'Going Native', Xrays and Male Nudity

The other day was fantastic. I went with an NGO based on the outskirts of Gulu whilst they went to buy drums for their music-therapy course they do for former abductees. This involved driving for about an hour and a half north from Gulu. After around 50 minutes the roads ran out, and we were driving through grass taller than the car along mud paths that had been made by people walking over them; there wasn’t a road when we got there, but after the van had ploughed through there certainly was. We eventually stopped by a dense forest. After a few beeps of the horn, a man in tattered shorts emerged from the woods and greeted us all. He then led us through the bushes and trees into the forest, eventually emerge at a clearing with three huts in it. He said something in Acholi which was translated to me as “welcome to my village”. I was then asked if we had villages in England! “Not like this” I said!

The sole inhabitants of this ‘village’ were the man in the shorts, his two wives who were busy making local alcohol called Uragi, made from Potatoes, Sorghum, Cassava and other root vegetables, and his 6 children, all with massive protruding stomachs, which I presume was from their having worms or some sort of malnourishment. The NGO people chatted for a while in Acholi and numerous drums made from hollowed out pumpkins were bought. One of the wives bought me a glass of the alcohol she was brewing. I was a little wary of trying it as I had read stories in the news about people going blind or dying from drinking local moonshine, but I didn’t want to offend and drank some. It was like being punched in the face it was so strong, and my nose began to run! It was also warm, and so all in all, combined to make a fairly unpleasant experience! We sat around for a while whilst the NGO workers tried out the various drums and the children stared at me fascinated. The area was so remote I wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t seen a white person before.

On Thursday I arrived in Mbale, South Eastern Uganda, near the Kenyan border. The journey took 8 hours by bus and involved the man next to me constantly falling asleep on my shoulder. I reached the hotel my friend Frank was staying at, but he was at work, so I asked the receptionist for directions to town. He insisted one of the staff would take me, and so I ended up with an impromptu guided tour of the town. Turns out my guide is also one of the DJs at Mbale’s only nightclub, and I have now have free entry for life at the club (admittedly its only 80p to get in anyway, but the gesture was impressive).

Mbale is beautiful with a looming mountain forming the backdrop for the town. It is spacious, green and considerably less dusty and grimy than Gulu. It has supermarkets, many large shops and a feeling of prosperity. Also, my hotel room has hot water, so I had a warm shower for the first time since July 12th! We met up with Frank in the evening and had some drinks at a really nice bar with a swimming pool, nice grounds and numerous pool tables (all of which worked, had cloth on, and had more than one cue, thus making them a huge improvement on Gulu’s offerings!). However, sitting with 5 people from Southern Uganda, I discovered firsthand some of the views of the Acholi and the Northern Ugandan people I had been hearing and reading about. One person said, after asking me what Gulu was like, “I fear the Acholi, they are very much fear for me”. I said they are very friendly people and he seemed unbelieving and laughed. Another person said that the in the north “the people are primitive”, and she cannot visit because the men will rape her.


Later on, as we were leaving another bar, I trod on a step that was broken and turned my ankle. It swelled up hugely and the pain was fairly immense, so after 20 minutes sitting on the street I decided to visit a clinic. It so happened that the wall I was sitting against belonged to the only clinic still open in Mbale which was a stroke of luck. The doctor told me he suspected it was dislocated or fractured but no X-ray facilities were available until morning, and thus he wanted to give me Intravenous painkillers and I should come back in the morning. It wasn’t the cleanest clinic I’d ever seen in my life and so I declined the injections and took painkiller tablets, which were amazing! I felt fantastic after they kicked in, I may bring some back to sell in the UK!!

The next morning after no sleep due to the pain I went back for an X-ray, riding the motorbike with only one leg, and every bump it went over causing shooting pain up my leg. The doctor sent me for an X-ray which was down the street, so I had to hop down the road, supported by my tour guide from the day before (who was amazing, having stayed with me the whole time while I was at the doctors and constantly rubbed my head saying “you will be ok, you will be fine”). Needless to say the site of a Mzungu hopping down the street was fascinating to everyone I passed and so yet again I provided inadvertent comedy for the Ugandans! I waited for around an hour for the X-ray person to turn up as I was informed “he is sleeping but soon he will come”. I passed the time by admiring the array of stunning nurses at the clinic; the NHS could certainly learn a thing or two from Mbale’s nursing recruitment methods!



Eventually I was informed that it wasn’t broken but that I had done “ligaments damage” and more injections were offered, declined and then tablets given instead. I spent the whole next day in bed as the pills knocked me out, woken by around hourly visits from the hotel staff to check I was ok. They also went to a local restaurant and bought me lunch in bed. They suggested that instead of resting they could bring “a local healer. He will grab and twist and then all will be better”. I declined again, preferring to stick to pills, sleep and feeling sorry for myself.

The next morning I felt ok to hobble and they gave me a rather natty red, green and yellow walking stick to use. They now call me Moo-zay (no idea how this is spelt, but that’s how it is said) which means old man in Luganda, due to my feeble attempts at walking with a stick! I hobbled with Frank’s film crew for breakfast down the road this morning, and it was certainly worth the pain and effort. For £1 I had a plate with beef, chapatti, plantain, salad, potatoes and peanut sauce; THE best breakfast I’ve had so far in Uganda (That description was for you Mr. Simon Poole!)
One of the film crew had a child with her, and he refused to finish his breakfast. In England, perhaps the parent would have said “there are children starving in Africa, you should eat it”. Here this was adapted to “there are children starving in Karamoja, and you waste food? You must eat”. Karamoja being the unstable and very poor North-Eastern region of Uganda. I found it very amusing that the same emotional parental blackmail was adapted for a Ugandan context!

I spent the day sitting watching the film crew shoot a scene for their film in the hotel and taking some pictures. The film is about the unique circumcision ceremony the Gesho Tribe (no idea how this is spelt, pronunciation is Guh-show) of Mbale hold every two years. The film is apparently about the main character who is Gesho but ran away from being circumcised when he was a child, and comes back later and marries a Gesho woman, who then discovers he is uncircumcised and insists he has the procedure before “they can go any further” (as it was explained to me by the director!). Apparently the title roughly translates into English as “Blood is Thicker than Water”, and has been commissioned by an American distribution company to be translated into English too.



As part of the filming we went to the house of a Moo-zay (a village elder) who is one of the main characters in a few scenes of the film. It turns out his son had actually been circumcised only the day before as part of the ceremonies. We sat for a while, with a big discussion happening in Lugandan between some of the film crew and the Moo-Zay and his people. I just sat trying to nod at what felt like appropriate times, but I have no idea whether I achieved this or not! Eventually I heard the word Mzungu so I knew I was being talked about, and my interest pricked. It was then translated to me that the Moo-Zay had said “now that I have come to their place, there is no more tribalism and I am family”, to which I had intended to say ‘thank you very much’ in Lugandan, but ending up saying, due to tiredness, “Kale” which means ‘you’re welcome’, which I was concerned may have sounded like I was saying they should feel welcome a Mzungu had visited them! However, I was shortly after passed a jug from which most of the assembled family members had been drinking, so I assume I hadn’t caused offence. Although, after tasting the drink, I began to think maybe it was a punishment after all! It was made from Maize flour, and looked like (and I imagine tasted like too) the Gruel from the Oliver Twist films. I mimed drinking a lot, but only had a sip!



