Wait just a minute – who am I-where am I-what is my name?   This is definitely NEW and – it was complimentary.  Things are changing before my eyes in Uganda.  There was a bus drivers’ strike last week over safety conditions after a bus (not a Post Bus) of 40 rolled over and all died.  There’s actually a suggestion to have armed guards on every bus to keep the DRIVERS in check. Wondering if this “breakfast move” is  focused on attracting customers.  It’s known as the only really “safe” bus so they’re already ahead of the game.  The road conditions add to the adventure.

OK – back to opera….  As I said, there we were, bouncing along with sausage trees and tall grass disappearing n our dust, when one of the several babies on board started wailing – I mean that shrieking cry that only little babies can manage.  As if in sympathy, the others join the chorus.  Stereo babies….  stereo crying babies.  And then – OPERA starts vibrating out of the overhead speakers.  Not church music – Opera – something from Madam Butterfly I think.  And it’s rather a lot to take in along the terrible road, on a terrible bus ride, in the terrible heat of a terribly long day in the middle of Uganda.  I looked to see if there was something correspondingly incongruous on the TV screen.  I was not disappointed.    The opera was the accompaniment to a scene of a large Ugandan woman dressed as a nun, running through a park – arms akimbo.  She stops in front of a cross – and there is “Jesus” mounted there – but when he sees her an jumps of the cross and starts running.  I’m not making this up.

This is pure comedy and I could not have written a more bizarre script.  I’m nearly convulsed with laughter, babies are wailing and madam Butterfly provides a backdrop to religious sacrilege.    Some days are just perfect in their absurdity.  This was one.

I’m starting a collection of “BUS STORIES.”  It’ll be the grown-up version of  The Wheels on the Bus.  It will no doubt be X-Rated  – there are some doozies (man peeing in a water bottle and PCV being slapped on the cheek by a flying breast). 

And I am back “home.”  The house was left unoccupied, so I was relieved to discover all was well and as it should be.  I instantly dropped my bags and gratefully climbed under a COLD shower and loved every drop of it.    This concerns me.   One year and ten days remaining.  There are a few who can tell you to the minute.

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I managed to make it through last weekend without accidentally going into work on Saturday.  So my dignity has been partially restored.  I am free of termites for the time being and Yin, the pitiful white female cat, has redeemed herself by catching a mighty fine rat.    Now days she is trailed by the only one of her remaining kittens, a little calico, and she is again “with kittens.”  I fed her some left-over and getting-old (refrigeration off for a few days) tuna and she now deigns to “speak” to me.  In fact she’s quite the meow-er and has started rubbing up against my leg.  She no longer runs from me and has – in fact – become quite pushy.  MK – you have competition.  So I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.  Tho the last time I fed her she wanted more, which I wouldn’t give.  Within a few minutes I saw her out front with a big  squirming rat hanging from her mouth.  Good kitty…

A Ugandan Blessing:  “May your ride on the bus be boring and uneventful.”    On Monday I was granted such a blessing.  As is my habit (unwillingly) the night before I have to get up early to catch the bus, I awoke every hour on the hour until 5AM when I finally gave up and got up.  Mercifully the night’s rain  had quit and I walked the mile in the dark dodging puddles and mud, but without rain.  Got a decent seat and a decent seat mate.  So all-in-all a good ride if you don’t count the ensuing exhaustion.

Absolutely nothing of interest is happening, but considering the things that COULD be interesting, I suppose this is a good thing.   Those of us in the north were visited by our program officer and one of the nurses last week – along with the security officer.  As Fred (left-at swearing-in ceremony) sat taking notes and the incidents of “the foot, the fire and the burglary” came up he said “And this was all in the last year?”  Yes, Fred… and this is why a boring week can count as a good week

Our planned trip to Ethiopia has met with some resistance. It turns out that when we submit our travel requests, they are sent through the safety and security officer for that country.  Seems that the areas we want to visit in the south – the tribes that  still do body painting and wear a clay plate in the lower lip (!) are considered “out of bounds.”  Well damn!   Still going, but having to regroup yet again.  74 days and counting to departure!!

