A Thought at Yanks Giving

They say a picture can say a thousand words.  Now I have no idea who ‘they’ are, but if this picture is anything to go by no wonder the Americans arrive in their droves to ‘save the World.’  As our school politics teacher used to say; it’s a “gross generalisation” of the American view, but then again…

 (kind of looks like a horse)

An American friend of mine summed up the US of A visitors to me the other day in a fairly astute phrase; “when an American enters they look you up and down and lose interest in you when they realise that you don’t fit their African experience.”

It’s not to say that I have anything particularly against the Sherman Tanks, some of my good friends and extended family hail from there.  Aside from them dragging us into wars, allowing us to tarnish our good name in the Arab World – why should we side with Israel…no Ollie that’s a whole other argument saved for another day – and generally having a pretty naïve outlook on the World, the part I detest most is the fashion of heading to Africa, particularly Uganda and Malawi, to rescue a poor black baby to take back to the States.  Aren’t there enough poor, orphaned black (and white) children to look after at home for me not to see you strolling waddling about the Kampalan shopping malls holding a litre of coffee and a small African child?

All of this has given me an idea; is it possible for me to be adopted by a rich and powerful American family with access to a Californian beach house and a ski lodge in Whistler?  So here goes;

Ten Things to do in KLA when they're Shedding

Kampala is a rapidly growing capital city, home to 5 million people, all feeding their new found appetite for satellite TV, internet, banging music (turn it up to eleven) and bright lights. However this love of all things electronic has meant a strain on the traditional forms of electricity generation. In 1954 a young Elizabeth the second came to Uganda and christened the Owen Falls Dam in Jinja that was set to supply Kampala and the surrounding region with enough power…but that was 66 years ago and the country has changed dramatically in that time, some for the better and some for the worse. Due to this growth in need of witchcraft-generated-charge-my-mobile-juice, the government invited a company to enter the country and bring some large and very heavy diesel generators with them to try and bridge the gap and keep the residents happy. However, with the rising price of the fuel, trucked daily from Mombasa over 1,200 kilometres away, they have been slipping with their payments and therefore asked the company to start “load shedding.”

To your average man in the street this means that; half the city has power one night while the other doesn’t, and visa-versa throughout the week. So you’ve worked hard all day and finally made it home after beating the crazy matatu drivers at their own game in the traffic – “The Jam is bad tonight Sebu, welcome to Africa!” – time to sit down, relax, cook some food and watch televi_________and there goes the power for the third time this week. As you scrabble around in the dark to find your lantern and your matches, you try to sooth your temper by trying to figure out which film to watch for the tenth time on your laptop. Well stop. Here’s a list of ten alternatives to help you avoid that early night in darkness;

1 – Pub Quiz; the infamous, traditional Irish pub hosts a beer and shot fuelled pub quiz every other Thursday night off Acacia Avenue. The teams unlucky enough to tie a round are subjected to drink off, while the overall winner is rewarded with a t-shirt (which I have yet to receive) and the honour/horror of writing and presenting the following fortnight’s quiz. Bon chance.

2 – The National Theatre; if you can figure out what’s actually happening when and where, the old colonial National Theatre opposite the Parliament building in town is well worth a visit if only for the Thursday comedy night. A mix of 50% Luguandan and 50% English, the skits are strangely easy to follow and surprisingly funny. Eh! True?

3 – Monday Rugby; a perfect anecdote for any continual groggy post weekend feelings and Monday evening tiredness is a game of touch with the members of the Kyadondo Rugby club. After the previous club across the Jinja road sold out to developers this has become the only rugby field in the main city and is home to three club teams and the national team so don’t be surprised to see the Uganda Cranes training in the dark as you enjoy your well-earned post game beer.

4 – Eating out; with a huge growth in the middle class system within Uganda over the last ten years, restaurants of all shapes, sizes and tastes have sprung up around the city. For those feeling particularly homesick however, why not indulge yourself with Japanese Sushi or Moules-frites with ingredients flown in daily from the Kenyan coast and Belgium respectively. Just forget that Uganda is a landlocked country and make sure to leave you carbon-footprint conscience at home.

5 – Cinema; the selection might be minimal – hope you enjoy Scream 4 – and the operators skills might be limited, but it’s good to know that there are two cinemas in close proximity of one another and a third in the pipeline opposite. Forget that the volume might be deafening at times, or that half the screen might be out of focus for periods of the film, sit back in the deserted theatre and enjoy the complementary drink for far less than the price of a London cinema ticket.