My welcome grew even fonder when I was invited to meet the son who had just been circumcised. Frank placed some money in my hand and whispered that after meeting the boy I had to give it to him. I expected a good old British handshake with the boy, maybe some sort of “well done old boy, bloody good job on having your penis snipped and all that. Stout fellow” (you know, that kind of standard post-penile operation banter!). Instead, I walked in, greeted the boy and his brother, only for his brother to pull up the sarong the boy had around his lower half to reveal his penis to me. My first thought was “dear god, I’m looking at a 13 year old boy’s penis, I wonder if there is room in Gary Glitter’s gang for me”, followed shortly by “oh my Christ, that looks so painful!” and finally, gathering my thoughts to foolishly say “ouch”. I’m not sure if ouch even translates into Luganda, and honestly I hope it doesn’t because it’s a stupid thing to say anyway, but I challenge anyone to think of something better to say when unwittingly confronted by a 13 year old Ugandan boy’s post-op penis.

Next, the brother said “you take snap”, so I posed with the boy, his mother, and his brother (still holding his skirt aloft), and the result, as you see below, is me looking rather awkward whilst holding the hand of an exposed 13 year old. Pretty sure this isn’t the average experience of a visitor to Uganda!


Later on, whilst filming another scene, Frank thought it would be a good opportunity to dress me up in all of the circumcision garb that the boys have to wear, so below is another picture of me looking quite uncomfortable. The reason for such discomfort is not that I am dressed like a tit, for this is something I am fairly used to, but rather because behind the camera, there were about 12 Ugandans laughing at my feeble attempt to pull of their traditional clothing!


Part of the scene being filmed was for everybody to be eating for the post-ceremony celebration. However, there doesn’t traditionally tend to be many white people at such ceremonies, so I was given my food earlier whilst he crew were setting up. I liked to think it was because they knew I was really hungry, but I know it was actually because they wanted the Mzungu out of the way so they could film. The problem with this was that the whole cast for this scene, 35 Ugandans from the surrounding villages, was waiting to be filmed, sitting very bored, and very hungry waiting for the meal they had been promised after the scene had been shot. This therefore resulted in me sitting, stuffing my face, with 35 Ugandans staring hungrily on! I think the sight of a white person eating local food with his hands (and making a right mess of doing so!) would have been cause enough to gawp, but coupled with their hunger, and the fact that someone insisted I sit amongst all the circumcised boys in their skirts (to prevent chaffing I’m told!), it really felt I was an unwilling celebrity for about half an hour. Eating rice with your hands is hard enough at the best of times, let alone when every grain you swallow is being watched with the keenest of interest by a multitude of hungry Ugandans!

The film crew and I went out to a trade fair in Mbale one night. They had lots of stalls selling various things, live music, lots of bars in tents and food sellers everywhere. The evening was a lot of fun, and everyone got pretty drunk. Frank’s girlfriend and I ended up having an argument about the existence of god, which was fairly interesting as she is a born-again Christian! I don’t remember a great deal of it, but we were still friends the next morning so I can only assume we didn’t fall out over it!

Born During War

I came back from using the internet and found Jackie sitting on one of the outside tables looking outstandingly bored. She greeted me as usual “welcome, you are back!”, and pulled out a chair for me at her table indicating to sit. We made the usual small talk about how are days had been, and I bought a beer for me and a soda for her. After the niceties about how hot is was, and how I am slowing turning less Mzungu (white) were over, there was a awkward silence. Jackie filled it a moment or two later;

‘You know my name is Jackie Amoyne. Amoyne means born during war. In my village the day I was born the rebels had been fighting with our people. They came and eight of my family hid in our house. My mother started to go into labour, I was coming very soon. My father ran with her and took her to the empty water barrel because it had been very dry so there was no rain inside. She gave me while she was hiding in there, and nobody knew. They were fighting for three hours. My father had to jump through the window to get back to the house. There were bombs and guns going everywhere. After I was born and my mother and family ran away with me, but as they were running they met with a rebel. He pointed the gun at my mother’s heart and said ‘you should not run. Where are you going? You should go back and see what we have done’. My mother said that she was not running, that she lived in the very next village and was going home. The rebel let us pass.

When I was at school the rebels came and took all of Senior 1 and 2 (class for children aged around 15-18), there was only Senior 3 and 4 left. They took everybody. The man kept 22 for his wife, the best ones, and killed all the others (I asked who the man was, to which I was told ‘the man, him. Kony’). They have all come back now, they have many children, some of them 3. You have to be very careful with them, they have bad mental. If you say bad words to them they can be very angry with you.

In the village the rebels would come, and they would not want to waste their guns. The guns were for fighting the army. So they would hit you with hoes, and kill you in the head. Sometime they would tie you with the rope like they tie the goat, and they would tie a woman with a man, and kill the man, so the wife was left next to the dead body.

They would tie many people together, put you in a line. They killed 300. They were in a line, and they would hit from both ends, until everybody was dead. They would come and say they want women, then they would cut off their breasts and leave them. They would hold their lips together and cut them off, and say ‘you don’t talk to anybody’. They would burn all the houses.

At night if you hear they are coming to the village you go to the centre and hide, and run so fast. If they are in the centre you go the bush and you sleep. There was no food there in the bush, you had to eat some leaves, any that were instead of food. If they are in Lacor (about 7km outside Gulu) you would run and run, some people took suitcases but why? You have to just run and hide. In the village they would make an alarm if they are coming.

Since my birthday (1988) until 2004 I have struggled, always there was war, so hard.’

After Jackie had finished telling me some of the more horrible parts, she would giggle and look at the sky, tut and then tell me some more.

She paused for a moment or two and just looked out onto the street. ‘You go to sleep now’ she said. She had said all that she wanted to say.

Dinner with the Family & Down A Rebel Highway

On Saturday I went for dinner with the family in For God again. Regina the 10 year old came running out and jumped up and hugged me when I arrived which was a nice welcome. Regina then showed me all the pictures she has drawn and some stories she has written. She is very good at drawing for a 10 year old. Lucy (the mother) then showed me her photo album. She has met the pope which is a pretty cool thing to be able to say! Many of the pictures were of her two husbands, both of whom were killed. Susanna (the semi-adopted daughter of Lucy, who is aged 21) and I then went for what I thought was going to be a nice stroll around the village, but ended up being about a 6km walk to a ‘beach’ that has been made about 7km outside Gulu. It’s in fact a small lake, with a moth-eaten wooden boat tied up on it advertising “boat ride 1,000”. I imagine if you summed up the courage and paid the 1,000 it would be more of a stand in a boat, watch as boat sinks, fall in, swim back to the side, be annoyed experience than an actual ride. Some may consider that UGX 1,000 (30p) is about a fair price for this kind of experience, but I stuck to drinking a Fanta instead.

