Sunday, October 18th 2009

Sunday, October 18th 2009

When I awoke today I was told the power and water were out. Lovely. That explains why my fan went off at 5:00 in the morning. Imagine living somewhere where power and water are out several times a week for several hours at a time (today the power was out almost 12 hours). It’s a real nuisance and that’s why I’m researching the cost of purchasing a generator for the house.
I hung around and read some more of Andy Pausch’s book. Barbara walked in.
“Joe? Where’s Joe?”
“Here Barbara.”
“Are you ready for the baptism?”
Oh yeah. I had forgotten about that. Apparently a woman I’d never met had seen me in Edith’s restaurant (the local place across the street) and heard I was a nice guy and invited me to her daughter’s baptism. I had agreed to go.
Barbara and I walked across the street and up a steep dirt embankment to a skeleton building that was still being built. The walls were not in place, there were no windows, there were still construction beams all over the place. We walked up two flights of stairs and into a room that overlooked the Buziga compound and had about a dozen plastic sitting chairs in it. I was introduced to everyone there and they were quite happy I actually came. It was an interesting disparity in the room. The women all wore elegant dresses with high, padded shoulders (customary Ugandan dress) and high heels…but they were sitting in a dusty, half-constructed room on plastic chairs. They didn’t lose their sense of elegancy though – in fact they looked supremely elegant.
I sat down next to the father of the baptized girl. He wore a Konzu (traditional Ugandan formal wear for men). He told me Buziga is one of the richest towns in Kampala. Yoweri Museveni’s daughter lives there as do a lot of government officials…including spies. Yes that’s right - spies. Apparently Museveni employs spies to check up on the opposition. The position is dangerous so the spies are well paid (hence they can afford to live in Buziga).
We spoke about New York and the price disparity between our two countries and those two cities. I told him it was comparatively cheap for me to come to Uganda, but it would be expensive for him to come to New York. I told him a cup of coffee from Starbucks costs 6,000 USH ($3) and he nearly fell out of his seat. Its about 2,400 USH ($1.20) for 2 people to eat in the restaurant I met these people. I also told him the plane ticket would cost 3,600,000 USH ($1,800) and again he nearly fell out of his chair. He said he still wanted to visit but would need to save a long, long time.
After we spoke I sat back in my chair just soaking in the environment.
Every couple of minutes the father would look at me.
“Are you bored?”
“No sebbo. Just enjoying the moment – thank you.”
“Okay.”
After a few minutes they offered me a soda, which is quite a gesture for someone they’d never met before. I felt bad after we had our discussion about NYC prices. He clearly had less money than I but was the one buying me a soda.
After everyone finished their soda it was time to eat. The food had been cooked beforehand by Edith and Winifred in their restaurant across the street.
The group let the mzungu guest go first. Someone brought a jerry can of water and a woman poured it over my hands before I went to the food table.
There were MASSIVE plates of food siting on the table. All pre-loaded with an abundance of traditional Ugandan food – rice, beans, matoke, g nut sauce, beef and chicken. The plate was huge.
Barbara looked at my face, “You know you have to finish the whole thing, right?”
Gulp.
I didn’t finish the whole thing, but I came close. Everything was good (except for the chicken which tasted like burned plastic).
I met Linda, the baptism girl, after I had finished my plate. She wore a white confirmation-looking dress with a white bow around her midsection. It reminded me of the dress the girl in crutches wore at the Mulogo cancer ward. She also wore a pair of patent leather white dress shoes with broken buckles. They were probably circa 1970 – but they were cute and she wore them like they were brand new.
Linda walked around with a bucket for people to give gifts after lunch. Being the uncivilized barbarian I am I hadn’t thought to get a gift before hand.
“Can I give money?” I asked Barbara.
“That’s fine.”
I gave Linda 20,000 ($10) and that seemed to be a generous gift judging by the look on their faces. US $ goes a long way out here.
After gift collection the group offered me a choice between two beverages: coke and werenji (local gin that could strip the chrome off a door handle) or local sherry wine. I opted for the wine and it was sweet and nice.
At that point I’d been at the baptism for over two hours. I thanked everyone and excused myself.