6 – Live Music; there are plenty of live bands working the various bars during the week, playing a variety of local half descent stuff. Catch the Sun is often a good place to go on a Tuesday night, and if you’re lucky you might catch another decent band rehearsing at Al’s bar…best avoid the warm up act though. Others, at the more prestigious hotels, however are typically a dumbed down African lounge music where the band has become popular locally and is forced to play the type of songs the owner thinks his punters want to hear. However it’s clear in their faces that they’d prefer not to be murdering Frank Sinatra or Dolly Parton on a Friday night to laid back Muzungus.  One to look out for in particular is Navio;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNln_0DoXVI

7 – Scottish Dancing; there's no use buying the ticket, getting dressed up and gorging on haggis at the annual Scottish Society ball if you can't dance the Gay Gordon or Strip the Willow. Every two weeks with free pizza on hand there's the chance to escape the lack of electricity to dance around like the strange bearded northerners and practice your dance moves in tine for mid-November.

8 – Zimba – run by a crazy Finnish woman (hardly unusual for the Finns), for all those ladies looking for another odd way to work out, you can join the others for a weekly hour of dancing like no ones watching at Ambrosoli School, just watch out for the hoards of mosquitoes...and don't expect your boyfriend to attend.

9 – Christmas Panto – the highlight of the amateur dramatic season the month before Christmas heralds the annual Christmas panto; frustrated artists treading the 'hallowed' boards of the Ugandan National Theatre in front of the Kampalan public for four sold out evenings. This year keep a look out for a long lady playing a “man as a man,” set to be a highlight.

10 – Drinking; of cause, Kampala is anything but short on bars to find a cold beer or two, so if none of the last nine take your fancy, you can choose from everything from a five star hotel garden to a small, dark and loud bottle store in the local trading centre to wet your whistle and people watch the night away.

Kampala-en-Sea

Picture this; a starving child sits alone with a swollen malnutritioned belly, flies settle on its heavy eyelids, a mother too tired and hungry to feed it, a father that was killed during a recent genocide, no hope of finding clean water and certainly no chance of getting an education.

Not a pretty picture, but nine times out of ten this seems to be the ‘image of Africa’ whenever 90% of the West considers the poorest continent on Earth; people that can’t help themselves, a population slowly falling into civil war over food and water supplies = perfect for saving by the Lord Gods’ 7th Day Angel Gabriel Southern Texas Chapter……or Madonna in Islam insulting shorts.

Whether a conspiracy of the global NGO’s, charities, churches, local corrupt governments or maybe even food companies, this image seems to be one of the greatest misconceptions of Modern day Africa and one that might actually be impeding growth. In fact Paul Theroux sums this up quite nicely in his Cairo to Cape Town journey;

“Africans seem to be the most lied to people on Earth; manipulated by their governments, burned by foreign experts, befooled by charities, and cheated at every turn. To be an African leader was to be a thief, but evangelists stole people's innocence and self-serving aid agencies gave them false hope, which seemed worse.”

Now this isn’t to say that genocide, famine and war don’t exist in Africa, or that all NGO’s are money laundering fraudsters; you only need to read about Dafur or Somalia to recognise that the aid agencies there are doing the best job they can under the circumstances. However it might come as quite a surprise to the majority of people living in the developed World to learn that officially 1/3rd of Africans are now classified as Middle Class. This statement, although correct might need some clarification;

According to the African Development Bank, nearly 313million people across the ‘Dark Continent’ now fall into the middle class bracket. That doesn’t mean to say that they all live in a semi in Woking, drive a Volvo and listen to Classic FM, but that they now sit within the group of people with the purchasing power to spend between $2 and $20 a day. Not a lot in London granted, but in Kampala for instance, $20 a day can buy you a hell of a lot of rice, beans and Matoke. In fact it can do more than that. The majority of ‘middle class’ Ugandans I know, have met or have cut me up at the roundabout, quite frankly shocked me; car ownership for instance is rocketing, and I don’t mean crappy beaten up Nissan Sunnys. I’m now not surprised when I pull up to the lights beside Range Rover Sports, Lexusesses…Lexi, or even BMW X6’s on a daily basis.