When we got back dinner was served. One of the items served, a bitter green vegetable, was possibly one of the most disgusting tasting things I have ever eaten in my life (and I’ve eaten dog before!). It had been put on my plate though, and I didn’t want to seem rude, so I ate it very quickly to get it over and done with. Unfortunately, this was understood as ‘he’s eaten that all already, he must really like it, let’s give him another massive portion of it’. Lucy then bought a cup through with “oil from grinded tree nuts” in it, which she said made the green stuff taste even better and she poured liberally over the green-ness. Unfortunately, she was misinformed; it in fact made the green stuff rate even higher up my list of ‘things to NEVER EVER eat again, even if it’s massively rude’. Aside from this, and being told the meat served was “beef meat” when it in fact was tuna, the meal was very acceptable. It seems however that Ugandans eat massive portions, and I myself don’t eat very much, especially not when confronted with a plate of Carbs. I ate all that was given (which was hard as I felt massively full) but refused seconds. Lucy got very concerned as she was worried that my “parents will think I have not been feeding you and be cross with me”. At this point I made up some elaborate lie about how I was sick when I was younger and so I can’t eat very much food at one time. She seemed satisfied by this. Sometimes a lie is better than the truth.

I had bought my camera to their house and offered to take pictures for them, which I could print in the UK and post to them. I had meant pictures of them, but little Emmanuel interpreted it to mean anything he could every possibly want a picture of. So I now have a camera full of pictures of Michael Jackson taken from the TV, the Virgin Mary, taken from various posters they have on their wall. I also have some nice ones of the family too though, so I shall make sure I shall post those. In return, Lucy is going to make me local chilli powder and ‘sim sim paste’ (like peanut butter) to take back to ‘my mother’ so she can ‘cook it for’ me! Lucy also found it hilarious to give me a small chilli and tell me that it is not very hot, to which I put the whole thing in my mouth, and instantly started sweating, my eyes watered and I went bright red. “It is very hot really” she laughed as I gasped for air. This apparently passes for comedy in For God!
Yesterday I travelled with my friend Sunday Ojara who is the teacher at the school where I sat in on the music class. We went to his village called Lukome (pronounced Loo-Ko-May), which is 10 miles North of Gulu. He drove me on a motorbike he hired, and gave a running commentary of our surroundings along our journey, which took about an hour as the roads were horrendous quality, with huge gulleys and potholes the whole way. Sunday informed me how people were slowing moving back to this area from the Camps, and how it had once been a rebel hotspot, as it took them between two points. Driving along it was hard to imagine how afraid and isolated people must have felt taking this route, as the narrow dirt road is surrounded either side by tall grass which reaches well above head height. There could be a group of rebels just 1 metre away from the side of the road and you would have no idea until it was too late. The empty houses and neglected farm patches are testament to the fear that pervaded amongst the communities along this route.

As we neared Lukome, Sunday pointed out a neglected house that was falling apart, and some ramshackle huts on the opposite side of the road. He said “This is where my uncle and family lived. They are all dead now”. I sensed this was a bit of a trip down memory lane for him. We also visited the house where his grandma lives. She is a very elderly lady and can no longer walk, and so she has to crawl around hunched over. She is alone now, and clearly struggles with life. She asked Sunday for some money as she would like to eat some meat which she couldn’t afford. He had no money with him, so I gave her UGX10,000 (£3.50). She was absolutely delighted, as she had only been expecting UGX500 (15p) from Sunday. She asked that Sunday go to town and buy her all the things she was wanting, as with so much money she could get everything she was missing.

We reached Lukome proper, and he took me to a statue that commemorated a massacre carried out by the LRA in 2004. They overran the Ugandan Army contingent that was supposed to be protecting the village (as so often was the case with LRA attacks, the Ugandan Army was unable or perhaps unwilling to protect the villagers in their care), and massacred the whole village, burning all their houses to the ground. The statue only lists the names of the bodies that could be found, but Sunday informs me that many more were killed, but the violence was so extreme their bodies weren’t found. One of the people listed shares the same surname as Sunday but I didn’t want to enquire whether it was a relative of his.
Lukome really had the feeling of being in the middle of nowhere. The trading centre which used to be busy now consists of three buildings, one of which is completely destroyed with grass growing inside to the height of where the roof would be if it hadn’t long since collapsed. Another building housed a shop that sold such a varied array of items I can only assume it was the only shop for quite a distance. As we left town a meeting was being held, attended by maybe 30 people, which Sunday told me was a land dispute. When young rebels return from the bush, their parents have often been killed, and so they have no way of knowing or proving where their land is located, so these disputes are very common. From my research, they seem to be one of the major challenges associated with the reintegration of former rebels, but like everything else I have experienced in Gulu and its surrounds, these intense and emotional disputes are dealt with with restraint, understanding and civility.

Fraud, AK-47s and Singing Rebels

Yesterday evening was pretty crazy. I was playing pool with Jeff and Ceaser at a bar called Havana in Gulu, when a guy in an army uniform grabbed Jeff and dragged him outside. I ran out to see what was happening and Jeff was sat on a plastic chair in the seat, surrounded by 6 guys in army and police uniforms, all pointing AK-47s at him. I asked what was happening and a guy dressed in civilian clothes (who later turned out to be Jeff’s brother) said “you are guilty too” and a solider pointed his gun at me. I put my hands up in the air and said “I was only asking, only asking”. The soldiers/police then grabbed Jeff in a headlock and dragged him off up the street towards the police station.

Caesar and I went back inside for a moment or two, if only to avoid being shot or arrested ourselves. We then went to the police station to see what was happening. The police informed us that Jeff’s brother (Moses) had alleged that Jeff had stolen 2.6million Shillings from their joint account by forging Moses’ signature. I asked if the police had any evidence or if it was just one word against the other to which I was told “shut up or we arrest you too. You are guilty with him”. Ceaser called his friend (Solomon) who is a final year Law student at the university in Gulu and he came down to see what was going on. Solomon told them that they had to grant Jeff bail as they had no evidence against him. One of the officers shouted at Solomon “you are obstructing justice”, to which I (somewhat foolishly) scoffed “this is justice?”. The bolshy officer did not take well to this and pointed his gun at me again and shouted “leave”, but his superior told him to sit down and be calm. They refused to grant Jeff bail and he remained in the cell for the night and we left as the police were clearly in no mood for discussion. I eventually got home at 2am.

I had to wake up at 7am to walk 4km for a meeting at a centre for former-combatants in a village called Kasubi (needless to say a 4km trek in smart clothes on only 5 hours sleep is not a great start to the day). The person I was supposed to meet at the centre turned up 1 hour and 15 minutes late and said “so perhaps we can meet on Monday, I am very busy today”. I was a little pissed off, but he said I could watch some of the lessons that they teach at the centre if I wanted. I figured I had walked far enough, I may as well not completely have wasted my journey. It was explained to me that the centre takes former-rebels and abducted women (known rather misleadingly as ‘bush wives’ – in fact they were forced to marry rebels and kept as sex slaves) and teaches them business, life skills and gives them counselling for 1 ½ years, and then after successful completion of this period, they are given some money with which to set up a business based on what they have learnt. I sat in on a music class, where about 40 former-rebels and bush wives were being taught a song about forgiveness and reconciliation. The children of many of the young women were running around at the back of the classroom amusing themselves. The people were fantastic singers and the song was very powerful, even with my understanding only a few words (forgiveness, happy village, better, thank you and praise).