All manner of turmoil at out office in Gulu:  personnel shuffling, office demolition, relocating. Hard to get things done in such an environment.  Still – things move forward.  Got a nice article published in the Human Rights Focus Quarterly publication and it appears I will be writing more for them.  Kind of a nice surprise I had not anticipated.     In fact, none of this is what I had vaguely anticipated, but then I suppose that’s part of the adventure.    Housemate is still in the States.

Once again, my deepest thanks to all of you who have supported me – mind, body and spirit – with comments,  e-mails, calls, goody boxes, help with things at home.     Really, I could not be doing this without your love and support.   One of the sweetest discoveries here has been your presence and generosity of spirit, time and effort.   I am truly overwhelmed.  Knowing you are there is indeed the “wind beneath my wings.” 

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NO one except idiots and Muzungus (is that a redundancy?) venture out in the rain.  But we slogged through raging muddy, ankle deep, sewer tainted waters and reached the bus 4:45-ish and it was all locked up.  It’s raining – and NO ONE is going to open until it stops.  We arrived totally drenched.  We’d put our computers in plastic bags and thank goodness, because even though they were in backpacks under our parkas once we boarded the bus and commenced the trip, a shallow river of water deep to soak every piece of clothing I own and fry any electronic gear sloshed forward.

The PO guard finally opened up at about 5:45AM and we boarded a dark and empty bus.  Peering out rainy windows, we waited… No one else arrived until 6:30 and we finally pulled out at 7:20, continuing to pick up people (Ugandans who know better than to walk through water and mud) and arrived at 1:30 or so and were deposited at a police station where there was no place to sit, find food or wait.  We found a private hire and got a roller coaster tour of the innards of  Uganda slums and finally  arrived at a sandwich shop, ate and caught the PC shuttle to Masaka.  By that time I was nursing a horrid upset stomach and 3.5 hours later we finally arrived.  Fifteen hours of travel in all.  As I have said, travel in Uganda is not for the weak of heart or frail of body.  Oh – did I mention that we passed a bus that had turned over in the middle of the road not more that a few hours earlier?  Not confidence inspiring…  

My successes of the week include finding a home for Dingo, a sweet dog left in Kampala by his former family.  Rare to come across a dog in Uganda who has been a pet.  For the most part Ugandan’s are “not nice” to dogs and most are so abused by the time you find them that they have to been seriously retrained.  He looks like every other dog you see in Uganda (tan, the size of a small German shepherd – yes, just like Pinky) and now has a new home in Gulu with a new USAID worker

Off to do hand-laundry. The only way…

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I’m “in the city.”  So this house is somewhat typical, although larger than most, which is why I share it with another PCV for the time being.  Many of the houses you see here are of the clay-brick variety – but this one has been plastered.  I share it with one other PCV and – in addition to others PCVs that happen through Gulu – we share space with an uncountable array of geckos, mice, Giant ants, white flies, and other seasonal creatures I’d rather not know about.

Floors and walls are concrete and the roof is tin. Windows somehow (almost) close, but no screens, though there are burglar bars on all windows and front doors. There are locks (sort of) and there is sometimes electricity (although it’s off more than it’s on and totally random) and even less often there is water. At present electricity is turned off because they say we didn’t pay the bill – which was paid last week when received.  The catch is, it was delivered two months late.   Ah – the joys of everyday life here.  Went through the same thing last month with water.  The dilemma is, utilities are so random, ya’ can’t tell you have a larger problem until your neighbor has power, water, etc. and you don’t.  Since so few people have either, it’s kind of of a crap shoot.