Uganda has a huge proportion of children – 50% are under 17 – no doubt as the result of a hugely improved health service and a much lower rate of AIDS in the past 20 years or so (pat on the back for the charities). All schools are fee paying, yet my firm alone has built or extended three medium to high end schools in the last two years and when I travel to work it is past streams of multi coloured and neatly cleaned and pressed school uniforms. A policeman may only earn 100,000 Shillings a month ($35), but 33% of his country can afford to be a member of a gym, own a set of golf clubs and spend the night watching Satellite TV; the same aspirations as most of Merseyside.

Yes there are drawbacks and plenty of arguments over this huge and sudden wealth increase. The poorer will suffer more as the gaps increase, consumption of energy will increase beyond production – think load shedding every other night in Kampala – But on the other hand maybe all of the Christian Missionaries’ kindly misguided trips over the past hundred plus years have finally paid off. Maybe Africans, so sick of the constant degrading sentiments towards this beautiful continent and friendly people, have been provoked to Africanise Western prosperity and allow them to harness the power and assistance offered to become successful and affluent. Well, this is what the charities and NGO’s wanted…wasn’t it? With the current problems with the Euro, maybe it isn’t the Africans that need saving anymore, and maybe, finally, that annoying Irish rock star in his mothers’ cataract glasses can shut up once and for all!

Driving Miss Crazy!

A strong reason for leaving the bustle and stresses of London and coming out to Africa was the commute to work. During my 6 years in the UK capital I worked in Victoria, London Bridge, Canary Wharf and Stratford and including the numerous site visits I completed most parts of the Greater London area. If I looked at a tube map I think I could actually tick off close to 85% of the stations and say I’ve set foot on their platforms. As all Londoners know, the route to work can be a hot, sweaty and drawn out experience with carriages crammed full of suit-clad, Metro engrossed silent people; something that took me a while to get used to when I arrived. Cycling to work I will miss however; weaving between, and around, angry bus drivers and even angrier taxi drivers before you’ve even eaten your breakfast. But then again, that can be replicated here with the public taxi buses (Matatu’s) and Boda Bodas if you so choose.

Although it is a legality for everyone to take driving lessons and be in possession of a valid licence while negotiating the Kampala traffic, I think it’s safe to assume less than 50% have ever sat in a car with anyone with any teaching experience. Especially in a country where the license can be bought from under the counter for significantly less than the cost of one lesson in the UK. Makes me think about all those ‘licenced’ minicabs I’ve taken from Infernos at 3am! While it is a well-known fact that motorbikes are dangerous and travelling on a Boda Boda without a helmet is frankly stupid, after 6 months of driving I can safely – mind the pun – warn the reader that those who are most dangerous would appear to be the Matatu drivers. It would seem, from their driving ability, these nutters clambered into the front seat of a Toyota mini-bus during their youthful teenage years, borrowed a large book to sit on to help them to see over the steering wheel and since that day ferried the nations commuters, and occasional unsuspecting tourists, around in their personalised death traps. Not only do they drive far too fast, erratically pulling out into traffic without the faintest glance in either direction, but do so with what would appear to be a death wish; comfortable in the unshaking belief that unless it’s their day to ‘meet the big man upstairs,’ overtaking at the crest of a hill, around a blind corner, in the dark, without lights on all will surely be fine.

I can hear you say, “it can’t be that bad, there are bad drivers everywhere” and I agree with you, however I've never experienced such a huge gulf in the two personalities of this Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde nation. Ugandans in general are a kind, happy, unselfish and mostly honest people who will break into a warm smile and friendly greeting the first time you meet them. The children are content with their lot, video games and all that the London oiks were smashing and grabbing would be wasted on them. Whilst the adults will smile, wave and welcome you back to your house every evening as you pass them as they walk slowly home. However, once this man climbs behind the wheel of 2 tons of metal the transformation occurs and the changes manifest themselves and they become selfish, arrogant, careless, impatient and dangerous bent on getting everywhere as fast as possible while performing as many insane manoeuvres as they can. Obviously, as we have discussed above, those with the most practice are the worst offenders. However, the average car on the road will assume that it is his right to overtake a fully loaded bus while it in turn overtakes a petrol tanker. The reason he is flashing his lights at you is his way of saying; how dare you aren't pulling off the road into that deep drainage ditch or roadside sugarcane field to allow him through. Don’t you realise he’s in much more of a hurry to get nowhere fast!

