Mrs.O's writing room.

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 stu

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

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

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 i

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 subject

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 pre

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

“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 s