It was a very surreal experience to be sat in a room surrounded by people who had been abducted and abducted people themselves, been raped and raped people themselves, mutilated and murdered innocent people, yet to be hearing a beautiful song and for them to be laughing and smiling as they sang with each other. Being surrounded by them and speaking to a few, it was not possible to ever imagine them in army fatigues with weapons in their hands doing the sort of things I have read and heard about. It was great to see them enjoying themselves so much. I am going back on Monday to speak with some of them about their experiences whilst they were in the bush.

After this, I went to the police station to see what was going on with Jeff. He absolutely reeked when he came out of the cell, as it turns out four people were locked in a tiny space just about big enough to lie down in, without a toilet. I spoke with his brother who had calmed down somewhat and apologised for accusing me the night before. It turns out Jeff is actually a bit of a dodgy geezer, and he had in fact stolen the money, which had been paying for his lavish lifestyle for the last few weeks. I was surprised as Jeff had in fact borrowed money from me and paid me back the next day, often paid for meals we had and generally never gave any indication he wanted anything other than to be a friend to me. I guess if he had nearly 3 million Shillings in his pocket then he really had no need to rob me! Still, a bit disappointing as I enjoyed his company but c’est la vie.

The police told me that if he pays back the 2.6 million he won’t go to prison and will be set free, but if he can’t pay it back he will go to prison for around 6 years. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t have 2.6 million just lying around, so I’m guessing the next ‘hotel’ he stays in will be courtesy of the Government of Uganda.

Jackie Chan, Racial Slurs and Malaria? T. I. A.!

On Friday we (Jeff, Ceaser, Grace, Concey, Oyet Pato, Janet and I) hit Gulu’s various night spots to celebrate Jeff’s 24th birthday. It was a pretty heavy night that kept us all out until 4am (and in bed until 4pm the next day – Worst Hangover Ever!). I have been amazed by Gulu’s nightlife; it is possible to find a bar/club playing music, full of people drinking and dancing until 3am, every night of the week. Part of me thinks it may be something to do with the fact that being able to move freely at night is still a relative novelty, after years of LRA raids rendered periods of darkness as times of fear and necessitated hiding until daylight came again. Either that or people in Gulu just loved to get fucked up and part-ay!

On Sunday I went (with Jeff) to visit the family in For God for dinner. They had a lot of family friends there, including the mother of the family’s brother and his two children. One of his girls was incredibly sick with malaria and could barely be woken from her sleep. She was absolutely boiling hot from the fever and was dripping with sweat. You could even feel her freakishly high temperature in her feet. I had a couple of strips of anti-malarials with me so I gave them to the father. I’m not sure what good the limited dose I gave them would do, but hopefully it will help, as she was so sick that doing nothing didn’t really seem an option.

For dinner we had spaghetti, a bitter green vegetable (I forget the name), rice and some beef stew. It was all very good, and they bought me an endless supply of sodas as well. They wheeled in the TV that usually sits in the communal area of the village and put on a copied Jackie Chan DVD they had for me. It was badly dubbed as it was, but then there were further subtitles too, which bore absolutely no relation to what the bad dubbing was saying! I have no idea what the film was called, but it also starred Lee Evans, to which everybody in the room took great delight in pointing out how I looked just like him. I pointed out that they only said that because he was a Mzungu (a white person) like me, hoping to induce some sort of culturally sensitive; “yes you are right, what a terrible racial slur we have just made. Terribly sorry my good man”, but instead being greeted with a broad grin and the statement, “yes, all you Mzungu look the same to us”.

On Monday I fell sick all of a sudden with a temperature, blinding headache and dizziness. The guy I was with at the time was suffering from a bout of malaria, and so to were other people I had spent time with recently, so I was a little concerned I had the same. I tried to go to sleep at 8pm, but I couldn’t sleep until about 4am because every time I closed my eyes the headache intensified. The people at the hotel I am staying took me to the hospital in the morning, where I was tested for Malaria. Fortunately it came back negative, but they said “I have a bacterial infection, most likely flu”. I always thought Flu was a virus, not a bacteria, but I know shit all about medical issues so I’m probably wrong!

The hospital gave me a bag of tablets, with no markings on them, no indication of what they were, when they went out of date or even how I should take them. I took them and spent the next two days asleep basically; only awoken by Jeff’s frequent visits to check I was ok. If I hadn’t have insisted otherwise I’m pretty sure he would have kept a permanent beside vigil for me! He even cancelled his return back to Jinja where he had meetings scheduled as he was so concerned for me! It all felt rather unnecessary but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I woke up this morning however feeling perfectly fine, and have thus far spent the day trying to catch up with all the work I haven’t been doing this week! I had two meetings today with the Acholi Religious Leaders Peace Initiative who have been fairly instrumental in the peace process between the LRA & the Government. Tomorrow I have a further meeting with an organisation called Terra Renaissance at 8am (who schedules meetings for 8am, honestly!), and I also have two meetings on Monday, one with a Captain in the Ugandan Army. I feel I may have to alter my questions and tread somewhat carefully for this one!

In a further incidence of multicultural mishap (Greg Smith, 2009: Center Parcs!), I was playing pool earlier today in a small town about 7km out of Gulu called Lacor (pronounced La-Chow), when three people came in and started watching us. They were speaking animatedly in Acholi and laughing a lot, so I asked Jeff what they were saying. He smiled a mischievous grin and informed me that “they are trying to decide if you are Chinese or not”. I looked puzzled. He then added “they say you are very white, but you have small squint eyes like China people. They are confused”. He then joined in their conversation briefly. I asked what he had said to them to which he replied “I told them you are Chinese like Jackie Chan”. Brilliant…! Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Gulu: A haven of racial tolerance!

Finally, today I went to use the internet and the guy who runs the place said the power had gone. I asked how long he thought it would be gone for, to which he raised his hands to the sky, shrugged and said “T.I.A. This is Africa”. I was rather excited by this, as previously I had heard no one other than Danny Archer (played by the mighty Leonardo Di Retardo) from Blood Diamond say this; except of course for Antony (Danny #2), Jon (Danny #3) and I (Danny #1), who said it constantly throughout our time together in our amazing (read also as: shitty!) South African/Rhodesian accents! I realise this is of no great consequence to anyone other than me, and perhaps Antony and Jon, but I enjoyed it greatly, and thought I should share!

Oh, I have also been offered a piece of land in Gulu by a friend. It will be interesting to see what materialises of this offer! I’m told its prime real estate though, right next to the university. Needless to say, I’m fairly sceptical!

Crossbows, Homicide and a Little Bit of Perspective

The last few days have been very busy with meetings; including a four hour, one-to-one meeting with a Senior Government Officer, a meeting with the Country Director of the Norwegian Refugee Council and with a teacher who also works for a Child Reintegration NGO. I have many meetings planned for my last two weeks in Gulu, including the possibility of meeting with a Presidential Candidate for the upcoming elections in August 2011, should all the appropriate strings be pulled.

