Father's Houses

Curious about the tent peek-a-booing outside our gate every Sunday morning, we decided to check it out. For starters it’s conveniently located. It’s full of young vibrant men and women who pray with urgency. It’s been a while since I prayed so fervently and for so long. People pace the floors, rumbling, groaning and rocking to a rhythm. Sermon;- Knowing whose you are

The next Sunday we travelled to the centre of the city’s hustle and bustle (only less intense on Sunday). Located on Luwum Street, opposite Mutassa Kafeero plaza; up a flight of stairs, up another flight of stairs, up more stairs and more stairs yet - finally at Calvary Chapel phew! It’s got a familiar feel, probably because 3 quarters of the members shifted from Watoto Church. The choir is energetic; they have a young pastoral team and a semi international congregation. To be investigated further. Sermon; You must be born again

The Sunday after that, we travelled up Makerere hill to St. Francis. It’s over flowing with students and passionate worshippers. It’s long since I attended an Anglican service, but it was nice to turn to the hymn books and prayer books and recite responses to the prayers led by the priest. Standing there, memories of my days as a student came rushing in; Running to the chapel to say a prayer because course work deadlines were breathing hot air down my neck and yet my brain was on pause. The concerts with groups like Keith Ministries and Come Alive, Uncle Ben’s humor... It was a nice trip down memory lane. Sermon; Being a true Christian
Finally made our way down town, to the English speaking, cell based, community church, with a vision to grow and multiply as each one reaches one, touching those around with the love of Jesus, with the aim of bringing healing to the city and to the nation. It’s as glamorous as ever, crammed as ever, with the best worship south of the Sahara. Seeing familiar faces in the choir and having Marilyn preach, made me feel at home. It’s so busy though, a thousand and one activities to keep in mind. I got the sense that to be comfortable in Watoto church one needs to have grown to a point where they are not dependent on the church to feed them. One needs to be grounded in a cell group or have accountable peers or spiritual parents to keep them tuned in. Sermon; The Call is not easy

Watoto North church was great! Chatted briefly with Pastor Joshua, met a few old friends, and worshipped freely without worrying that I might hit my neighbor’s nose. Sermon; I don’t remember
One last stop and then we will prayerfully decide.

She's black, he's white yeyeyeah!

Land cruisers’, Ipsums’, SUVs’, Pajeros’, trucks, Rav 4’s, Nadias’, Carinas’, name them, they are all here bumping up and down Uganda's roads. Maersk, Transaami and every other shipping company or car dealer in town is loaded with vehicles in the bond - all the way to Mombasa. Ugandans are importing cars by the minute. Meanwhile the Kikumis' (white Toyota Corolla AE100) that once jammed the city are extinct. Ugandans are doing well financially. Economic Crisis? What’s that?

Strolling through the malls and super markets, I notice more interracial couples. White men with black wives/girlfriends, “Kyots” on arm or tucked in strollers. Uganda is becoming international. The days when the sight of a white man walking with a black woman stopped traffic are long gone.

In other news, what’s with organizations all going yellow? Once Yellow was a bold color that only MTN, Shell and Bell lager dared to use. I could spot an MTN kiosk/logo/banner from miles away – now? It’s jumbled up in all sorts of “yellow shades”. Uganda Revenue Authority, National Housing and so many other companies are using the same color, are the colors running? In that case, I will commend Warid for going hot pink.
Speaking of which, why do telecommunication companies adopt weird names? CELTEL sounded right until it changed to ZAIN. I never associated phone conversations with fruits but ORANGE managed to squeeze in right next to MANGO, before you know it we will have PUNCH - Uganda Telecom or UTL would have done just fine. WARID Telecom got me worried, boy oh boy! When I first heard that name, I thought shoosh! Those customers are going to be stressed. I still think MTN has the most decent name and I am biased. There is something about a name that makes all the difference. Now that SMILE is round the corner, I can’t help thinking about the TV show “Smile your on candid camera”.

Are you my son?

As Sam and I conversed one morning, Mich eagerly awaited a chance to slot in a word, but his dad was still in mid sentence, so out of frustration he said “But daddy, you don’t have to use all your words at once”, that cracked me up.

Anyway, we begin the 3rd week of school and the adjustment process is uphill. Our regular morning wars to get out of bed;- Mich crying about his dream being cut short or how he is still tired, then we face the concept of adding a helper to the equation.
I have been mopping the floors, burning my dress in the kitchen and making sure he has washed behind his ears, so Mich doesn’t understand why someone else has to do these chores for me, (apparently I was getting good grades). He views the helper as an intruder and is always telling on her or giving the instructions. I have over heard commands like “Apolot, you need to wash my clothes”, “Apolot! Apolot! That is not the way they clean the bathroom”. All over a sudden he is extremely authoritative. He is harsh at times, I hate to think he has learned this from me.
He insists on bathing himself and isn’t comfortable with other people seeing him naked. I’m happy with his zest to bathe but half the time he comes out with wet hands and dirty feet. I've assumed the position of referee because “Apolot is not listening to me”. I don’t know where the bad blood is coming from.

