I think I'm slipping into the abyss... I am beginning to enjoy - or a least be able to laugh about - some of the chaos of Kampala. Help me. It must be the Stockholm Syndrome - isn't that the one where abductees begin identifying with their captors?
I've been working at PC HQ for the past four days doing what I love to do - organize stuff. I'm learning a lot about the inner workings of PC in the process. The new PC HQ site is on a hill and has a beautiful view and constant breeze. Today a storm blew in and it was fabulously dark and rumbly. I was nearly drunk with delight at being able to watch it blow in (and not be IN it when it happened). To this day, I give thanks that I'm not on a tea-cup sized sailboat in the middle of the sea - but you've heard that story. (But I AM dreaming of being on the water at the end of all this.) I've eaten great food while here: had a real honest to goodness fish curry complete with Mango Chutney last night. Tonight - Hot and Sour Soup at the same place. There is life out there.
Don't get me wrong - the chaos of Kampala is still bordering on insane. Yesterday, I had a dental appointment and hiked back to the grand digs of the Annex (yeah - that one: concrete, noisy, communal everything) and shopped for supplies on the way. Got gorgeous tie-dyed fabric, found some new places where I feared a bit for loss of back pack, computer, purse, etc. but acted like I knew what I was doing and forged ahead through the mayhem of stalls and sellers to find some beautiful African designs. My mistake was going forth and trying to find office supplies. Many stores later, on foot - searching for a few specific places recommended for things like hanging file boxes, colored bulletin board tacks and crochet thread.... No Office Depot like store here. No JoAnn's fabrics. And many people have never seen or heard of such a thing as a portable, desk top box for hanging files. Hanging files are new to many, file folders - ditto. Crochet???? So to use a word no-one knows to describe something they've never seen is tricky. It's helpful to remember that English is not always English in any case and this also confounds getting directions. Directions here almost always include: "it is just there (accompanied by a vague sweeping wave of the arm), first you just cross, then slope down - it is just that side (that side of WHAT!?)" and so on. After many attempts, one guard just took me. It was, after all - just there!
On the way, I was able to step back a bit a remember the abject horror which consumed me on our first group visit to Kampala during training. So some small progress has been made. I am on the other side of bowel-loosening horror and am now vacillating between idiot-bravery and simple-terror. I was able to be an observer this time of hundreds, nay- thousands - of matatus (built for 16 and always carrying 20 or more) competing for passengers. While slowing (somewhat) the conductor hangs on one-handed out the open door screaming the name of the taxi's destination. At first, as a new arrival - it seems very personal - they are all screaming at you! Musungu! Mama! Jenga! Bukota! and an infinity of names-of-places-I-can't-pronounce-much-less-know-where-they-are. And the Boda drivers - reaching out - calling, haranguing. Once you get over the initial assault and learn to throw yourself in front of-between-behind the 30 or so vehicles swarming at a stage/hive/gathering place and not get crushed you're home-free. And, by-the-way, just because you're on a sidewalk, doesn't mean you won't be run down by a Boda. It a total free-for-all here. It actually got absurdly funny after a while. Having a sense of humor and the ability to laugh or groan at oneself is essential battle armor. At last I arrived at the "hotel" unscathed with a plastered on smile - repeating, "thank you-I-am-footing." In the midst of this insanity, people were all good humored and too busy looking looking for the next fare to hassle me for very long. I suppose I only walked a few miles, but that combined with self-defense maneuvering, forced cheerfulness with boda/matatu hawkers, backpack & packages, puddles, etc. - is the perfect miasma for exhaustion. Ah - to be able to get in a car and drive to exactly the right place is the stuff of dreams.
And that's another thing - driving here takes nerves and balls of steel. Traffic signals, where present are merely advisory. There are no clear lanes - or directions for that matter. Never mind that they drive on the "wrong" side of the street, they change sides whenever there's a hole (there are many) or someone is in the way (frequently). There was a man wheeling along in his manually operated wheel-chair today, sharing the road. Periodically, a cow will be sleeping on the "shoulder." And there are hawkers who poke their heads in your window when stopped in traffic. If you are talking on the phone, watch out for it being snatched right out of your hand mid-sentence. Window's UP!
But for now, I am tucked into my interior room, no windows - but a fan and am about to continue with Bryan Wooley's Book about Texas, "The Edge of the West." Dental tomorrow - giving credence to the claim that dental problems are the number one health issue among PCVs in Uganda.
Then "home" on Saturday...
Sweet dreams and shopping my friends.
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