Tugende!

(Tugende! : "let's go!" -- what I say to Jonny when I hop on the back of the boda-boda)

I’ve been meaning to mention Prossie, a girl my age who I met on only my third day in Uganda. I had a lovely time talking with her, and I was really amused at the “American” phenomenons that she asked me about, such as rushhour traffic, the Pentagon, camping, and picnics. She asked me if I like exploring and climbing mountains. “Well yes, in fact, I do!” What else does she learn is “American”, I wonder? I told her I was excited to try the fruit in Uganda (the pineapple rocks, the mangos are awesome), and she explained that her favorite was “wotahmerron” (not quite having adjusted to the accent, it took me a minute to figure out what she meant).

She also asked me about the taxis in America—“can you fit 18 people in your taxis?” Ha. You see, there is no public transportation system in Uganda, even in the large capital city Kampala. Instead of having bus routes, the roads are overwhelmed with VW-van-like taxis. Other than being painted with a blue checkered strip that runs along the side of the van and a blue T inside a circle which designates the registered vehicle, all taxis are privately owned.

I had to explain that our taxis were much different than the Uganda taxi vans which have four rows that can each fit up to 4 grown people, not including the front bench with the driver. While capacity is officially (and legally) 18, many more children can fit in there when piled on the accompanying adult’s lap. Our friend David recently was in a taxi which broke his record from personal experience—24 people. And that wasn’t including the chickens—inside the taxi. (Seriously?)

.............


Recently two girls from our group were traveling on a boda-boda when a Ugandan police officer pulled the boda-boda driver over. The Ugandan officer was very friendly with the girls, asking them if they were enjoying their time in Uganda. “You know, two passengers at a time are not allowed on a boda-boda, why do you not want to take two separate bodas?” This is the first any of us have ever heard about multiple riders being illegal—like I have mentioned in other posts, I’ve seen entire families on the bodas, and even livestock being transported on laps (desperate times, desperate measures, I guess). The girls explained that he was a contracted driver they had hired for the day, and that they preferred to travel together. The friendly Uganda-copper didn’t give them much of a hard time, but wished them a safe journey and let them go on their way. Later when one of the girls was telling her host family about the event, they explained that the copper had been especially nice since she’s a white person. In fact, apparently Museveni, the current president of Uganda, recently passed a law which includes a 6 month penalty of imprisonment for “frustrating and investor.”
“What the heck does that mean?” I asked.
“Upsetting a Muzungu (white person).”
Woah. I was so stunned I didn't know what to say.

Now that's what I call a double-stuffed oreo!

5.14.08

Everyday when I come home, I run up the stairs to the bathroom sink to wash my hands finally with some soap. I am always amazed so see the streams of brown running down the white porcelain into the drain. I just can’t ever seem to get clean here. Our shower has such low water pressure that it is barely more than a trickle, so I seem to perpetually retain that Ugandan clay caked into my skin.


So, the moment that takes the cake today: After arriving at our first school this morning only to be told that none of the administrators were around for us to talk with (which itself is a frequent event), a teacher offered to accompany us back into the town from which we came—a few kilometers away—since none of them could be reached by telephone. Usually when this happens, we have the teacher explain in Luganda to our boda-boda driver how to arrive at the destination in question. I’m not sure exactly why this didn’t happen this time, but for some reason, the teacher needed to come along in order to guide us directly to where an administrator might be. Here was the problem: we came by boda-boda, Landon and I. Boda-boda capacity is typically 3, including the driver, although this rule, just like any other in Africa, is relative—sometimes you’ll see entire family crammed on to them, for example, a brother, mama holding a baby, the driver, and a small child in front. Yesterday two of my research colleagues saw a cow being transported by boda-boda on someone’s lap. I honestly couldn’t picture this, even after they had described it to me. Apparently the cow was not happy.
Anyway, we had a slight predicament, and Landon asked if I would prefer to stay behind at the school and wait or go with the teacher on the boda-boda. Then teacher-man piped up,
“we cahn mahnage!”
Landon and I were both confused.
“On the boda-boda?”
“Yes, we cahn mahnage!”
We made our way over to the boda-boda and when teacher-man proposed his idea to the driver, he didn’t blink an eye—just swung his leg over the saddle and kick-started the engine.
“The madam fahst, please.” Teacher-man gestured to me. So I got on, followed by Landon, and teacher-man somehow “managed” to squeeze himself in on the back. I really don’t know how we all fit on there, and we were definitelycrammedtogetherlikesardines. I’m talking full-body contact and keeping your head to one side only. Landon and I were both stunned and laughed out of disbelief as we started going forward.
Then came Landon’s funniest line all day:
“Now this is what I call a double-stuffed oreo!”
!
All things considered, we got off to a smooth start. But we couldn’t have gone more than about 2 km before there was some sort of popping noise, some grunting from teacher-man, and Landon’s subsequent yelps to stop. Actually, I’m not sure which came first, it was all coming from behind me and I clearly did not know what was going on. Turns out teacher-man’s shoe had gotten caught in the spokes of the back wheel, and we had gotten a flat tire. We all got off the bike. I told you boda-boda capacity was 3. We walked the rest of the way into town.

Speaking of boda-boda adventures….
Africa has made it’s mark on me. Quite literally. Last week as I dismounted the boda-boda after a long ride home, my leg ever-so-lightly brushed the exhaust pipe. YEOUCH! Now I’m sporting a nice pink burn the size of two quarters on the back of my calf. I’m already anticipating being asked about my future scar: “Where did I get it? Oh you know, just from riding around on a boda-boda in Africa, no big deal.”

Ah, this is too good:
A few days ago, Lauren happened to see someone wearing a Texas shirt, and commented that it made her feel close to home. One of the other research assistants said, “Actually, you couldn’t be farther. In fact if you tried to get any farther, you’d be closer!”