Recently he prayed that his teachers would learn to tell time well because they ask the kids to get back to class before they are done playing and playing is his favorite activity.
One other time I went to pick him up but he wasn’t with the rest, he was in class reading a book - that didn’t sit right. Getting down to the details;- he was attempting a cart wheel when one of the girls laughed at him. Without hesitation and steaming like a hot potato, he punched her in the stomach and refused to apologize, so he was sent back to class. I was upset. When did all this violence begin? He has never so much as pushed anyone. I thought I was raising a boy who discussed issues and certainly not with the fist.
You would assume that all the time we’ve spent together would give off some good dividends - a marked difference between him and the other kids because he is being raised by his mom (who constantly laboring to bring the best out of him). It’s extremely embarrassing when ugly traits rear their heads at the least expected moments; right in public where everyone turns to see who is responsible for this lad. It’s hard to convince anyone that he was taught otherwise and it makes me wonder what’s going to pop up next. I think I have sorted out an issue and then it resurfaces in a new form.

Market cafe

Internet in the market? You’ve got to be kidding!

I found an internet café in our local market area. The sign post was my only hope that I was not hallucinating. Passed the tomato and matooke stalls, down a dusty path, opposite the charcoal sellers and in a corner - there it is! I was curious and skeptic all at once; the prices were fair for starters. The connections are slower than a sick snail but it’s busy. I strictly check mail. One can spend an entire day there, in an attempt to surf in its true form. Majority of the clientele are passionate face-book teens. However slow the system is, they hang on, to send the next message or update their profiles.

My market café even has webcams, cool ainit?! Today I sat next to a girl who had jazzed up her looks for some web talk. I was minding my own business (for the most part) but how the eyes love to wonder. She was on a chat site scanning the profiles of bazungu men. I thought it was silly; first the page takes forever to open, then it’s distorted, then it takes a minute before you send or receive a response, then time runs out. You must be desperate or something to go through such pains. But thinking back now, I’m more concerned about her ending up with some serial killer who lures her. We might end up with the headline “Ugandan girl found dead in Boston Hotel”.

Bon appetit?!

On Sam’s first visit to America, he walked into a fast food outlet and placed an order.
The guy at the counter - “forherretogo?”
Eh! Sam is trying to figure out what the man is saying.
Guy at the counter – “Sir, forherretogo?”
Sam – “what?”
Guy at the counter (gives him a puzzled look, then emphasizes) – “Sir, would you like it here or to go?”
Sam finally figures it out – “here”.
Kati why didn’t the guy just ask if he wanted “takeaway?”
Anyway, I concluded that “Takeaway” is a code only used in Uganda.

When fast food was still a new phenomena in Kampala, Bon appétit brought it home. The chips and chicken, fish fillet, kidney, liver and fried cassava defined take away, that is until Ugandans got into a frenzy, thinking they would die if they all didn’t set up their own “take away”. Now Kampala is drowning in fast food restaurants.
Even in this sea, Bon appétit remains top on my list of fast food stops. I like the potato chips (most of the time), I even dreamed of them when I was subjected to tasteless potatoes in outside countries. We have a history you see, Bon appétit and I go way back, besides I’m impressed by Mrs. Mosha’s stamina. She has opened up a chain of Bon appetite’s in accessible locations around the city, if she keeps up we might have our very own version of Mc Donald’s right here.

A young waitress burst my bubble when I made a stop at the chain store on Jinja road. I was excited to finally get a taste of my favorite junk food; I placed my order and noticed she wasn’t amused. She seemed to blame me for her misery. Ok, so it was a Sunday afternoon, she would much rather chill out with her friends or something, but hey! It was not my fault. I didn’t hire her; I just thought that since she was there, she would make the most of it. It was quite dramatic when I asked her about something on the menu and she used her mouth to indicate what was available. I smiled, made my order and hoped the food tasted better than the attitude. It did. The chicken was as crispy and tasty as always, the chips were nice and hot, with a few strips of cabbage on the side and plenty of ketchup to make up for the lack of sauce.
Even with the poor reception, I will not be deterred. I will try the original Bon appétit on Kampala road, next to fidodido before I even think of throwing in the towel.

