Kenya Burning

Apparently it is getting worse in Kenya instead of better - completely negating my hopeful message of yesterday...
From the New Vision

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A Ugandan was injured by machete-wielding gangs on Sunday night, while another was feared dead in Burnt Forest, a town 40 kilometers outside Eldoret. At least six newly imported vehicles enroute to Uganda were also burnt by youth who had blocked the highway...."

..."In Eldoret. all the major roads leading out of the town had reportedly been blocked by protesters. Fuel tankers on the way to Uganda were said to be stranded in Eldoret town. Violence was also reported in Cheprit, where mobs chanted they would stop vehicles transporting goods to Uganda. In another incident 20 Ugandan trucks came driving at breakneck speed to the Kenyan border town of Busia after escaping an attempted robbery at a roadblock in Bumala 10 kms inside Kenya."
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More Kenyan violence

Violence in Kenya, as some of you may have heard, has been heating up and cooling off since the elections at the beginning of the year. I’ve been receiving e-mails and phone calls of people asking if I am feeling the effect in Kampala. Initially we did, when the borders closed right after the elections.

A friend of mine and her family were the last car across the border when the violence began. She says at the time they had no idea what was going on, their local guide just came running up and told them to drive home ‘NOW.’ The border was locked behind them 15 minutes later.

With a closed border fuel was unable to be moved into Uganda, and all the fuel comes from (or via Kenya). This was a huge problem raising petrol and consequently transport prices beyond what people could afford. Now that the borders have reopened Ugandas are largely unaffected. Kenyans are again facing increasing violence.

Those living in border towns are dealing with an influx of Kenyan refugees escaping violent flare-ups, and this is bringing back bitter memories for some. When Idi Amin was ruling Uganda, many Ugandans fled over the border to Kenya where there were met with state encouraged discrimination. Now the tables have turned there are two groups of people; those that are proud that Uganda has risen above past hostilities and taken care of the people in need. Other Ugandans remember their mistreatment in Kenya and are angry that their country is reaching out a helping hand without even pointing out how poorly they were treated.

At a story meeting the other day I vocally nixed an idea pitched by a Uganda who formerly lived in Kenya. He wanted to write about the mistreatment he faced, and suggested that these Kenyan refugees should be reminded about that era. I suggested as a newspaper we couldn’t run an article that voiced only one opinion and would quite possibly incite further violence. It was decided he should find and interview a Ugandan family who was forced out of Kenya, but was now helping Kenyans who have fled their own country. A story about forgiveness and reconciliation seemed like a distinctly better option.

Contrasts

Ethiopia is a country of contrasts. Some of the best infrastructure I have seen in a developing country, but more beggars than I have ever seen. Some of the best food I have ever eaten, but the sickest I have ever been. There is a great amount of sun, but because of the elevation it is alarmingly cold.

The women are beautiful, but because the population is overwhelmingly Muslim or Christian Orthodox, they are usually covered from head to foot. The Muslim women usually wear dark colours and the Orthodox the traditional white shawls, with colourful trims. The trims are worn always from the face, unless in mourning when they are worn around the face and neck. When you do get a peak at them, either under the covering or in the privacy of their homes, the women have beautiful hair braids. Unlike in Uganda where the hair is course and unable to be braided with out additions being added, many Ethiopian women have their hair braided into beautiful patterns.

In Uganda there are potholes and buildings occasionally collapse – actually one just the other day – but I have never been asked for money for getting directions or when getting on a taxi. In Ethiopia there are buildings made almost entirely of glass, and I don’t think I saw a pothole in the entire city, with the exception of where the road crews were working, but there is poverty. People sleep on the streets and hands are outstretched all the time. Walking down the street, getting into a taxi, and children who see your car pass all ask for one birr (about $0.10 CAN). It is so ingrained in the culture that children (even those who are not impoverished) greet you with outstretched hands and the request “pay.”

Ethiopian food is based around injera a type of fermented pancake made with tef, a type of grain specific to Ethiopia. Injera is a great source of required vitamins and minerals and is served with any combination of toppings, from spicy chicken (Doro Wat), to yellow lentils and spinach (fasting food), to hot chickpeas (shiro), to fried meat (tibbs). To eat the sauces are scooped up with the injera and popped into the mouth without the fingers touching the tongue or lips. It’s a great way to eat, and all dishes are communal. However, I ran into one small glitch – kitfo. This dish is minced (or ground) meat with spices and Ethiopian butter mixed in. That’s it. It is served raw, and cold, and well made me sick for a good three days. But after I recovered I was back to eating everything cooked again. Doro Wat is my favourite but hard to find on a daily basis – because chicken is so expensive it is usually reserved for special occasions.