Note the Jerrycans around the hall sink: always kept full for the moment “water is finished.” We have a very large water tank in the back which periodically fills, when there is enough water pressure from the main station.  When it fills, something like a toilet tank float is supposed to turn of the flow when it reaches the top, but it’s broken.  Twice now in the middle of the night, I have awakened to the sound of pouring water.  That would be the water shooting out of the tank  (20 feet off the ground) as it continues to fill.  In the middle of the night, in the dark, I have scurried around for a flashlight, gone out that gate you see in the first picture and found the turn-off valve for water coming onto the property.    I have finally found someone to replace the mechanism, but the landlady wants in on the act.  Ordinarilly this would be a good thing, but the repairman (the one who calls himself the Black Muzingu because he is on time) begged me not to involve her, because “she is a hard woman.”  So true.   But that’s another topic…

So what else can I tell you.  It has a garage, with a door off the living area  (right) but also huge metal ouside doors damaged in the burglary.  So now a feral cat sneaks in a sleeps there.  Hoping he will keep down the mouse population, but the other night Jenna reported having “found the mouse,” and having escorted him out via the suitcase he was all snuggled into.    When I got home, we found its big brother living in my bathroom.  (God only knows how many we have NOT found). We had decided we could capture it and dump it out as well, but honestly you’d have thought it was a Black Mamba, the way we squealed when it ran between our legs and over feet.  Rather embarrassing to admit that, but….  there we were.  It ran INTO the wall, so we dumped mouse pellets at the base.    Once again, he could have stayed, had it not been for revealing his preference for my dark chocolate granola bars.

The kitchen consists of a two-burner propane (when we can get it) stove, and toaster over that sometimes works, and a sink. With the accumulated furniture from the roommate, it functions decently and beats the hell out of a sigiri for cooking.

All-in-all a decently comfortable space, with sometimes electricity and sometimes water. And yes, among other PCVs it’s considered the Taj Mahal, because of its size and flush toilets.

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“We have a mouse,” the text from my housemate says….
 “Have you named it?”  I reply.
 “Skid.” 
“Did you or did he – skid, that is?” I asked.  

At the time I was half-way through my first solo bus ride back to Gulu.  I mention “solo” because I had been dreading this – we all dread travel.  But traveling with someone is always not only more fun,  it is – well – easier.  The Post Bus (the post office’s version of the Pony Express) leaves at 8AM and  to get a seat other than being sandwiched in over the rear axle means walking in Kampala in the dark.  As usual before a day of travel I have slept poorly, but it wouldn’t have mattered because the housekeeping staff woke me at 4AM by banging cleaning buckets.  I wonder if – like Nurse Ratchet – they don’t all secretly harbor a dislike for the inmates in this asylum.

So I packed up, took a safe route to the bus (zero-dark-thirty now) and stopped by Bbrood, a Dutch bakery that makes real Croissants (not just somehow) and grabbed a ham and cheese version along with an apple muffin – both seriously good I might add.  Good bread and pastries are always a surprise and lend one an incongruous feeling of safety.  I arrived early to get a seat by a window, because like a dog, I have to have wind blowing in my face when riding in a vehicle.  (Go ahead – I know there will be commentary on this.)  Having purchased my ticket the day before, the process was made easier.  AND – I discovered with great delight and deep gratitude that the travel pillow I’d forgotten on the bus-ride from Gulu over 6 weeks ago had been turned into Lost and Found.   (Ugandans are by-in-large amazingly honest folks and I have gone back to retrieve any number of items I’ve left somewhere – from water bottles to cell-phones.)

By 6:30 people are already there for the 8AM bus.  Negotiating a bathroom stop (called a Short Call for #1, Long call for #2)) is the next challenge I’d begun dreading and the reason we like traveling in packs. Always good to have someone watching your stuff.   This probably falls under the category of TMI, but if you don’t have someone to guard your stuff, ya’ gotta’ take it with you.  It’s not the 99% of honest people you worry about, it’s that other 1%.  (I’m remembering that years ago in Italy, I was robbed in a Pension by another American tourist – not a local.) Trying to negotiate a filthy latrine with two back packs and a purse hanging off you could mean disaster.   Stories  abound about people slipping into a latrine hole – not to mention the one about the latrine floor collapsing plunging a PCV into deep S*** literally.  No you don’t want to sit anything on the floor either. And don’t forget your money – there’s a fee for going to pee – 200 Shillings.  Extra for toilet paper I presume. 