Even with all of these dangers and irritations on the road, there’s still certainly something to be said for switching the hour spent underground struggling for air with someone’s head in my armpit – well it’s hardly going to be the other way around – to driving to work. Especially during the early morning rush; winding your way through the alive and exciting side streets of an African city with its newspaper, phonecard and chapatti sellers, scattering chickens and goats to the sides of the road as you go, and watching that big red African sun rising up from over the horizon. Just make sure you buy a 4x4!

Diamonds aren't for ever-yone

Last weekend as I sat in the departure lounge waiting to board my flight for a short trip home to the UK, while trying to ignore the noise that the latest American Christian do-gooders were making, I was thinking about my time in Uganda. It has been almost 4 months since I left the White Cliffs far behind and set out in Livingstone and Stanley's faded footsteps destined for Kampala. With that first third of a year under my belt I've settled into a work and play balance initially slightly biased towards work and have managed to figure out most of the geographically and culture quirks of this happy and vibrant African capital city. My local lingo has almost fully developed into a strange mix of Pigeon English with a smattering of local Lugandan words and plenty of Uganda expressions. I've become accustomed to the ins and outs of the city’s transportation and am almost pleased to say that my driving skills have fallen to a standard that allows me to weave around motorbike taxi's, through standstills at roundabouts and between the large potholes with the worst of them. I've been lucky and have found plenty to do out here to keep me occupied outside of the numerous parties; with rugby on Mondays, flight training at the Kajjansi Aeroclub at weekends and the pub quizzes at Bubbles' Irish pub to name but a few. But I am definitely happy to say that it's just three weeks until Helen arrives and only one week until I can pack up the Land Rover and move into the new house with its West facing veranda and (slight) lake view – perfect for a sundowner gin and tonic in the evenings. Most of my time in Uganda so far has been spent within Kampala; finding my feet, gaining a grasp of the work and waiting to share the experiences of the bush and various game parks with Hels on her arrival. However, thanks to a nice little project that I will be working on for the Tag Rugby Trust this year, that changed ever so slightly recently with my first out-of-town site visit;

The first time I saw the name Mbale, Uganda, was in the opening scene after the titles at the start of Casino Royale where the Bond villain Le Shiffre arrives in a wet and muddy freedom fighters jungle headquarters in three dark green 110 Land Rovers to meet this particular bands' leader. The character is undoubtedly based on Joseph Kony; the Ugandan rebel and head of the Lord’s Resistance Army, who was chased out of the country initially into the Democratic Republic of Congo before being forced further north into the relative safety of the Central African Republic. Kony, who established the LRA after visions from God as an altar boy and driven by his dark spirits, has orchestrated a long and costly war against Uganda and its leaders. He is classed, quite rightly, as a terrorist and with countless cross border raids back into Northern Uganda, is believed to have captured in the region of 70,000 children to serve as troops in his child army since its inception in 1986. However despite an international arrest warrant and the large US/UN financial aid in helping capture him the 'Wizard of the Nile' remains at large and with the abundant availability of gold, minerals, timber and diamonds in the DRC – Uganda produced 11,000 carats of diamonds in 1998 despite not having any fields of its own – just how actively he is being pursued is a question of some debate; a topic that is covered in depth by Jane Bussman (see right hand side)

Although in the film there may be some clear similarities with the true rebel leader, the same cannot be said for the location of Mbale. The film's deep lush rain forest location is a million miles from the flat Savannah plains that surround and include the region that shares its name with the main city at the base of the foothills of Mt Elgon; one of the tallest volcanic prominence's in the country. After three and a half hours at the wheel, passing through small villages and towns that have sprung up along the new tarmac ribbon threading its way between Iganga and Mbale, I rolled to a stop in the town centre surrounded by old colonial buildings that, beneath their new gloss of old election posters, sang of the towns' 1950's boom time. As I mentioned, I was here to visit a new Tag Rugby site, an old rugby ground that hasn't been graced by a spin-pass, drop kick or thumping tackle in the last 40 years. Under the shadow of the impressive Bufombo Hills, looking somewhat similar to a Ugandan Table Mountain, I spoke to some local farmers who confirmed - in fairly comic renditions - that indeed the Muzungus once played here, but since the 70's the only thing that has stood in these leveled fields has been wheat and cattle. The site is a great one, perfect for rugby and with that stunning view I hope that the Trust can raise enough finances to create their goal so that I can come back and watch/play some games at the rejuvenated ground.

