I am sitting here on the balcony of Nurse Betsy’s home-away-from-home waiting for my Peace Corps ride to medical and I am lulled back to California days. My eyes drift over the iron railing, past the explosion of color provided by huge pink begonias, heliconia, orange and red lantana, something that looks a bit like ginger, bird of paradise, water orchids and beyond – past the spiky species of Hibiscus and lands on a red tiled roof covered with vines. Beyond that there are the hills draped in gauzy mist obscuring more red roofed houses. Birds twitter – there are huge palm trees and philodendrons, scheffalera, dracaenas, purple fountain grass. It’s Palos Verdes or Santa Barbara….
No? Oops there’s a water tank piercing the landscape – but given the trend toward water catchment, it could still be California. Wait – there’s not that much rain in Southern California… Look closer. Ooooh – there’s the barbed wire looped at the top of the compound wall, and those are not river stones at the base of plants – those are halves of egg shells and the odd light bulb used for decoration. The cars in the compound are ancient Toyotas in need of repair, not a new Mercedes or Hybrid. An African woman walks by wrapped in a kanga cloth skirt - her baby strapped to her back and an impossibly large woven tray of bananas exquisitely balanced on her head. This is definitely Africa. There are whispy tendrils of smoke wafting up from Sigiris or charcoal stoves, still used even when there is a stove available - a rarity, but this is Kampala, the big city.
Further surveying the landscape, my eyes have just landed on an ancient ally cat with ears fringed from too many territorial battles. His head is blue – now that’s irregular. What is that? Betsy, custodian of the beast, is out sweeping the compound with her traditional broom, about three feet long. Different versions of this are used for everything – yard rakes, house brooms, spider brooms, but they are all short, requiring constant bending. Occasionally you will find one with a handle attached, but people seem to prefer the short version. In the distance I hear a rooster and a cacophony of bird sounds is coming from somewhere. On never mind, I think that’s the power steering gone wrong on a car that just passed. It’s a gift sometimes to be able to translate sounds into something more interesting…
Ants have discovered the pillows on which I have my foot propped. There are a million different varieties here and some like computers. Every once-in-a-while one will crawl out of my computer. If a roach climbs out I'm coming home.
Ah! I have the verdict on the blue head – Jerry (the cat – named after the ambassador…) has been sprayed for another cut on his ear. Quite the ambassador, that Jerry.
This tranquil environment that looks so familiar at first glance belies what is in the heart of the city and beyond these walls. Kampala is teeming with chaos, dirt, poverty, endless stalls lining every navigable road with every imaginable industry - all done right on the road. There are iron works and furniture building (all of the furniture displayed at roadside) mixed in with hair salons, phone time, hardware, produce dukas (tiny shop), hair plaiting, used clothing, road side "clinics" and pharmacies, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with car washing done with jerricans of water and butcheries. It is not for the weak of stomach.
So I will do what I need to in Kampala, which is get healed and then heel my way out of here as soon as possible. And I think my chariot to medical is arriving- since that feels like the rumble a land cruiser. There’s a joke about “unmarked white peace Corps land cruisers.” And I think mine is just arriving. We just had a rash of unannounced, and therefore unexpected visits from one of the trainers from head quarters, asking questions that seemed a bit like ‘big brother,’ and then we had to sign a form saying we’d been interviewed. Being people who color outside the lines, this has created quite a stir, thus the sighting reports of “unmarked white SUVs.” Add to that the fact that the only ones visited were those who failed their LPI (Language Proficiency Interview) and you can throw a little paranoia into the pot.
This tranquil environment that looks so familiar at first glance belies what is in the heart of the city and beyond these walls. Kampala is teeming with chaos, dirt, poverty, endless stalls lining every navigable road with every imaginable industry - all done right on the road. There are iron works and furniture building (all of the furniture displayed at roadside) mixed in with hair salons, phone time, hardware, produce dukas (tiny shop), hair plaiting, used clothing, road side "clinics" and pharmacies, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with car washing done with jerricans of water and butcheries. It is not for the weak of stomach.
So I will do what I need to in Kampala, which is get healed and then heel my way out of here as soon as possible. And I think my chariot to medical is arriving- since that feels like the rumble a land cruiser. There’s a joke about “unmarked white peace Corps land cruisers.” And I think mine is just arriving. We just had a rash of unannounced, and therefore unexpected visits from one of the trainers from head quarters, asking questions that seemed a bit like ‘big brother,’ and then we had to sign a form saying we’d been interviewed. Being people who color outside the lines, this has created quite a stir, thus the sighting reports of “unmarked white SUVs.” Add to that the fact that the only ones visited were those who failed their LPI (Language Proficiency Interview) and you can throw a little paranoia into the pot.
Off to another day of foot torment. Be blessed.
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