Back to the bus.  Miraculously I don’t have a seat-mate so this is turning out OK.  Somewhere after the Short Call I caught a whiff of alcohol wafting up from the back of the bus.  Not long after that, someone ambled unsteadily to the front and I began hearing a voice that sounded like a bad radio on high volume.  It was just after the Hallelujahs that I discovered this dis-embodied voice was attached to the person of a snaggle-toothed disciple.  I translated his Acholi – that “people are bad, people are rotten and people are hard.”   Sounding more and more (except for the Acholi) like the  Monte Santo Baptist church we attended growing up in Baton Rouge, I’m now grateful for – at the age of 5 –  having  chosen to sing the jingle for a beer commercial  (Hello mellow Jax little darlin’– you’re the beer for me, yessiree”…) in Sunday School one day: resulting in our excommunication from that realm of the sacred.   Our roving bus preacher continued, but I remained unperturbed because I’m already in Hell and … I have an empty seat next to me, Cheese Ritz crackers and a warm Coke as we inch toward my Home away from Home.  Extra variety in scenery was provided by the Baboons crouching along the   road side after the Nile – the Vervet monkeys having had squatting rights on the way over.

Staying at the Annex makes one glad to be back home where you don’t have to share a bathroom and there are no mid-night maids, though there IS the resounding thud of bass music, one of the benchmarks of Uganda life everywhere but the bush.  But water “is finished” again and this will mean hauling and flushing the toilet with bath water.

Falling into bed early, I climbed under the net and tucked into yet another murder mystery, using the book-light, because electricity is also ‘finished.” I heard an ever-so-slight munching noise coming from the bookcase in my bedroom corner.   Extricating myself from the enclosure, I tiptoed over to find the source. 

Looking in three boxes of fabulous crunchy granola bars that I covet and have moved to the top shelf of an ostensibly mouse-free-zone in the bedroom (wooden shelves to the right) I noticed a tiny thread of mouse-tail sticking up in one of them.  Distinctly non-granola in nature, I surmised it to be the rat-fink that gnawed into my Crunchy Dark Chocolate Nature Valley Granola bars two weeks ago.  Stealth-like, I closed the top and held it down while the little F***er  scrambled to get out.  I called to my housemate to unlock the front door so I could humanely release the greedy little rodent into the wild.  (I’m not quite up to more visceral forms of mouse execution yet, but this event is moving me ever closer to the death-penalty. Think Willard, not Ratatouille.) 

Finding the keys in the dark, holding both mouse-trap (aka granola box) and flashlight while I unlock the door, I put the box on the front porch – not wanting to fling it out into the bushes because I STILL HAVE GRANOLA BARS in there. The little  S*** darted out and ran across a foot and BACK INTO THE HOUSE.  And thus was pounded another nail in the coffin of humane attitudes.      Curiously, this mouse has – to our knowledge – eaten nothing but my Dark Chocolate Granola Bars.  Damn him. I didn’t even know they (these particular granola bars) existed until Travis and Lori sent them and now I’m hooked – but so is the mouse. This means war and it will be a fight to the death. 

Shall we use a standard mousetrap, the glue kind, the poison tablets???  This was a matter of great debate last night among three of us as we sat with beers in hand.  Although the walls are concrete, this tiny creature with teeth like Jaws has managed to gnaw a substantial hole into the wall next to my bedroom door. The point being,  I/we don’t want it to crawl in and die (and therefor stink).  Neither do we want to watch it die slowly – as in the glue method.  Mouse-trap???  I haven’t seen one in Uchumi…   

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