No, I explained, there’s a curve in the sink and besides the last one turned up its little rubber lip and died that way.    There is no such chemical as drain cleaner in town – at least at this place.  So I left with a new plunger.  Admittedly, this one was an improvement over the last, but still pretty poor action.   Finally, I used a crochet hook, tweezers and a pair of 14-inch knitting needles (in lieu of the required wire coat hanger of which there are none in all of northern Uganda) and performed minor surgery on the drain.   I’m happy to report that both patient and surgeon survived and the drain now does what’s it’s supposed to – but slowly-by-slowly as they say in Uganda.

How someone can write two paragraphs on clearing a clogged drain would have been incomprehensible to me 18 months ago. But here I am, brought to my knees by a clogged drain, white ants and dust. How will I ever adjust to civilization again? Better hang on to those knitting needles…

New rant: Planning ahead is not done here. It’s always a continuing source of frustration, but for some organizations, it’s an art form. I – along with all staff – are expected at a big regional symposium this weekend. It’s in one of those places you can’t get to from here. So it’s a full day of travel Friday. Meanwhile, I have made plans for the weekend that if I cancel will impact others.   Organizations do this all the time. Failure to plan is one of the reasons Uganda is still a “developing country.”   They continue to do it because everyone just drops everything so things that were scheduled don’t get done, etc. etc. etc. I screwed up my courage and said I could not go, due t short notice. I anticipated horrible fall-out, but there was none. Note to self: don’t right short stories about consequences, just stand your ground…

And in other news not to be missed is: Uganda launches mouse into space.http://www.newvision.co.ug/news/639792-uganda-to-launch-its-first-space-observer.html  

The picture come from a FB invitation from PCVs to PCVs to help celebrate the event, consistent with at least the younger crowd’s commitment to find any excuse for a party 😉 Thank you Andrew.  Now – if I could just recruit those mice in my kitchen… for space, not partying.  All evidence would indicate they’ve been having one in my kitchen – and I can tell you they are not nearly this cute or well groomed.

And in closing, I have discovered quiet in Gulu.  I’m sitting at Sankofa, a little eating place on the “outskirts,” where the Ex-pats live and it is blissfully quite except for a few chickens crowing in the background. It’s still morning, so the lunch crown hasn’t hit and I’ve come here to work.  Out office is moving – theoretically sometime this year. It’s almost twice the distance for me to walk, so that means no more going home for lunch, but it’s close to this place.   I think it might be a blessing in disguise, although I’ll have to start buying lunch. 

 
That’s all for now.   Probably should get back to work.
 
 
 
 
 

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“It takes a village…” Plus Dust and Beheadings https://nancywesson.com/it-takes-a-village/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=it-takes-a-village Sun, 10 Feb 2013 07:09:00 +0000 https://nancywesson.com/it-takes-a-village/ A choking fog of malaise has drifted and settled over Gulu sifting into the nooks and crannies of the psyche like the cloud of fine red silt that is beginning to blow down the streets. Permeating hair, skin, nostrils, computers, clothes, sheets, mosquito net and shoes I am constantly covered in a rust-colored veneer.  I’m ... Read more

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A choking fog of malaise has drifted and settled over Gulu sifting into the nooks and crannies of the psyche like the cloud of fine red silt that is beginning to blow down the streets. Permeating hair, skin, nostrils, computers, clothes, sheets, mosquito net and shoes I am constantly covered in a rust-colored veneer.  I’m sure when I return to the States, people will asked when I dyed my skin because all one has to do is walk outside and whatever was washed off is instantly replaced. Dry season has hit with a vengeance.   It’s not really wicked-hot yet, but still debilitating.  Yesterday I ran errands all day with a young man I decided to sponsor for school.  Mid-afternoon I came home and stood under a cold shower for 20 minutes and was somewhat revived, but by 8:30 I was so exhausted I climbed into bed.
 
Several interesting events this week:
 
First, a couple of PCV friends were going to come to dinner on Saturday, but that was pre-empted by catastrophe.  Seems my friend and her supervisor left to go to the field in one car setting off an hour later than the car (we’ll call Car One) with a couple of co-workers.  Bad roads are legendary here and Saturday’s route took them along a road where work was being done and the road narrowed to one lane (as opposed to the 1.5 lane width usually available on a good road).  The driver of Car One, slowing to avoid oncoming traffic – swerved to avoid a pothole and in the process hit a rock which popped the car over onto its side: hitting three children in the process.  One infant being carried on the back of his older brother (still a small child himself) died on scene.   An angry mob of villagers wielding machetes and rocks instantly surrounded the car ready to exact  their pound of flesh for the death. 
 