I am also being taken to a village about 10 miles outside of Gulu where there stands a monument to those who were massacred there by the LRA. The person taking me there is originally from that village, and during the massacre, his hut was set ablaze with his two infant children inside, burning them alive. He now works 6 days a week, only resting on Sundays, to help reintegrate the children who were part of the LRA that carried out this, and countless other atrocities. It is this kind of strength of mind and forgiveness that I cannot help to admire and be inspired by.

I have become friends with the night-watchman at my hotel, a Muslim Ugandan named Saidi who, despite being 27 years old, resembles a 14 year old boy. I originally doubted this diminutive figure’s credentials as the guardian of the security of myself and the hotel. However, returning home through the side-gate at around 1am one night, I wondered along the driveway towards the side entrance to the hotel. I had no idea anybody was there. Then I heard my name being called, turned around, and in the darkness beside the gate, was Saidi standing proudly holding a crossbow that stands about 5 inches taller than he does! I asked him why on earth he has a crossbow, to which his reply was “because I can’t afford a gun”. Well of course, what a fool I am! What other possible reason could there be to own a crossbow!

I probed this further, as this isn’t the kind of sight one encounters everyday when wondering home slightly drunk! He said that in his village he is a very skilled huntsman, and kills lots of animals like deer, to eat. I then asked had he ever shot anyone whilst working here. He grinned and said “many”. I must have looked very shocked by this, as he defensively added “he was trying to steal a light bulb”. Again, a logical reason to shoot someone with a bow and arrow! I asked would he not get in trouble for killing someone, and he said “no, I can only shoot once he has the light bulb in his hand, then the police see there is evidence and they give me money to say well done”! Bear this in mind, should you ever need to murder anybody in England, just stick a light bulb in their hand after you’ve done it, and you’ll be rewarded handsomely!

In a later conversation he told me he is paid 60,000 Shillings for his shift which starts at 5pm and finishes at 6am. He is therefore paid less than £2 per hour. He said he would love to work somewhere else, and said that “one day, when you have a business, you can call me and I will come with my arrows and shoot people for you”. I’m fairly sure he meant he wants to be my security guard, not a hired hit man. Fairly sure, but not certain!

Despite all the tales of me having quite a lot of fun and generally mincing around Gulu fancy free, I feel the need to highlight that Northern Uganda is a very poor, harsh place to live; just to give a little perspective. Whilst I may be out here playing ‘let’s do research and hear about stories of how hard life was/is’, this is a reality for many people in Gulu, and the North. I want to relay the story of a girl I have met.

Jackie is 21 years old. When she completed her O-Levels (GCSEs), at the age of 18, she scored some of the highest marks in her class. She is bright, bubbly, attractive, friendly and hardworking. She wants more than anything to work as a lawyer, so she can ‘help people who need justice’. However, when she was five, both her parents were murdered by the LRA. She was sent to live with her grandparents, who were both healthy and worked to pay for her to continue her schooling. However, by the time she reached her O-Levels, both grandparents became very frail and elderly (they are now aged 73 and 80 – which is an incredible age in a country where the life expectancy is around 60 years). Now, the tables have turned, and Jackie must work to support them. Getting a job is very difficult in Gulu. Luckily Jackie found a job, working as a cleaner/barmaid in a hotel in Gulu. However, the hotel she works at demands she works from 6am-11pm, and if she won’t do this, they will find someone else who will. Jackie works these hours every day of the week, returning home to look after the house, sleep and then return to work in the morning. She has no time for school, she has no time to rest, she has no time to do any of the things a 21 year old woman wants to do, and she has no time to work towards the dream of helping others that she desperately craves.

I just wanted to share that.

For God

A brilliant few days have passed.

A few nights ago I travelled with CinemArena, which is a locally ran, but Italian funded NGO project that goes to rural villages and talks to people about HIV/AIDS. They then make a film of people talking about it, and do drama plays and traditional dances, and show the video on a big projector screen at the end.

It was a lot of fun, and the people seemed to really enjoy the drama. I'm guessing it was funny, but I couldn't understand a single word. Damn my lack of basic Acholi!

It was quite weird however, as since the bombings, no public gatherings are allowed past 10pm. So the whole time, the village was flanked by guards with AK47s, who got rather insistent that we leave at 10!

Yesterday I went with a new friend, Jeffrey (who works for an Agro-Development NGO in Jinja, but is from Gulu originally) to meet a family he has known since he was a child, in the rather charmingly named village of 'For God'. Its about 4km from Gulu down a dirt track that runs mainly through fields. It was the dustiest and bumpiest boda ride I've been on! At the village the family greeted me like some sort of hero. They bowed to me, bought me sodas, and made me food and deserts. It was rather embarassing, but I couldn't refuse their hospitality.

We had bought a doll to take to the little girl, Regina, and she absolutely adored it. She kept introducing it to her family members. Lucy, the mother of the family, is now widowed due to the war with the LRA, and looks after her three children (Regina 10, Emmanuel 11, and Renato 18) alone. She also looks after Susan, a 21 year old girl who lost both her parents in the war. Lucy seemed incredibly concerned that I was staying in Gulu alone and so I am now invited for Sunday lunch with them. They have very little money and I know they will pull out all the stops with the food, so I feel a little bad. I'm going to take them a chicken as recompense (I just hope to God I don't have to be the one who kills it!)

Today we went back to see Lucy and family again as Jeffrey had got very drunk in the night and had had an argument with Susan, so Susan had decided to go to his hotel room and remove all his valuables to her house "for security". As a result Jeffrey had been unable to travel to his meeting in Masindi becuase all his documents were at Susans. Susan decided I should mediate and so I had to take her to talk to Jeffrey, then take them both to Lucy's house for her to rule on what should happen. It was very strange. They were both clearly very cross with each other, but both remained calm, made their points, then Lucy told them what should happen. Perhaps UN Peacekeeping could learn a thing or two from the 'For God Model of Mediation'!

Talking of God, I told them I was a Christian, as is unavoidable when you are sitting in a room surrounded by pictures of the Virgin Mary, with a Jesus statuette on the table, and with a family that prayed for me before I took food. Unfortunately, this resulted in them inviting me to their Catholic Mass on Sunday. I'm pretty sure I have a meeting on Sunday morning now....

Gulu's Got Talent - well kind of...

First off, here are some pictures of Gulu from the third floor balcony of my (and formerly Antony's) accommodation:

Antony and I spent the day yesterday working - Antony at meetings with the UN, and me in email contact with the UN - as well as doing internet-based research. Antony was put in contact with the office of the Head Chief (King or something I think) of the Acholi tribe, but as Antony has left for Kampala now, I am going to the meeting instead. No idea how one should act around an Acholi chief, so I expect much cultural insensitivity will ensue!

In the evening we met with our friend Frank (pictured below - complete with Antony's hat and my jacket!), a Ugandan who works for an Italian Project that goes to rural communities and uses film/drama to help them address health issues such as HIV/Aids. Frank wanted to hear some of the music I liked, so I played him some dubstep. His reaction was to look quizically at me and say "your music sounds strange to me", followed by removing the earphones and giving my Ipod back. Uganda clearly isn't ready for Burial yet!

Later, we went for drinks at the oddly named BJz bar and met up with the other people working on the project including some Italians from their Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We then headed to a 'nightclub' called Herms for possibly the strangest night out of my life!