For photos that follow this blog & the rest of our time in East Africa. Follow the Flickr link;

http://www.flickr.com/photos/talesfromabodaboda/

The Two Best Things to come out of the West Midlands

When you think of the Midlands, the West Midlands especially, there are certain things that spring to mind; the proximity to the Welsh border, the dirty industrial Black Country, the congested M6 and that unforgettable Brummy accent (sorry Skidders). Now as anyone who has bothered to visit will know, a few things have changed for the better since the end of the industrial revolution and the construction of the M6 Toll – aside from that ‘lovely’ dialect – but thankfully there are two exports that are truly British and that will forever be from the West Midlands; Rugby and Land Rovers! No matter which new pretender has eyes on the Rugby crown every four years, or which new multi-national tries to turn a profit on that iconic vehicle design, these are two inventions that will always have MADE IN ENGLAND proudly stamped on them. Both might have breathed their first breaths just miles apart, but it wasn't on those wet, cold and muddy Warwarkshire fields that they both excelled, no it was further from home 8,000 miles away or there abouts, in the deserts, jungles and plains of Africa is where both of these famous exports have been tested to the max., where they have found their spiritual homes;

Now over 60 years old the Land Rover has changed little since its invention just moments after the end of the War and they has been synonymous with Police and Military units around the World and used by everyone from the British SAS and the Royal Family to Fidel Castro on that funny Carribbean island. It is in the heart of the Dark Continent however that the brand has proved its metal; the vehicle of choice for many taking part in the Paris – Dakar, the Camel Trophy expeditions, the Cape to Cairo Overlanders or even scattered across the Serengeti plains piled high with camera laden tourists. It’s not just the West that loves the Landy though as I found out recently as I surfed the internet and trawled the classified sections of the local papers. Despite the lack of dealers and spare parts in Uganda, the locals certainly have a certain love of the old colonial work horse. After a few weeks searching I stumbled upon a beautiful 110 Defender through a recently acquired fellow Land Rover enthusiast and met up with them in the car park of a deserted South African chain store on a sunny Sunday afternoon to check it out. Armed with a hammer, torch and screw driver and full to the ears with recently gained knowledge on how to properly check the inevitable rust of the steel chassis, I watched as the green beauty honed into view. While speaking to Amos the owner, I kicked the tyres, checked the history and wiggled under the beast for a closer inspection. The first emotion was shock, shock at the state of it; not a single spot of rust or patch repair to be found, and on inspection a close to perfect engine bay too. Without wanting to get too visibly excited I took her for a spin, almost willing for something to go wrong for this just seemed too good to be true! Sure enough there was one problem - the electrics, however as the owner has just completed a full re-spray this was purely due to the fact that they hadn’t been reconnected yet. Now things could and possibly will go wrong in the future. The old girl might cough and splutter from time to time. She may even need an overnight stay at a friendly mechanic, but this is a Land Rover at the end of the day and that's part of her charm. So until that day...where do I sign?

Now I count myself pretty lucky as a Rugby fan, to have been privileged enough to attend the school where the sport was invented and played on the hallowed turf where a snotty school boy basically cheated in a game of School Football, flaunting the rules by picking up the ball and running with it. The game took some time to get established and it wasn’t until the 1980’s that the first World Cup came around, but as soon as it touched down on the shores of Africa it seemed to mutate and propagate into a much larger monster. Since about 1875 rugby has been played on this continent in some form or other but it wasn’t until 1891 that England arrived to play their first game against a 'Bokke' team organised from the local clubs by an expat Rugby School boy and financed by Cecil Rhodes himself. The outcome of the 19 games may well have been a little one sided to the English, but that was soon to change as time rolled on and the Old Dutch got a hold of the sport. Well over a hundred years has passed since those days and the continent can now boast two World Cup victories – one of which arguably helped bring a country together and end Apartheid, – numerous Lions series wins and plenty of World class players. As the game grows across the World it is starting to develop in less well known African rugby playing countries. Kenya is becoming a great sevens team that can match the best Fijians on the day, while Uganda also appears to be pulling up its socks, narrowly missing out on a change to make the 2011 World Cup two years ago. This weekend however they were face up against the Zimbabweans in the Africa Cup. The Ugandans were winners of the Cup in 2007 and after watching their recent training session on the other half of the pitch I was playing touch on this week, let’s hope 'The Cranes' don’t stay under the international radar for long. 2015 World Cup could well be up for grabs, especially if the IRB allocate more slots to this rapidly developing Rugby Continent. As for now; let’s go the Cranes!

