Kampala's business mind; The Hustle of The Ordinary Ugandan.

"I'm not good at future planning. I don't plan at all. I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow. I don't have a day planner and I don't have a diary. I completely live in the now, not in the past, not in the future." Heath Ledger

Steaming maize and yams in the early evening

Its not usual that one has to draw out a plan for when they go home. Its assumed one is going to what is familiar so there is no need for detailed plans - well not if one has been away for close to 5 years.

"Here's what you needed to have done in preparation", a friend said.

1.Send an email to 10 close friends and tell them you will be in town. Note: ask if they have a car that you can use during your stay. 

2. Tell them how long you'll be in town, what you plan to do and when you are available - so they can factor you into their plans.
I didn't have that sense of entitlement and as a result I hustled with boda-boda's and taxis.

I was soon reminded of Kampala's fast-slow pace. One boards a taxi that moves back, back, forth and forth in search of customers - 30 minutes gone. The person you intend to see has "just stepped out" another hour flies by but there are traffic jams all day long because everybody is rushing somewhere - the daily hustle of the ordinary Ugandan.
You've got to love Uganda for it's small size, I bumped into a few friends on the street - round certain corners, visit certain malls or shopping centres and you are bound to run into people you know - older, more prosperous but with the same personalities that made the friendships work in the first place.

  

Boda-boda ride - a fascination for my little miss.

I embarked on journeys that had me sandwiched between the taxi conductor and the next passenger. I carried little miss on my lap as she got wrapped up in the adventure - Alice in a different wonderland. I hoped the passengers in the seats behind me would travel further than my stop but that's when I would here "massaawo!" the conductor would slide the door open, I would instruct little miss to stay put while I disembarked but like clockwork she would follow me out and I would have to carry her back into the taxi.

Even though taxi's are a basic means of transport, they are also places for business transactions.

Hajat sitting one row ahead:

"Hello!"

"Mmm! Oyagala color kyi?"

"Eh! Purple ne white, egenda bulungi! Era kanzigye"

Man to my right:

"Hello! eh kyi kyi? Esimu ebuzze?!

"Kakati, muwe bisumaali - 2 boxes. Nina ebintu gyemaliliza"

Man in torn tshirt enters taxi while on phone.

"Eh mwana, oli ku facebook?"

"Kati noonya Catherine Nankya, ojakulaba"

"Eh! Omuwala antawanya nyo, naye she is the one"

"Naye sokon promisinge tojanbulira omunte yena - wadde enkoko"

At this point I chuckled to myself - it was a bit much but I liked the confidence with which each one engaged in conversation never concerned about the other passengers.
These three conversations represent some of the key issues in Kampala: Business;- Fashion, construction and relationships.

I agree with  Roald Amundsen "Adventure is just bad planning" and with Heath Ledger, it's good to live in the moment, you never know what the day brings. I certainly enjoyed reconnecting with Uganda's buli daily hustles thanks to my free schedule.

Great men worth my tears on Father's day

Dwight D. Eisenhower once said, "No man is worth your tears, but once you find one that is, he wont make you cry". I disagree.  

Last Saturday as I listened to an NPR program commemorating fathers day I felt the sudden urge to bawl over, I cleared my throat but couldn't hold back the tears. Even though the stories shared were different from mine the themes of strength, commitment, devotion, hard work, sacrifice, wisdom, guidance, truth and protection connected us across the airwaves. I was reminded of some of the men who have influenced my life; my husband, my father, my grand father and my grand father in-law (does such a title exist?).

Each morning I see the urgency and commitment in a father's eyes as he dresses his daughter. He picks clothes that match, and smiles with pride when her hair is tidy because he doesn't know the first thing about girls hair. He would if he knew how. I see the concern in his eyes and hear the strength in his voice as he cautions his son. I sense his wish to live life on his son's behalf - to make the right decisions, to show him how to listen and follow instructions so his path is straight. If life lessons could be sipped through a cup, if the values of hard work, discipline, consistency and a relationship with God could be eaten up like a piece of cake he would bake it. He probes, he answers questions, he reads chapter long stories each night and prays even gets a soft stomach as he watches a young man emerge from the cocoon of a bedroom where he tends to hibernate for hours. A young man who questions, challenges and pushes back at his family and the world. There is a desperation and a prayer "Oh God help me do this right". As I watch how would these tears not flow?

I think of my father, with all his failures and faults, his mistakes and errors. I think of his frailty now over 70 years later and recall the strong, bold, tower that he was in his youth.
Not a single memory of school milestones come to mind without his shadow right there. The drive to nursery school each morning and the moments he stopped to talk with the headmistress Ms. Ampaire. The Primary 1 interview at Kitante Primary School with Ms. Mugerwa, he waited outside. The class days he attended without fail. My first day in boarding school and each consecutive term that followed for four years. His effort to get school fees in times of financial hardship.
I am the last of six children - those are many years of commitment considering that there is a 10 year age difference between the first and last child. How would these tears not flow?