Foosball

So I have come to the conclusion that all foosball tables go to die in Ethiopia. Across the country (at least the parts that I visited) have crowds to people, usually men, surrounding the tables. In Addis Ababa, the capital.

In the smallest village, in the middle of no where between Debre Zeit and Mojo (the rift valley).

And in Ziway, a lakeside town (also in the rift valley).

Fuel Shortage

The riots in Kenya are having a big impact in Uganda. Turns out all the fuel in our country comes from Kenya and officials are worried that the fuel trucks present too much of a target. So there is no fuel coming into Uganda. Gas prices doubled overnight, transport prices have gone through the roof. Boda rides across the city have gone from 3,500 to 6,000 USH. The taxi up the hill from 600 USH to 1000 USH making the most common form of transport unavailable to many people.

The AIDS Clinic was empty because many of the patients cannot afford to get to Mengo hospital. And I am worried about finding a special hire that will still have gas to get me to the airport on Friday.

Christmas in Uganda

Christmas around the world seems to have two things in common; family and eating. And eating, and eating, and then when think you are too full to move, you eat something sweet.

This Christmas I spent with my Ugandan family, in their village Ndalike. Ndalike is a beautiful place – it is that stereotypical vision of Africa with dirt paths leading to houses full of bright-eyed children. It is in the middle of nowhere of Kamuli district. We took a taxi to Kamuli town from the old taxi park in Kampala before transferring to get to Namwendwa town. From there it was boda-bodas down narrow paths to Sister Dora’s house. I couldn’t stop smiling, I felt like I was in a parade. As we passed people on bicycles, or in their front yards they would wave and shout Jambo (which is weird because they don’t speak any other Swahili).

We arrived on Christmas Eve Day, and after travelling for 6 hours spent the afternoon napping on mats in the shade. Life doesn’t get much more laid back, well at least for me, the visitor, everyone else had chores. Despite my begging to help the only chores I got to do was rinse dishes, and even that was only once. The other ‘kids’ in the family had to heat water, go for firewood, peel vegetables, go for water, and help keep the house/yard clean. Although I wasn’t officially allowed to help, I tagged along for most things.

The bore hole for water is a 10 minute walk from the house. Most people have bicycles to make the trip shorter and be able to carry more water. In Kamuli district, unlike in the Buganda Kingdom where Kampala is located, women can ride bicycles. So often on the walk to the water pump you hear a bell and a woman goes by on her bicycle with her Gomez (the traditional dress) flapping in the wind and jerry cans bumping together over the rough path. The bicycles are not like North American bicycles either, these things are heavy, but I think they could withstand a nuclear disaster.

We went to mass on Christmas morning. Dora, Dez, Joe, and I were suppose to leave at 9:45 to be there for the 10 am service, we left at 10:20 and we were still on time. I think it was just like a Catholic mass at home. There was singing and praying, although I can’t be sure because the entire service was in Lusoga – another of the Ugandan dialects. I was the only mzungu in the church; well actually I was the only mzungu in the whole community.

So of course I was trying to prove myself by playing football with the boys, barefoot, and dressed in a skirt for church. By the time we were finished many of the kids in the surrounding area were watching in amazement. It was so fun although when I finished my feet hurt. The ball would end up in weeds or on rocks and you sprint after it full speed, it was when the adrenalin stopped pumping that you realize running on rocks was a bad plan.

We ate matoke, meat, chicken, rice, pasta, sweet potatoes, groundnuts, and chapattis. And for breakfast Mandas! Mandas are the Ugandan spin on deep-fried bread dough that is seen in every culture. They are like the Canadian doughnut hole, the Slovenian crostile or the Hungarian langos and equally delicious.

Nights were one of the best parts of the time spent in Ndalike. We would sit on mats on the concrete, which was still warm from the sun shining all day, and watch the stars come out. The night sky was unlike anything I have ever seen, the stars are so bright when there is no electricity for miles and miles. Then after dinner we would heat water for a hot bath and climb into bed. It was so wonderful and was one of the best sleeps I have had since arriving in Kampala; quiet, comfortable, and surrounded by a mozzie net, so safe too.

My time in Ndalike came to an end after only three days (even after I stayed one extra day), and the trip back was spent planning exactly how soon I could return.