Got home and STILL NO POWER. Sigh.
Angelica, Morgan, John and Maggie said they were going to Fang Fang Chinese restaurant near the Garden City shopping mall. Afterwards they said they were going to see Ndere Troupe which is a famous group that dances traditional Ugandan dances. I decided to go with them.
We all took a matatu to Kabalagala and then Angelica was responsible for getting us a special hire to Fang Fang.
“John – stay FAR away when I am bartering with the special hire.” She said.
“Why?” He asked.
“Because you look like a rich mzungu and they’ll rip us all off!”
It’s very true. Even when I travel with Ugandans the boda boda and matatu drivers will try to rip us off. They assume anyone that’s even friendly with or associated with a mzungu has a lot of money.
At Fang Fang we were escorted to the VIP suite (not sure why). After we sat down Angelica started speaking to our waitress in Mandarin Chinese. Umm…what?!
You learn something new about these people every day. Angelica studied Chinese for four years and spent a year in China during college. I was impressed.
During dinner I learned more about this mysterious Morgan character. Morgan is 22, has a gravelly voice and looks like he could be a James Dean double in a movie. His story is one of the most fascinating I’ve come across yet. He was a high-school drop out who ended up going to community college for two years to get an associates degree. After getting his associates degree he went on a couple adventures. He drove across country with his girlfriend. He drove back across the country on his motorcycle. He moved to Alaska where he spent a year as a commercial fisherman. When he came back to Amherst he became friendly with a couple of professors that took a liking to him. These five professors urged the board of admissions to accept Morgan even though he’d never even taken the SAT’s and Amherst is arguably the best liberal arts college in the country. Amherst accepted him and he began going to school there majoring in “African studies.”
Also at around this time Morgan began as a teachers assistant (I think) for a kindergarten class. John McDermott’s granddaughter took a real liking to him and somehow he and John were introduced. John heard of Morgan’s interest in Africa and thus began their relationship. A few years later they were sitting in the heart of Africa over a Chinese dinner. Hmm.
Morgan was in Africa to work with groups that attempt to reform children soldiers.
“Does it work?” John asked him.
“Its hard – these kids are used to literally getting what they want. If they want a woman they will rape her. If they want your money they will take it. If they don’t like you they’ll kill you. Its hard to get that mentality out of someone’s mind once its hardwired in there.” He paused. “Furthermore, we’re trying to reintegrate children into towns where they murdered and raped countless people. Its hard for the remaining villagers to understand that these boys are victims too.”
I asked Morgan if my understanding of child soldier induction was correct (again, only my loyal readers will know the induction. All else please read September 25th posting). He said it was basically correct but that instead of injecting black tar heroin into young boys they actually slice the boys arm and put a layer of “brown brown” into the cut. “Brown Brown” is, get this, GUN POWDER and CRACK COCAINE mixed together. After putting gun powder and crack cocaine into the wound they cover it with a leaf and off the boy goes. They also take brown brown before battles. Sheesh…who needs red bull anymore?
Morgan was going between the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Uganda and Sudan working with these soldiers and trying to bring them back into mainstream Ugandan life. He had initially been stationed in Gulu (northern province of Uganda bordering Sudan) and he explained that his first night there there were gunshots and bombs exploding (note: there is some discussion about whether guns and bombs were going off in battle or whether they were being discarded. I don’t know which version is correct. All I know is that they went off).
After he’s done in Africa Morgan is moving to China where he’ll work on human rights issues for children.
More on Morgan later.
The rest of the dinner conversation was interesting. I discovered that a lot of people think that Joseph Kony and Museveni are actually collaborating together and need each other. What do I mean by this…One of Museveni’s sticking points is that without his leadership Uganda would crumble to Joseph Kony’s LRA (Lords Resistance Army). By having the Joseph Kony monster under the bed, Museveni can perpetuate the fear that when he’s removed from office no one will protect Uganda. Many Ugandans believe this. There are, however, other Ugandans that feel that Joseph Kony is no longer alive. He’s a ghost kept alive to scare the people of Uganda into compliance. I don’t know the answer – but it seems anything is plausible with that man. Joseph Kony is the face of evil in Uganda. He’s the boogeyman – the name parents invoke when trying to scare children. The enemy of Uganda.