The driver called the supervisor in the car following and explained the situation.  Naturally phones were either out of airtime or out of juice and that complicated matters, as the crowd was growing angrier by the moment.  Thankfully, the car’s doors locked when it flipped, so no one could get into the car and drag out the driver. The PCV called Peace Corps security (Fred) and god bless Fred – because he magically was able to contact some local official who staved off a massacre (literally) and removed the driver and passenger to a police barracks, with the crowd following.  When the threats turned to burning down the barracks,  another call was made and PC security was able to get someone to come and escort the driver to another village.
 
The crowd began to settle down when the driver said he would take care of the burial. The next day the brother of the infant died making matters worse.   This event is not uncommon in Uganda – in the villages.  Mob justice reigns.
 
In other news, nine people were beheaded in a town far south of here over some land dispute involving the church.   And yes, we actually feel quite safe here as these are local matters and have nothing to do with politics or Muzungus…  that would be us. Still – it’s a bit unsettling.  Beheadings and poisonings are not exactly routine, but they are the preferred method of doing away with people who annoy you. 
 
On a more cheerful note, I’m now sponsoring a young man to go back to school.  Peter (Okwir Diken Peter) is his name and I met and became friends with him after several conversations on the street.  Peter was a street kid evidently for a good while.  I don’t know what brought him to the street, but almost certainly it was related to the war or effects of war.  In Gulu, there are about 100 like him ranging in age from 5 – 21.  Peter is 17 and has made it to the 7th grade.  Considering that he’s been on the street for a long time, his grades are good and while he has not been able to earn the money to go to school himself, he’s been working toward getting an NGO here to help the street kids: find them a group shelter, food, counseling and hopefully a way back to their families or school. This problem characterizes the north.
 
Peter, amazingly never asked me for help.  We just talked about his efforts to get shelter for the street kids.  In the process, I discovered he wanted to go back to school but didn’t have the funds.  We’re talking boarding school because he needs a place to sleep and a food source.   There are clearly other issues: he’s become accustomed to total freedom and lack of any authority other than himself, so it’s been a tough re-entry into the routine and requirements of school.  But – he was admitted back in to the level of P7 because he’s bright, well-mannered and motivated and has some community leaders advocating for him.  I began to have the feeling that the best way to help him with his street kids, is to help him get back in school so that he has a “voice.”

So here we are.  I paid his fees for this term – part of them anyway – enough to get him in.  And as we get our PC stipend each month I’ll add to it.  He’ll work on holidays to finish it out, but the requirement with boarding school is that you don’t leave campus unescorted for the full three months of the term.    Interestingly, school fees include a contribution of: cement for repairs, a lightening rod, beans and posho, exam fees and an odd assortment of miscellany.   It amounts to 286,000 shillings (about $100 US). 

The dorm consists of a large room with cement floors, where the boys lay their mattresses butted up against each other on the floor.  They share an outdoor latrine and bathing area (bucket baths) and are required to bring their own toilet paper, copy paper and broom – among other things.   He couldn’t afford the socks or the flashlight or the toilet paper or the shoe polish or Vaseline or –or –or the 6 passport pictures or the 21 notebooks – so we’re piecing that all together.   I’ll post a picture when I get one.  

Today I walked to the school to take him a bag of supplies and it was an odd feeling to be helping another young man with school: a mixture of old memories of going to school for my own kids and somehow becoming a surrogate mother to a 17 year old  man-child.  This term is a test of sorts to see how he does.  Considering the fact that last year was his first year back in school and part of that time he was working to pay for it, he’s done pretty well.  In the process of getting him back in, I’ve met what amounts to a handful of people who represent his support system.   Since he has no home to go over the holidays, someone has agreed to find him “some small space.   Others have agreed to continue to seek a place for his street kids.  It’s rather daunting and the Nigerian proverb “it takes a whole village to raise a child” has become real. Here it’s quite literal.  

As we were walking back to the school yesterday he asked what we do in America when the electricity goes out.  I answered that that rarely happens and he was stunned.  Then he said:  “I hear that in the UK they don’t use candles for light, they are only used for celebrations! Can that really be true?”    When I answered “yes” he was silent for a long time after uttering an almost reverent, “wow!”  