Grandpa made me laugh so hard my stomach ached, I was out of breath, my eyes wet with tears. As I think back what he said was not that funny but he knew how to engage a 5 year old and that's all that mattered. He told stories of his days in the army, of the military training in Tanzania and how it made him more resilient and how he got the swoosh on his forehead from a bullet that narrowly missed his skull. He was funny - I guess that's what grandpas are for. So tell me, how would these tears not flow?

I thought I had received all the grandpa love I could get until I met my husbands grandpa. He was larger than life - 6 foot 3 inches, full of love and compassion. Rev. Canon Ernest Nshakira. There are 3 vivid events that encompass what he meant to me.
Our first encounter - I was nervous, not sure what he would make of this atesot interested in his grand son. He enveloped me in a bear hug and said welcome. "Like tea is better with sugar and cream, so is a marriage of people from different cultures" I paraphrase, but right there and then, I knew I had received his blessing. In his eyes we were all the same, no Jew or gentiles, no slave or free, no Baganda, Luo, Iteso or Bakiga, we were all beautiful people loved by God.
He gathered his grandchildren around him in Kabale and opened his favorite scripture to recount how blessed he was: Psalm 127: 3-6

Children are a heritage from the Lord,
    offspring a reward from him.
Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
    are children born in one’s youth.
Blessed is the man
    whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
    when they contend with their opponents in court.

He was a pillar of faith, of trust, of humility. A man who hid God's word in his heart.

After being hospitalized in Nsambya he yearned to return to the village, "I miss my wife. I want to see her face and spend time with her". After 50 years of marriage if that is not love, I don't know what is.

Through these men I know what it means to be loved, secure, encouraged, led and sorted. No single man can be all things but God stations his men at different stages in our lives to give us a glimpse of His character.
I celebrate fathers who are here and those who have gone before. The men who have filled in the gap, who have been there for children both young and old.

Even the men that are worth our tears can make us cry but they are tears of gratitude.

Happy Father's Day and Thank you!

CNN International Publishes A Photo I took From the Air

Sometimes the maalo (primitive curiosity) of sitting in an aeroplane and peering at the world with wide eyed wonder can lead to double joy. First, the joy of the experience and second the joy of sharing the experience. Woke up to this cute little tweet from CNN international:

Took this on my way back to the U.S from Vietnam. I had a 4 hour lay over at Narita Tokyo airport. I knew I would not visit the city so I made the most of it in the air. I'm glad I get to share it with the world. 

The Wedding Invitation 50 Years Later.

How can we say thanks for the things you have done
Things so undeserved, yet you gave to prove your love for us
The voices of a million angels could not express our gratitude
All that we are and ever hope to be, yeah
We owe it all right now to thee

To God be the glory
To God be the glory
To God be the glory
For the things He has done.

Happy 50th Anniversary Mummy and Daddy! We've seen the ups and the downs and the in between's. Through it all you continue to say yes "I do".

Celebrate Spring

I walked out this morning to the sound of a bird tweeting with all its might. I looked up and there it was – a cardinal right at the top of the branch. Its rich red feathers and black mask were a beautiful contrast with the green leaves.

It’s a new day – the birds are eager, the flowers are eager to bud. It’s spring!

A Call for International Hair Day

When she was a baby I kept her hair short. The hussle of plaiting a squirmy little girls hair was more than I could handle at the time. The less the maintenance the better. Then we relocated. She grew older and slowly the idea of short hair wasn't appealing anymore. I yielded and started plaiting little toots. Her hair grew. Imagine her shock and surprise when we washed it and it shrunk.

She looked in the mirror.

"Mummy?"

"Yes"

"Why is my hair going in circles?"

I thought, oh oh!

"Well, that is what happens to our hair when we wash it. It shrinks"

She looked puzzled. It was the strangest thing ever. 

You see, my little girl thinks we are a mirror of the people around us.That we all look the same - especially the little people she spends time with. How ever things get a little complicated when the fine toothed comb does not move as easily through her hair as she thinks it should. Reality check! Culture shock!   

Now mummy has to explain things that would not be issues in Kampala. I remember my friend Ama's experience at the barbers and how it led her to write "Sunne's gift".

Like waves erase foot prints on the shore, my little girl soon forgets and assumes her hair is the same as that which she sees.

"Mummy, make it go up like this and like this"

I look at her and my face cracks into a smile. I resist the temptation to say "girl, that is how our hair bes". 

She says "leave it open" and in her little mind, it is now flowing down to her back well, until she looks into the mirror again and it's gloriously standing strait up and singing alleluya.

I tell her it's beautiful. I tell her it's perfect just the way God made it. That she's fearfully and wonderfully made - unique and special in every way.

One day I un-braided my hair and washed it - naturally it shrunk. She would not come near me. Little miss who is generous with hugs was reserved this time. She would not let her head touch mine. We talked about hair again.

And that is why we need International Hair Day, so that humans of the world can rock what God gave them with out fear or favor and in the process understand and celebrate their differences - long, short, straight, kinky, steel wire, kaweke, GQ all of them.
Here is to International Hair Day! oh yes and to African mama's living in "outside countries".

Little Bear Goes to Work