If you want to read about him:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Kony

Dinner was good. For desert we had this oddly delicious soup with balls of warm tapioca and cold watermelon. Weird but good. Never had warm soup for desert.
Outside Angelica argued with another special hire to take us to the Ndere Troupe. We finally got one (after much gamesmanship and walking away several times).
I was fascinated with this Morgan character who seemed to have no fear in life.
“Do you believe in God?” I asked him. I often find that people who are unafraid of death are either acutely religious or unabashedly atheist. I was curious which he was.
“I don’t believe in the typical notion of God, but, yeah, I believe something is watching over me on my journeys.”
Afterwards we discussed the death of religion in America and the vibrancy of religion in Uganda. We discussed co-workers and other networks as replacing church groups in America. Replacing worship of God with worship of money and materialistic pursuits. Religion as something only being a tool to explain the unexplainable – the more advanced the society, ostensibly the higher the understanding of evolution and other scientific truisms, and thus a lower reliance on religion.
We also discussed the death of “communities” in America. Towns like Floral Park – where there is a school across the street, a bakery two blocks away, a couple different worship places, a town grocery store, a pizza store…a network where you know and care for your neighbors also seems to be going the route of the dinosaurs. Communities. Networks. Relationships are all being decayed by big box retailers, the urban crawl, technology, etcetera. I mentioned a study I read that noted the inverse correlation between the number of friends you have on Facebook and your ability to interact in social settings. We all discussed a lot of random things.
We arrived at the Ndere Troupe show. It cost 10,000 USH ($5) and was really enjoyable. It was a comedy routine interspersed with tribal dances from various provinces of Uganda. The dancing was enjoyable – a lot of “belly dancing” type stuff. There was also an act where women balanced up to 6 POTS on their head while dancing and singing.
Morgan turned to me, “Do you marry the girl with the most pots or do you marry the girl that doesn’t break any after the show?”
Hmm – good question. I think the one that doesn’t break any pots.
The comedy was funny at times, but they dwelled on poking fun at the customs of the different tribes in Uganda and a lot of it was lost on me (and the group as a whole).
http://www.ndere.com/
Towards the end our friend Peter showed up. Peter is known as the “smartest man in Uganda.” He is from the UK and is in Uganda developing their transportation system. He speaks several languages…oh yeah, he’s also one of the best salsa dancers in Kampala.
After the show we called Max to come pick us up. He was a half hour away so we had some more interesting conversation.
Morgan admitted he doesn’t want to live long. He said he’d be happy to get another 10 years of life.
“I want to work with reformed children soldiers, then I want to do advocacy work and then I want to fight the groups that abduct children. I imagine my career will end there.”
Hmm.
“So you’re going for a James Dean, ‘Life fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse type thing?’”
“Basically.” He said. “Besides, I’m sure something will catch up to me before then. The drinking. The smoking. I have lime disease which destroyed my entire nervous system. I lose feeling in my arms occasionally.”
I suppose he’d been through a lot in 22 years on this earth.
“Why are you here?” He asked.
“I wanted to do something positive with my skills while I can.” I said. “And I’ve sacrificed an awful lot to do so.”
I told him about my failed engagement. Leaving Morgan Stanley (for a bit). Putting my education on hold. Being away from friends and family. Wow. It’s a lot. Africa has taken a pound of flesh from me but given me much more in return.
That was the extent of my conversation with Morgan. He, like our French photographer Gael, left an impression on me. Its not often you meet people who are brutally unapologetic about their life. A part of his bravado will remain with me.
Sometimes it feels like I’m meeting people that address flaws within my own psyche. I meet them, albeit briefly, for a reason.
Afterwards I was so tired I fell asleep in back of Mad Max’s car. On the way home we stopped at Garden City to pick up Maggie and her friends Lindsay and Jodie. Jodie is working in Kenya and Lindsday is visiting for a month.
We picked them up and zipped through the quiet, Sunday night streets of Kampala.
“Wake up Joe. We’re home.”
And so we were.