And that’s my week in review. It’s now Sunday morning and it’s uncharacteristically quite.  The club music provided a thud all might and turned into the Call t Prayer this morning followed by church music on steroids.  I guess everyone has finally fallen asleep, because the only sound is a rooster and the wind through the trees.  Onward to another cup of coffee…

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“Westerners have watches… Africans have time.” https://nancywesson.com/westerners-have-watches-africans-have-time/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=westerners-have-watches-africans-have-time Sat, 21 Apr 2012 05:44:00 +0000 https://nancywesson.com/westerners-have-watches-africans-have-time/ Early morning here.  This one is quiet – oh so blissfully quiet.  The rainy season does that.  Since I was able to sleep without earplugs last night, I can awaken to these subtle sounds as slow drips become  a soft patter on the tin roof.   Jenna (housemate) is away and the young PCV who was ... Read more

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Early morning here.  This one is quiet – oh so blissfully quiet.  The rainy season does that.  Since I was able to sleep without earplugs last night, I can awaken to these subtle sounds as slow drips become  a soft patter on the tin roof.   Jenna (housemate) is away and the young PCV who was to have been here for the next few days has made other plans – so it will be a quite weekend  if you don’t count the revelry at Diana Gardens tonight.

It must be the Louisiana girl in me, but I begin to wither when there is no rain.  And it’s not just my skin and hair – I was warned of this by a Ugandan woman.  My soul withers in the kind of heat and unending dust combined with lack of water and electricity, all of which typify dry-season here.  As I’ve said before: it’s the perfect storm for the demise of spirit.  So the rain thus far is soul-mending.  I may feel differently when all my clothes begin to smell of mildew, but right now I feel like dancing in the rain. I’d better hurry tho, because the sun is beginning to share the sky.

This is also beginning to be Mango season here in the north and  I’m noticing that the green ovals on the tree in the front yard are getting fatter. No pink showing yet, so I don’t know when they will be ready to harvest, but I’m keeping my eye on them.  I’ve been told they disappear pretty fast courtesy of the kids who scale the fence with long poles for knocking the fruit off.  There are those long poles again.  They’re pretty handy here.

And speaking of long poles, I visited the Police Station yesterday in the renewed  hope of getting a copy of the Police Report on my burglary (which was conducted with those long poles).  My case was referred to a young woman named Pomela about three weeks ago, so this is our second conversation.  She’s lovely, but has done nothing on the “investigation.”  When I saw her newly decked out this time in full police garb complete with rifle I said, “Pomela!  You have been missing!”  “Yes, I have been down and this is my first day back.”  We continue this polite conversation as a prelude to more serious business and there are wary looks from older, male police officers who clearly wonder what this Mzungu is doing taking up this woman’s time.  

I’m still not much closer to being able to get a report, but I have a new friend. It reminds me of a saying shared with me yesterday by Cheesburger Man, who has lived in Africa all his life.  The saying is” “Westerners have watches. Africans have time.”   ( I like this image of thrown-away watches, because it’s representative of how useless a watch is here.) It’s a good thing I’m adapting to this, because when I arrived at Coffee Hut yesterday, I found I was without my phone which I’d left at the Police Station.  Another two mile hike to retrieve it and I’m glad I have time, if not energy.  And time is commodity of which there is much in Africa. 

So today, I will meditate on that saying.  It’s one of the hardest adjustments for Westerners here.  I’ll start the puzzle sent to me by Evie inside the splendid glass French Press that arrived yesterday (thank you!), go the the cuk madit (big market) for tomatoes, garlic and avocados and see if I can find the Cilantro I’ve heard is there. Then I’ll round up some Chipati (closest thing to tortillas), get some already cooked beans from The Happy Nest Guest House and put together some soft bean tacos and for dessert: Raspberry Chocolate (Evie again!). Also must find elastic and straight pins (mine were stolen in the burglary!) to start the process of making a Pillow-case Dress for the project I’ll be doing with the women here.  Finding elastic could be an all day affair, but Rose – who has a tailoring shop – has offered to help me find supplies when the project turns large scale.  One hundred fifty pillow case dresses is definitely large scale when it’s being done by hand.
 
Onward! The rain has stopped and I think I have a window of opportunity!

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Back in the land of heat and dust https://nancywesson.com/back-in-the-land-of-heat-and-dust/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=back-in-the-land-of-heat-and-dust Sun, 18 Mar 2012 15:31:00 +0000 https://nancywesson.com/back-in-the-land-of-heat-and-dust/ Aaaaah – Gulu Town.  I remember this.  Hot, dusty, noisy, dirty – but temporarily “home” nevertheless.   Most of us have left the surrounds of IST and points in between and have returned “home.” Climbed on a Homeland Bus this morning and landed a decent seat thanks to another PCV who called ahead and reserved! ... Read more

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Aaaaah – Gulu Town.  I remember this.  Hot, dusty, noisy, dirty – but temporarily “home” nevertheless.   Most of us have left the surrounds of IST and points in between and have returned “home.”

