Kampala.
Uganda.
How are you so familiar to me? I know almost nothing about you, and have certainly never been here. And yet... the taxis, the trees, the air, the food, the helpful people, the annoying people, the pace of life, the energy... are all as familiar as an old pair of jeans. A dusty pair of jeans, with a patch, that you can't quite give up! Except that I never wear jeans here.
I came in part because of the connections of my advisors, in part because they have the right elements for me to put together the research I'm really interested in, and in part because I wanted practice Swahili. Too bad they don't so much speak it here... irony! I keep trying to get back to a place where I can use that delightful language and I keep getting detoured to other (wonderful) places. I guess I'm very lucky.
I've come to the conclusion that this place is the Boston of East Africa. Hilly! This city is very hilly, the buildings old and full of their own history, or new and shiny. The roads are twisty, the intersections complicated and often one way this way, one way that way. The traffic is terrible, the drivers concerning, yet it moves most of the time. But when it jams... boy howdy does it jam! Then you'd bed pick a boda bada, a motorbike... but that's as good a way as any to die. So I try to avoid it.
Ugandans are quite friendly! And maybe it's that I give off the air of someone who knows where she's going (which is complete pretense half the time... good acting skills?), but the "lizards" on the streets here aren't so bad so far. Though the boda bodas will charge a mzungu (white person) price if they can.
The new things are mostly in the levels of society I'm working with. Meeting folks in the ministries, staying with expats, going to a concert -- they have a music school, and a good one! A symphony orchestra, too. Plenty of Africans in it, which was cool. This experience has thus far been a bit like Peace Corps, but the institutions behind me have different motivations and a different sort of cache, a different power... but I'm still the low budget traveller, just I try to dress a little better. Keep my clothes as clean as I can, since I know these professors and deans, these coordinators, CEOs, etc. will give me short shrift if I don't.
I need to take my camera and take some photos... to show the little shops and taxis and potholes that are so familiar, the big mango tree by Jinja Road that soars a hundred plus feet into the air! To show the seven hills, and the red-tiles roofs that climb up and over them, the humid air softening the contrast between the red roofs and the green trees and vines climbing everywhere. To show the little chickies, the proud rooster, and the baby black mamba that visited my hosts home tonight. It is all much the same, Kampala, as many of the other cities in Africa that I have seen. Prettier, but still it's a different flavor of the same ice cream.
Uganda.
How are you so familiar to me? I know almost nothing about you, and have certainly never been here. And yet... the taxis, the trees, the air, the food, the helpful people, the annoying people, the pace of life, the energy... are all as familiar as an old pair of jeans. A dusty pair of jeans, with a patch, that you can't quite give up! Except that I never wear jeans here.
I came in part because of the connections of my advisors, in part because they have the right elements for me to put together the research I'm really interested in, and in part because I wanted practice Swahili. Too bad they don't so much speak it here... irony! I keep trying to get back to a place where I can use that delightful language and I keep getting detoured to other (wonderful) places. I guess I'm very lucky.
I've come to the conclusion that this place is the Boston of East Africa. Hilly! This city is very hilly, the buildings old and full of their own history, or new and shiny. The roads are twisty, the intersections complicated and often one way this way, one way that way. The traffic is terrible, the drivers concerning, yet it moves most of the time. But when it jams... boy howdy does it jam! Then you'd bed pick a boda bada, a motorbike... but that's as good a way as any to die. So I try to avoid it.
Ugandans are quite friendly! And maybe it's that I give off the air of someone who knows where she's going (which is complete pretense half the time... good acting skills?), but the "lizards" on the streets here aren't so bad so far. Though the boda bodas will charge a mzungu (white person) price if they can.
The new things are mostly in the levels of society I'm working with. Meeting folks in the ministries, staying with expats, going to a concert -- they have a music school, and a good one! A symphony orchestra, too. Plenty of Africans in it, which was cool. This experience has thus far been a bit like Peace Corps, but the institutions behind me have different motivations and a different sort of cache, a different power... but I'm still the low budget traveller, just I try to dress a little better. Keep my clothes as clean as I can, since I know these professors and deans, these coordinators, CEOs, etc. will give me short shrift if I don't.
I need to take my camera and take some photos... to show the little shops and taxis and potholes that are so familiar, the big mango tree by Jinja Road that soars a hundred plus feet into the air! To show the seven hills, and the red-tiles roofs that climb up and over them, the humid air softening the contrast between the red roofs and the green trees and vines climbing everywhere. To show the little chickies, the proud rooster, and the baby black mamba that visited my hosts home tonight. It is all much the same, Kampala, as many of the other cities in Africa that I have seen. Prettier, but still it's a different flavor of the same ice cream.
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