It was a karaoke show originally, expect people just mimed to songs, rather than singing them (probably for the best), and the audience went and stuffed Shillings notes into the hands of the best mimers. Pretty weird. However, that was nothing compared to the drag act! YES, thats right, a drag act, in Uganda, a country where homosexuality is illegal and taboo, in Gulu, where the incredibly traditional Acholi people live. We were not expecting that one at all! It got weirder still when the compere proceeded to highlight everything about the drag artists that indicated they were really men - including peeking up their skirts!

Then followed a 'comedy' sketch set to music and conducted largely in the Acholi Language - even with in-depth explanations from our Acholi friends, its fairly safe to say, we still didn't get the joke! As usual the night ended with the consumption of large quantities of Waragi.

We woke at 7am this morning and drove north from Gulu to an IDP (Internally Displaced Peoples) Camp named Pabbo. The drive took about an hour on dirt track road through ridiculously rural areas. The land is so fertile but nobody farms their due to their residing in these camps. One of the Elders at the camp that showed us around and allowed us to interview him told us how Northern Uganda used to be the 'breadbasket of Uganda', and even in the mid-1990s, during the height of the LRA's attacks, they produced bumper crops. It seems such a waste that these people and their skills and potential is all going to waste, as they live disjointed and unproductive lives in tightly packed camps, in communities that aren't their own.

The guy also told us about the Acholi conception of justice, which involves forgiveness not punishment, and how former-LRA soldiers who have committed atrocities against them are welcomed back into communities aslong as they confess and perform a cleansing ceremony. It seems odd to me that you could ever forgive someone who potentially raped/murdered/mutiliated your family members, but this approach really seems to bring peace the community.
It was a very interesting, eye-opening and humbling day.

Antony has now left for Kampala so I am all alone in the wilds of the North to face spider attacks, power cuts and water outages alone (power and water have only just come back after being out since yesterday evening). Sad times!

Gulu: Home of Spiders, NGOs and Powercuts!

Antony and I got the 6 hour bus to Gulu, in Northern Uganda, yesterday. It was quite a cool drive, though the driver seemed bent on killing everyone by speeding like a madman, and preferring to use his horn to avoid collisions rather than his brakes!

As we crossed the river Nile at Karuma Falls (the limit for what used to be considered safe to travel during the LRA's reign) a baboon ran alongside our bus hoping for food to be thrown to it. Was quite a cool introduction to Northern Uganda.

The north is so different from Kampala in the centre; the tower blocks of Kampala Road are replaced by small huts with thatched roofs, nestled amongst corn fields and surrounded by nothing by abundant vegetation and trees.

We arrived at Gulu around 2pm. Gulu is known is NGO town and is full to the brim with signposts for various NGO offices and UN 4x4s with their characteristically huge aerial masts attached. The town is small, scruffy and considerably less friendly than Kampala. The people too, look very different from those in Kampala, with the tribal differences being the Southern Buganda and the Northern Acholi, very noticeable.

We checked into a fairly smart hotel with en suite and television. They were asking for 52,000 UGX a night (close to £20) but we said that was to expensive so they instantly dropped it to 31,000 (£5 each a night) - haggling has never been so easy!

The night's main highlight (well more of a lowlight) was the discovery of 5 huge spiders in our beds; two of which were carrying egg sacks with them! Neither Antony nor I, despite our desires to portray ourselves as Danny Archer like characters, are fond of spiders to put it lightly! So what entailed was two adult men attempting to kill massive spiders with flip-flops and deet spray for around about 2 hours. This process including stripping both our beds, quite a lot of girlish screaming and much jumping onto beds when the spiders made a run for it! We were slightly concerned by what the hotel staff thought we were getting up to, what with the thudding of us jumping, the yelling and the moving of beds around!!

After great effort and profuse sweating, with a huge thunderstorm as the backdrop, we killed all the spiders, settled in with our bottles of gin and watched a film. The power then went off and the water ran out. All in all, a cracking night!!

Welcome to the North!

Bombings in Kampala

As I'm sure most of you heard on the news, Kampala was attacked on the night of the World Cup final. There were 3 bomb attacks; two within a minute of each other at a local Rugby ground that was showing the final on a big screen, and one at a popular Ethiopian restaurant, which was also showing the game.

The number of deaths has now reached 76 according to a newspaper published this morning.

The bombings are suspected to have been carried out by a extreme Islamist Somali group named Al Shahaab; undertaken as punishment for Ugandan peacekeeping troops being present in Somalia under a African Union mandate.

For whatever reason they were carried out, and by whoever it was done, the attack on innocent people, busy enjoying themselves with friends and family, revelling in a World Cup that was seen as a momentous occasion for all of Africa was sickening.

These people had absolutely nothing to do with the Ugandan Government's decision to involve itself in Somalia and there can be absolutely no possible justification for the targetting of innocent humans.

The leader of Al Shahaab was quoted as saying that he is happy with the bombings; that Uganda is their enemy and whatever makes them cry, makes us happy. Uganda may be the enemy of this group, but innocent civilians are not, and the fact that this group is revelling in the destruction of human life, in such a cowardly way, highlights the sheer disgust with which groups like this should be viewed. There is absolutely no excuse whatsoever for this kind of action.

It may seem far away, and it may not seem important to you, but just spare a moment to consider these innocent people, and their families, whose lives have been torn apart by these cowardly, deplorable and despicable actions.

A couple of photos thus far

Ugandan Fayre


That's just the way I roll!















Night out at Bamboo Nest Bar following Ghana vs. USA















Sunset on Buggala Island















Fishing boat on Lake Victoria















Kampala City















Massive Birds




















Poster regarding DDR in Uganda (obligatory 'yes I am actually doing some work' picture)















Kenya vs. Uganda - Victoria Cup (rugby)

Rafting the Nile, Drug-Addled Germans and Befriending a Policeman

The River Nile...AMAZING! Jon, Antony, Nicole, Zoe, Nadia and I rafteed rafted the River Nile, down Grade 3, 4 and 5 rapids. We had a massive spill as our boat flipped on a Grade 5 called 'Big Brother' and all "went for a swim" (basically being dragged along under white water until you eventually surface again however far down river the rapids decide!). It was pretty scary and I ended up stopping when I hit into some rocks which was pleasant. Our rafting guide said it was the fourth longest time he had ever spent under water, so it must have been a pretty hardcore one!

It was Nadia's birthday that day too, so after rafting we stayed at a hostel overlooking the rapids, and got massively massively drunk with everyone else who rafted that day and the guides. One of the other rafters was Shawny from Big Brother if anyone remembers him. He is absolutely mental but a proper nice guy. An indication of how mental he is was when he approached Nicole at the bar at about 10am and said "I just tried to do a fart but shit came out in my pants. I cleaned myself up though". ooookay...?!

We were rudely awoken the next morning by Velvet Monkeys fighting each other on the roof of our hut and spent the entire day incredibly hungover!