Climbed on a Homeland Bus this morning and landed a decent seat thanks to another PCV who called ahead and reserved!   Left the luxury abode of the Annex (a step down from Motel 6) with bathrooms down the hall, concrete everything – I’ve mentioned this place before.  Had to negotiate to get the cardboard put back in the window so I could block out the megawatt security stairwell light shining in the room 24/7.  Having had to do this each night, this encore negotiation required getting re-dressed, going into another part of the building up two flights of stairs, explaining for the um-teenth time about light-in-the-eyes being a deterrent to sleep when combined with all night noise and bumping around of maids.  The victory blow was unfortunately: “I will not pay unless you please get someone ‘now-now’ to fix the window.”     “Now-now” takes about an hour, but it is done.   I sleep until mid-night when I’m awakened by voices down the hall having an animated discussion and then again by party-goers straggling in in the wee-hours.

This is all evidently orchestrated by the universe to bring self back to the reality of life after having spent a truly lovely day, which began with good brewed coffee (a rarity) on the terrace of the Grand Imperial Hotel watching the prehistoric, pterodactyle-looking Maribou Storks in some trees across the way.  This was followed by lunch (Greek salad with real honest to god lettuce – even more rare) and going to see the movie, My Week with Marilyn (excellent) in a theater that would rival the luxury of one in the States.  Afterwards, we continued the fantasy by wandering through a bookstore on whose shelves appeared books that were “hot” in the States 10 years ago, but otherwise felt like a mini-Barnes and Noble with  strains of Whitney Houston filing in the tableau.      Pushing our luck, we went for Mexican food afterwards.  It was lovely to sit outside and eat, but you know I AM a Texan and the palate cannot be fooled. The best part though was the dance lessons going on in the main room – beautiful young Ugandans learning to line dance and Salsa and doing it with panache!

Awoke at 4AM to buckets bumping around and at 7AM got a private-hire to the bus park – not quite as disorganized as the hornet’s nest known as the taxi-park, but daunting.  We pay the equivalent of $10 and climb on as hawkers of everything from bottled drinks to shoes and jewelry climb aboard with their wares displayed on boards and racks and selling until about 8:15 when we leave.  This is actually on-time, unlike many buses that wait three-four hours to fill before they will pull out.  There are no goats or chickens riding with us this time, but as we were puling out of the park, I saw a gathering of what appeared to be wedding-goers carrying their gifts.  It was the bright blue ribbon wrapped around a big stick used for grinding food that got my attention.  Another reveler was carrying a big earthen ware jug used locally for storing water and keeping it cool, while another had a big blue bow tied around the neck of an unsuspecting goat, being led by a leash of blue ribbon.  Wish I’d had my camera, but this is a scene that will live on in my mind’s eye forever.

Crossing the Nile on the way back is always the indicator that we’re getting close  and it is a fantastic Force 5+ white water rush.  Just on the other side, the baboons were back and we can feel the temperature rising.   It is at least 10 degrees hotter here. The baboon return must be seasonal, because the last few times we have crossed they have been conspicuously absent.  They are my “up-side of Africa” fix.   Another stop brings us along side the chicken market where live chickens tied by the feet and dangled upside-down are offered for sale. Someone behind me thinks he’ll take a couple and they are un-ceremoniously shoved through the window squawking and flapping indignantly – only to be rejected for reasons unknown.

We are spared the ride back listening to the poor creatures, whose noise would only serve to accompany the crying baby sitting next to the throwing-up seat mate one row ahead.   Travel in Uganda is not for the squeamish or those prone to motion sickness.  Thank you again Diane for sending me along with SeaBands and to Travis and Brett for replacing the lost ones.  They are life-savers.  You can forget the American Express Card, but never leave home with out your SeaBands in Uganda!
 
I arrived home six hours later to see all the trees that were cut down along the fence line to deter the neighbors from climbing over and burglarizing the joint, still laying around  looking unsightly. Unsightly sheets of rusted roofing tin have now been added to the fence to make it “safer,” and more prison like….  The glass in the broken window has been fixed;  Geckos skitter across the walls and skinks slither out of windows as I open them.  Yep – I’m home.  And while I do not have electricity, I do have water.  As fast as humanly possible, I fought the Geckos for the bathroom and won – took a deliciously cold shower, threw some laundry in the bucket to let it soak and got horizontal to finish a book I started before I left.
 
Despite the heat and dust, I have to admit to being glad to be back in a less hectic environment, where good places to eat and movies don’t drain the pocket book and one can settle.    Since there is no electricity, there is little cold to be found in Gulu, but I lucked upon one shop with a cold Slurpy yogurt and that is dinner.
 
Welcome home to me 😉 or “Apwoyo dwogo,” as I will be greeted tomorrow morning when I return to work.  In other words”  Thank you for returning!”

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