The Ebony Tower

As I look around for someone to pay me to tell stories, and to avoid being idle and disorderly, I went visit a former lecturer at Makerere University.
I took a taxi to Wandegeya with the aim of using the famous “gate” in front of University hall. The area is buzzing with kiosks in all sizes and shapes. What was once a tiny rack of second hand shoes for sale is almost a full blown shoe store - without the four walls.
I couldn't find the gate. It was either uprooted or trampled, but the remains are evident – two strong poles, bits of mesh sticking out of the ground and a worn path. University hall looks horrible; the filth, broken glass and worn window frames are hanging on by some miracle.

These buildings haven’t been renovated in over 20 years and to think the halls are churning out graduates by the minute... What will be left for those little boys and girls who are dreaming of coming to the famous hill? Is this the destiny of all government institutions?

The arts faculty and precisely the literature department, has a dusty, ancient feel - like a famous building turned into a museum. There is no effort to preserve the look, it’s natural. The hall way is musty, the pin up boards are the same, the photocopy lady is still in her corner, the dark corridor has the same art pieces that have never been touched since they were hang up.
There is a phone booth, a stall or a kiosk on every 5 meters of compound and idle photographers wait to take passport size photographs. There are pockets of students standing around and it's not like they are waiting to attend a lecture. What is all the idleness?

I took a stroll to my former hall of residence. The canteens are owned by the same shop keepers, who I assume are the happiest Ugandan entrepreneurs, they are a lot chubbier. I was amused to see stationed manicure and pedicure facilities, with pillows for comfort. Back in the day we painted our own nails. I don’t remember visiting a salon the entire time I was on campus – I didn’t need to, my hair was natural and braided half the time. Times are changing constantly.

I nearly slipped and fell moving around to see the rooms; the bars that used to serve as a support are now used to hang laundry. So, quite apart from the shabby look, the dripping water had me skidding; -
The bathrooms?! eew!
Is the academic state of affairs surprising? Hardly! There is rubbish everywhere and at every level.
The lecturer wasn't in, probably looking for money some where else.

Ugandan women lean towards public indecency

I’m not a fashion guru. In fact I'm not fully aware of the current trends. When shopping, I look for clothes that flatter my shape and are comfortable, whether or not they are the latest styles.
The Ugandan trend is - “If it’s in - wear It!” Never mind that it doesn’t suit your size or shape. As I walk on the streets of Kampala, I see ladies in ill fitting clothes all in the name of “keeping in style” and I’m embarrassed on their behalf. It’s particularly unpleasant when one has a big bust and an extended tummy, with a butt that’s heading in the opposite direction. All the curves and contours are emphasized, it’s not cool.

Blouses and dresses with low cuts at the front have invaded the city too, no problem! Who am I to dictate what ladies wear anyway? Issues arise though in taxis - when they have to bend over to get in/out/or shuffle over to let someone pass. Twice I have watched men get totally disorganized, either because “the girls’ are in full view or they are about to fall out.

Then there are women who don’t wear intimate apparel for their busts. One can see “the girls” chilling or very attentive, depending on the fabric and the weather. Now that I understand men to be optical machines, I shudder. I would like to think that the women are not aware of the effects, and probably don’t do it to provoke emotions, but for decency’s sake,cover up already!

I’m beginning to sound like those “kill joy old ladies” in my past.

Oil! Grease! Chai! wha’ever!

“Desperate times call for desperate measures” or so they say. In our quest for a school, we made an appointment with the headmaster of a recommended primary school in town. The secretary ushered us into his office where we begun our plea. He shook his head and said, “I don’t know what to do for you”. We sat humbly, looking at him with pleading eyes. Again, he shook his head and repeated “I don’t know what to do for you”.
After a brief silence the conversation went something like this:
Headmaster- “I’m going to conduct interviews tomorrow, so if you pay 100,000 for the admission forms, I will interview your son. But it is not a guarantee that he will be admitted”.
My husband- “I’m sorry but we didn’t come with that kind of money”
Headmaster- “Where do you live?”
My husband- “Ntinda”
Headmaster- “That is not too far away, I’m going to be in office until 3pm. If you are really interested in the place, you can go get the money, I will be waiting”
Silence
My husband- “Thank you very much sir” and we bid him farewell.

As we walked out, he followed us into the parking lot. He seemed a little uneasy but was rather speechless. After a few minutes he went back inside.
Sam and I looked at each other in disbelief, had we just been asked for a bribe? Shock! And why did he follow us out? To assess our means of transport for measure? We are using taxis just like most other Ugandans. I guess that makes us less worthy.

We missed a slot in that school - don’t have oil to smooth greedy, shameless palms, so help me God. Let this not end in a “No Longer At Ease” sort of way.