The next morning we got a ferry to the Ssese Islands in Lake Victoria, and stayed at a camp ran by two perma-drunk/stoned Germans (we arrived at 5pm and they were already both absolutely wankered!). The camp was cool though - all solar powered and hippy-ish - and they had a massive Great Dane called Shaka Zulu who guarded the place! We sat on the beach and watched the sunset over Lake Victoria which was absolutely beautiful, and the fact that it was just Jon, Zoe and I on the beach made it really nice. Zoe and I swam in Lake Victoria, though Jon sensibly refused. I'm pretty sure he will rather pleased when we contract Bilharzia and he doesn't!

The next day we had a tour through the jungle with a local guy called Thomson. His African-English was very strange. When we asked if he knew the football score from the night before his response was "I was not entirely present at the scene, but I shall gather all the statistics and tell you later"! Anyway, his guiding was excellent (despite it including random snippets of philosophical musings - "what is free will?" and "what do you learn from this tree? We learn that life is a struggle") and it only cost £3 each. We gave him our guide book to Uganda as a tip because he said he wanted to learn more to improve his guiding.

After the tour we went to the local Police Station to report Jon's camera missing, which took about two hours! We ended up being seen by the Chief of the Station who was wearing a Birmingham City FC shirt. He was very keen to talk to us and insisted we exchanged numbers. Whilst we were talking he had a call from one of his officers to help with something that happened "at the roadside" but he made him wait whilst he finished talking to us! He was a cool guy, who was studying 'Human Rights and Corruption' at the weekends to try and make the Police better for people.

Whilst we waited for Jon in the station a group of children randomly came up to Zoe and I, and started singing hymns and songs about Uganda and dancing - quite surreal!

Now we are back in Entebbe, and Jon leaves tomorrow for the UK. Zoe and I will go back to Kampala and then Antony and I will head to Gulu.

Kampala is freaking sweet!

Antony, Jon, Nicole and I went for a proper look around Kampala the other day, which was a lot of fun. It's a really cool city if you look a little deeper than the main road. We walked around for a long time, and then ended up at Nandos! I had a double chicken burger - I'm not going to lie, its the best moment of the trip so far!!!

That night we met quite a lot of new people at the hostel including a very very interesting Ugandan guy who works in Sudan, about whom more will be written later. He is possibly the scariest looking guy I have ever seen in my life though, but he is also a really nice guy. We went out with him, and his friend Joel who is a student in Kampala, and some English guys who have just arrived in Kpa. We went to a club called Iguana which played incredibly loud shit dance music, but we had a lot of fun there, although one of the English guys got his wallet robbed, and another woke up in the morning with cuts all over his legs and a massive hole in his jeans, but with no memory of how this happened. I think he most probably fell off a boda boda.

Jon and I had a great deal of fun squeezing onto our boda, though Jon almost fell off, but managed to hold it at the last moment!

The next day Jon Nicole Antony Nadia and I (and we met Rach, Joe and Emma and Joel too) went to the Victoria Cup (a rugby match between Uganda and Kenya). Kenya cained Uganda though both teams were pretty awful to be honest! The best part was the celebrations at the end where all the kenyan team and fans spontaneously started dancing and singing together on the pitch!

Last night, after the Rugby, Jon Nicole and I went to a bar for the spain match where we met up with everybody again. The Sudanese guy and his girlfriend came too.

Jon and Nicole went home after the game but the rest of us went out to Iguana again. Most people left very early on, but the Sudanese guy, his girlfriend (Fiona) and I went to another club across town. This guy is seriously about 6"4 and built like a muscle builder, but we all somehow managed to fit on one boda boda, so with the driver, it meant there were four of us on one bike!

The club we went to was very cool (its turkish owned so lots of people were smoking sheesha) and there weren't many white people. A woman started 'dancing' with me, though honestly, its unlike any other form of dancing I have ever seen before, and basically seemed to be fully clothed sex. Was a little strange, but it made the sudanese guy and his girlfriend laugh a lot!

I have learnt quite a few key phrases in Luganda now, from Fiona, including - 'Drive Slowly' and 'How much? Thats too expensive!' which tells you a bit about what Kampala is like!

Today Jon Nicole and I met with Fred, a Ugandan guy who drinks at the bar down the road where we go, and he took us to a cultural show that is on at the moment to promote the history and culture of Buganda (which is a kingdom within Uganda). It was really good, with lots of stalls, music and food. It was also full of Ugandan families out for the day and we only saw one other white person which was odd, because it was exactly the kind of thing you would expect to be full of whites.

Tomorrow morning Jon, Antony, Nicole, Nadia, Zoe (who is arriving tonight) and I are going to Jinja to raft on the nile, which is going to be awesome!

Bad news: My wash bag has been nicked. I thought I was starting to get tanned, but I showered for the first time in two days borrowing Jon's shower gel, and it was all dirt. I am in fact still as pale as a Glaswegian in winter. Lame.

Entebbe, Sunburn, Protective Fathers and Opposition Politics

Jon arrived on wednesday and we hung in Entebbe for the night. We slept in a tent which was immensely cool, except for the wild dogs that barked all night, the birds that started singing at 4am, and the guy next to the tent who insisted on revving his motorbike for what felt like hours.

At the hostel we camped at we met a lot of cool people, including a girl who had just returned from Gulu studying similar things to me, and a UN guy who is big in DDR in South Sudan. He was on his way back home to S'efrica for a week, but on his way back to Juba (Sudan) he is going to meet with me to give me lots of documents off his computer (some of which haven't even been published yet) which will be massively helpful. He gave me his email too, so when I get bored of life in Local Government, I'm going to bug him for a job in the UN (bugging people is definitely the way get places I have found - I think my new motto is 'if at first you don't succeed, email and call people until they do what you want'!).

Jon and I spent the next day on the beach at Lake Victoria where I got hench sunburn which now makes showering pretty unpleasant. We met a guy at the lake, who introduced himself by saying 'I'm Adam, I am a muslim' which was fairly interesting. He was praying in the lake though, which was quite cool.

We then attempted to walk back to the hostel from the lake, but got lost and ended up wandering through the army barracks, which was a fairly interesting detour! After that we got in a matatu (taxi-minibus thingy) to Kampala but it broke down and started smoking, so we all had to get out and get in another one.

In Kampala we met Antony again and a Candian girl named Nicole who informed us it was 'Canada Day', so we had to go out for beers. You can't not celebrate Canada Day right? I mean thats an important day, so we HAD to get drunk. It would have been rude otherwise!

So we went back to the bar Antony and I drank at the other day (turns out we're now semi-celebs as we danced on the bar apparently - I have no memory of this!). We played some pool with two local guys we met, and they're taking us to watch the football game today. We also spent a lot of time talking with a guy who works on the Radio here, but his Station got shut down because it was pro-Buganda (the southern and dominant tribal group) and the President/ruling group is not Bugandan, so President Museveni shut it down. He also predicted that there will be violence during the elections in 2011 which is not good.

He also explained how Jon looks like Steven Gerrard (and insisted on calling him Steve all night) and attempted to justify why Africans don't wash their hands after they pee and why they litter. I'm not going to lie, he had no case at all! I'm not sure we convinced him though. He is picking us up tonight to take us to a theatre to watch the Ghana game after we watch the game in the afternoon which is awesome.