It's just not Cricket!

(Parental warning – some passages within this blog may appear distressing at first, don't worry it's all perfectly safe)

Even for Africa the news of the last month or so has it appeared made it to the front page of the BBC website. Well the African section at least, it would be hard to knock Wills and Kate off the top spot even with the ceremony well and truly over. For those of you that haven't made it past the addictive tales of dresses and theorems on potential honeymoon destinations there has been some political unheaval that you might have missed down here in Kampala, between two old friends; the incumbent President Museveni (M7) and his old physician Besigwe. After winning his fourth election, by 'lending' a large part of the Ugandan economy to the voters, Besigwe has been spearheading the protests against the government and the high fuel prices by walking to work and finding himself on the wrong side of water cannons filled with pink water and people the police administering large doses of liquid tear gas/pepper spray. Not surprising that he had to head to Nairobi for some treatment and possible R&R!

While he was away M7 took the opportunity to go shopping for some new toys to celebrate his fourth inauguration. With he remainder of the budget he decided it would be prudent to spend on six new, well 40 year old, Russian fighter jets. Before you ask of course this wasn't for the ceremony, no, according to the Minister of State for Defence “we don't live in an enemy free neighborhood.” As I watched the pilots – Russians too – practicing on the day before I couldn't help cast my mind back to the last few shopping trips the Ugandan government went on. In short, Uganda doesn't have the strongest history in this area. In the 90's the army procured four helicopters, spares and ammunition at a snip for $12 Million. On delivery it was found they couldn't fly. Early, a consignment of guns and uniforms were ordered from South Korea along with 90 tanks from Bulgaria – ten of the tanks were operational, the guns malfunctioned and the khakis...they were undersized...no surprise there though they were from Asia. But my personal favourite has to be the other MiG fighter jets previously bought from the Red Army as they arrived on the lovely red earth with one wing, no spare parts and no bomb loading capacity.

So with Museveni organising a large party in the city and Besigwe set to return returning from Kenya to a hero's welcome, I decided the best course of action would be to get out of the city and play golf. 18 holes later, on a pleasantly surprising golf course that was completed abandoned, aside from the caddies that practically lynched us in the car park as we arrived, we headed back up the Entebbe road for the usual 40min drive back to Kampala...only we didn't expect the defeated and downtrodden opposition leader to be holding up traffic taking six hours to drive and wave the 40km. With him travelling in one direction and the returning diplomatic guests from friendly African nations travelling in the other – including Zimbabwe's Mugabe who was no doubt here to hand over a neck tie to the '25 Year Club' to M7 – the plan of getting back in daylight slowly dissolved...not unlike the stability of the crowd as we neared the infamous clock tower roundabout.

The first of the tear gas rolled into the open window without much reaction but well before I had chance to close it. In a manoeuvre McGuiver would have been proud of, I snatched off a sock and used it to cover my nose and mouth sacrificing my eyes to the slight peppery burning sensation. Aside from the unpleasantness this was pretty exciting; my first tear gassing experience. From the safety of the car I had a pretty good view of the scenes just a few hundreds meters down the road in the heart of the riot. The traffic police, military police, general police and anti-terrorist police, all in their distinctive and varied combat colours were moving in with the usual excessive force launching more tear gas, spraying plenty of strange coloured liquid and firing rubber bullets into the crowd. Had it been a little earlier in the afternoon I would have been more worried. Despite the large number of people running past the windows, shouting in fairly jovial spirits, about how this was 'the start of another Egypt,' how 'the loyal Ugandan was going to rise up against the government as they had hundreds of miles north.' Don't get me wrong there is definitely a change in the air, especially in M7 goes about this the wrong way, but part of me I can't help but see the slightly funny side of the rioting. Over the last month or so, the riots seem to have followed a similar patten; they don't start till late morning, they die down for a period at lunchtime, stop when it rains and finish as the light gets bad. If we were in any other commonwealth country this could be mistaken for a good old game of cricket...with tear gas canisters and switch sticks replacing the more traditional equipment.