Also, I met a girl the other night, and she gave me her number, but she wrote it wrong, and she got her brother to pass on a note to Jon with her number on, but Jon thought it was a prostitute or something dodgy (as I hadn't explained she lived near the bar) so he didn't take the note, and so my shot at love (HA!) is ruined! Also, I went to her house to say hey, and her dad said she wasn't in (even though she clearly was) but he had a massive knife in his hand, so I decided maybe to give that one a miss!!

Uncle Danny and Antony, an unfriendly farmer and SO much spinning!

Antony arrived yesterday and, well, what can I say; I don't remember going to bed and again I fell asleep with my net untucked!

I met him around 12 at the backpackers where he is staying and we basically just hung out and drank beer until 10 (maybe, I'm not sure what time I left). Antony had his first rolex though, and made great friends with a furniture shop owner in Mengo. I tried sugar cane also, which is basically just chewing a very very very sweet piece of bark! We also got massively beaten at pool by Antony's new friend and met a 75 year old farmer who hated me at first but then decided I wasn't so bad. He basically hated anyone who wasn't from Buganda (the Southern part of Uganda that includes Kampala)!

Behind the little bar we were drinking at we met a group of five little kids playing with some rocks and using a broken tiffin case to carry them around. The handle was messed up though so everytime they tried to carry the rocks they all fell out. I fixed the handle and then proceeded to play 'collect a shit load of rocks and put them in a pile, then knock the pile down and make a new pile somewhere else' for about an hour which seemed to entertain them. We then played the 'count to three then pick up the kid and spin them around' game, which they massively loved and from then on they called Antony and I 'Uncle'! I tried introducing some learning into the game by teaching them the alphabet, but they decided spinning around was far more fun, so we span some more.

We played for about 2 hours but it started getting dark so we left the kids be and headed back to the hostel for some beers. The kids were not happy we left so I told them we will visit again on thursday when I come back from Entebbe. We're going to find some sort of ball to take to play with them with (if only so we don't have to spin anymore)!

Today I'm off to Entebbe to meet Jon at 3, and we have a night booked in a tent which could be quite entertaining - particularly as Jon doesn't yet know he has to sleep in a tent!

Road Traffic Accidents, Tequila and Conflict Resolution

A lot has happened over the last few days.

Got massively lashed on Tequila (banter) a couple nights ago at a cool club named Rouge. Was a lot of fun hanging out with the guys there (Rach, Joe, Emma, Guy and Will). The pictures are pretty classic, so look forward to those people!

Rach fell off a boda boda (the drivers fault, not hers) and burnt her leg quite bad, so had to take her to hospital to get it cleaned/dressed. In the taxi on the way to the hospital, we got driven into by a 4x4, which hurt my neck a little, but all was well. How unlucky; two accidents in the space of about hour and a half!

I had my first meeting the next day, with an organisation called Cecore (Center for Conflict Resolution) which went well. The guy was really helpful, though not happy when asked about Ugandan Peacekeeping in Congo, asking that I stop recording and saying "you could be CIA". He gave me a lot of contacts though and some general advice too. We also had some quality "England are shit at football" banter.

Yesterday we went to the National Theatre where there was a local jam session, ranging from trumpet solos (LAME) to all out rastas. There was a double act who put us all very much in the mind of Will and Carlton from Fresh Prince of BelAir.

En route to the theatre we stopped to get 'rolexs' which are omelette wrapped in chapati. I went to another stall and bought some grilled chicken on the bone and asked the guy making them to put the chicken in the rolex. I thought this was a great idea, until he put all the bones in too. He crammed too much in as well, so what I basically ended up with was a bag of greasy mushed up omlette, chapati and chicken carcas. Lekker! Still, it only cost me 1 pound, so can't complain too much I suppose.

I found out yesterday that my deet is out of date as well, which probably explains the hench bites I have all over my hands and elbows. I very much look like I have some sort of hand/elbow lepracy.

Antony arrives today and then Jon tomorrow, so work will be put on hold for a week whilst I tourist it up a bit. After that though I'm heading up to Gulu to get on with stuff. I have an email from someone today who would like to meet me in the Eastern part of the country, and the guy I interviewed the other day suggested I visit the North-West of the country near the Congo border (where Idi Amin's tribe is from) so I should have basically covered the whole country by the time I come home!

The World's Worst Alarm Clock?

Last night I was woken at 4am by a crazy drunken Israeli girl walking into the room, turning the light on, shouting stuff in what I presume was Hebrew, falling over, slamming the door and leaving. I can now officially state this is the worst way you can ever possibly be woke up. EVER. Especially when waking up, involves opening your eyes to see a mosquito net on your face as its fallen down. I briefly felt like some sort of netted fish.

Aside from this rude awakening, today has been a good day. I walked down to a local market down the road and had some breakfast (two chapatis and a bottle of coke - costing a total of 30p) whilst watching guys unloaded massive sacks of coal with their head, and a guy walking around selling single trainers. Odd.

The rest of the day I have been chilling in the hostel writing up my methodology and a chapter about Ugandan Conflicts. I just had an amazing lunch of a halved Avocado with some sort of 'stuff' in the middle (possibly onion and chili in some oil I think). I think from now on my Ugandan daily diet shall consist solely of chapatis, coca cola, avocado á la stuff and fanta orange.

I am moving into Sarah and Rachael's cottage later today. This is very exciting as their cottage would put many English houses to shame. It's so nice and spacious. I imagine there will be less angry Israelis too! I feel tonight may be a good time to get drunk for the first time. Perhaps this is the source of my good mood!

Oh, I also have my first meeting arranged, for the 28th June, with CECORE (Center for Conflict Resolution) with a guy called Albert, who insists on starting every email to me with "Dear Lincoln". I think he may be somewhat disappointed to discover Lincoln isn't actually my name! Good times

Beer, sweat and boda boda

First whole day in Uganda is all but over. I am sitting on a sofa, listening to crap pop music, drinking beer, sweating a large amount and feeling like its time for bed despite it only being 8pm.

I don't want to write too much as I'm not particularly well-disposed towards Kampala at the moment, and I'm sure the entry would turn into a massive rant. It's probably just tiredness and the fact that I have spent way too much money on things I didn't really want to spend money on (including a crap phone, on a rubbish network and overpriced motorbike or boda boda drivers).

Anyway, I wondered around Entebbe this morning, saw Lake Victoria. I think I walked about 10km all in all. Then I got a bus to Kampala this afternoon which took about 45 mins and passed without any moments of note.

Once in Kampala I got on the scariest motorbike of my life. I had my 20KG bag on my bag, and my small backpack with my laptop on my front, which made balancing an issue. I also had no helmet as apparently the drivers dont carry them for passengers here! By the time I got of the bike my spine was aching so bad. But I was alive, which was a start.

I then headed the 9k over to Rachael and Sarah's place, which is much nicer, and sat with them for a while. The bike ride back (again helmetless) took place during Kampala's rush hour, which was not fun! We crashed into another bike, but only gently so no one fell off or anything.

I realised about 2 hours ago that all I have eaten since being in Uganda was 4 samosas, so grabbed some food. Avocados to start followed by a cheese burger. Classic Ugandan food....!

Thats about my day so far. I realise this is the probably the dullest blog entry ever written, but I am bored and needed something to do