My new ‘South of France’

Awoken at an ungodly hour to the sound of a storm raging through the Kampala dark, my first visitor Helen (on her reconnaissance ‘Look and See’ trip) and I woke, grabbed our bags and passports and made our way through the early morning gloom to find Dennis our Special (taxi) driver. Rushing down the Entebbe road dodging Bodas, Matatus, people walking to work and fallen trees the sun swung up into the sky as if shot from an Dark Ages Trebuchet and illuminated our Air Uganda jet waiting for us at the very quiet gate. Shortly after clambering aboard and paying, probably far too little, attention to the inflight safety demonstration, we were airborne over Lake Victoria and its many islands headed south-east to the azure shores of the Indian Ocean. The pilot threading his way between Mt Kenya (“to your left…”) and the snow clad Mt Kilimanjaro (“...to your right”) before touching down on the sunny and exotic Spice Island of Zanzibar, thankfully free from the high season tourist mobs and, strangely enough, the weather that keeps them away. The sun beat down on us as we snorkelled in the warm clear blue waters, tore across the island on a Vespa and hunted for bargains in the tight ancient walls of Stonetown under a haze of cloves and other numerous spices on sale in the bustling market. Aside from the weather and the seafood, one of the highlights of the week had to be the dolphin tour which turned into more of a mix between a frantic hunt for our aquatic relative and a military boot camp. Where at a brief sighting of a dolphin we would be commanded to put on our flippers and masks and “get ready, get ready!” to jump/roll into the water and ‘swim’ with them…while they fed at high speed. As the waters above them suddenly became overpopulated with strange land mammals they quickly made the option between playing or feeding and obviously didn’t hang around for long, whereon we were ordered back onto the speedboat for the cycle to start once more. While in Stonetown the locals are used to fleecing the American tourists and can be a constant pest, out of the town Zanzibruns…Zanzibians…Zanzibarians are nearly as friendly as Ugandans, offering to show you around (not always at a price) or chatting away to you (in Swahi-lish) while you are cramped into the corner of a tiny Dalla-Dalla island bus between two ladies of larger proportions while balancing their shopping on your lap. However don't be worried if you spot the unusual sight of a Masai warrior cycling along the dazzling white beach with a mobile phone clamped to his ear, you haven't had too much sun!

A Short Journey to Ghana

Back in the UK there has and there will always be a slight hatred for the planning process and more often than not, the people granting it. Well let me tell you now that the UK, including trying to build anything in an area of outstanding beauty, has nothing on Uganda! In a country where many people see the guys in charge as nothing but a "bunch of crooks," change seems to be in the air; a new Muzungu (white man) has been elected into one of the lower council positions, plenty of money has been coming in with the influx of new and old Ugandan Asians and the local councils have had a shake up with deputies taking top jobs and wanting instant results. This has led to one of the largest projects in Kampala, possibly the country as a whole, finally being given the go ahead 14 months after the planning application was issued. All this means that the construction of Kingdom Kampala including the new Intercontinental Hotel will be breaking ground as of this week and who knows, maybe even the President himself will be swapping his sunhat for a hard hat at the ground breaking ceremony?

It's safe to say that there is a lot of construction happening across the city. Everywhere you look there seems to be a crane being installed or concrete being poured - most often held up by the local gumpole timber 'scaffolding' and there is definitely a lot occurring that would rush the health and safety officer back home to hospital with heart palpitations. As I mentioned a lot of this construction is financed or led by Ugandan Asians, many of whom were sent packing by Idi Amin in the 80's and who have returned to buy up large tracks of the city and either develop large office blocks or in the case of my last site visit, even larger private houses for them and their families. Up near the summit of Kololo hill, one of the wealthiest areas of the city I found myself being given a tour of one of these...monstrosities; a 6,000 square foot (1.5 acres in old money) five bedroom (yes just five) house complete with a spa, cinema, 2 bedroom guest house and room for a 500 person banquet. One thing it did have going for it was the view though, however after taking us around the inside the prospective owner told us that we had to see it from the front before we left and so cool as anything he led us straight through the gates of the neighbouring Consulate of Ghana for just that. If I'm honest I wasn't quite sure on the whole legality of this foray and it was with some trepidation, nervous glances and general feeling of uneasiness that this could be the start of yet another African international incident that I followed. All I can report is that I'm glad I'm not from Ghana in that the view of this house will not only be imposing but also pretty God awful...where money can buy influential friends it certainly can't buy taste that's for sure.

A Fortnight of Firsts

The first few weeks in a new country are always the times where you are over awed with new sights, sounds and experiences, but I can tell that with Uganda this will certainly be longer than the first few weeks. The Ugandans up to now have been among the friendliest people I've met from any of my travels, so welcoming and good natured just wanting to get on with everything. There has been a huge increase in the development of the country and in particular Kampala, with plenty of foreign investment pouring in avoiding the historical stepping stone of Nairobi to fund construction. However with all this investment it would appear that there has been very little set aside for transport and the state of the roads or the countries power. Which is why in my first nine days I experienced no less than evening 3 power cuts and my first drive around the city, in an attempt to establish which roads led where, was up and down pot-holes the size of paddling pools and into and back out of dirt tracks and dead-end roads in the heart of town. One of which led me up one of the many hills in the city to the gates of a Military compound. Luckily for me the guard at the time was too busy chatting up three ladies of questionable morals to care and just returned my wave as I performed a rapid three point turn and pointed the car back down the hill.

However there are also the great experiences and discoveries that come out of initial settling in weeks. Suffering from my first Ugandan hangover in the 31 degree heat, I was invited to a late lunch down on the lake at a place called Ggaba point; the landing site of all the fish from Lake Victoria in Kampala. Winding through the streets and around the aforementioned potholes we parked up next to the street side fish auctioneers' wooden shacks and crossed the road to sample some of the freshest grilled fish on offer. There's certainly something to be said for eating fish amoungst the locals, that minutes before had been flapping around in the bottom of a fisherman's canoe, with your fingers and polishing off another ice cold beer beside the bustling peer side. So filled to busting with beer and fish I hopped onto a method of transport that the Ugandans have turned to and embraced to beat the developing traffic crisis affecting the city for another first; my first ride on a Boda Boda motorbike 'taxi'...helmets optional!

Arrival and local customs

It is a well-known fact that Uganda has the highest consumption of alcohol in Africa along with the highest birth rate; fifty per cent of the population is under 17! Both of these stats are clearly seen on the drive from the airport into the city, with plenty of roadside bars pumping out local music and local patrons until 7am. I think it’s safe to say Kampala is a place where people know how to enjoy themselves. It didn’t take long for me to experience this as I was collected from the airport by Nigel, a Director of the engineering company that I’ll be joining for the next two years; FBW Kampala. No sooner had we made it into the city limits than a house party had been located and so after just over an hour from touching down at the dark and relatively deserted airport at Entebbe, I was sat on the porch of a new colleague with a bottle of Nile lager in one hand, my passport in the other and my bags in the car.

Thankfully after the days travel by 1am the beer supply had run dry and I was dropped at my new home for the next three months; a fairly basic room equipped with just a, surprisingly comfortable, double bed one floor below my new office in Muyenga. Although the facilities might be basic the commute was non-existent, which in a city like Kampala with some of the worst traffic in the World makes quite a difference to the first day of work. After a few hours sleep, Nigel once again collected me from the office/flat and we headed down to the jetty at the fancy Commonwealth Hotel Resort on Lake Victoria. There we climbed aboard his speedboat with his fiancé and two dogs and sped out across Murchison Bay and the Equator towards his weekend retreat on the island of Bulago, fully equipped with the essentials – plenty of beer and wine.

The Lake itself isn’t tidal, however when the wind picks up during the middle of the day the waves follow suit, however at 9.30am on the way over the water was as flat as a pond and the boat shot across the surface past a few small fishing canoes and curved into their private bay where we were met by George the incumbent security guard who, like the other 15 or so private security guards in the other houses on Bulago, calls the island his temporary home. With plenty of alcohol we went off on an island tour aboard quad bikes visiting the islands grass airstrip, local sand spit (that was being loaded into another canoe one spade at a time to be used in the construction of a new island lodge) and ended up in the pool of another English ex-war reporters' residence on the North of the island. Once again with the alcohol depleted and wind dropping we jumped aboard the boat and headed out towards Kampala with the sun setting in the West. However with just a couple of miles to go the engine cut out; in dire need of more fuel. With the light gone the frantic waving of a small red light attracted the attention of the other boat on their Sunday evening return journey to the City, skippered by a crazy Dutch man who thankfully had enough spare fuel for us. After filling up and without further troubles we were soon skimming across the dark water through the pitch black night like two drug runners, heading home.