Total Eclipse 2024

Total eclipse shot in Pennsylvania. Photo by Mary Ongwen

You guys, this eclipse thing exhausted my head.

It was in every second article on my news feed, my social media platforms, school…I couldn’t get away but I also couldn’t be bothered. 

Mr. O mentioned it twice, once like two months ago and then last week, just to make sure I’d cleared my schedule. 

I was like yeah, yeah! 

He read up on it, mapped out routes, and locations for the best view. I should have taken note. Dude patiently waits for people to come around.

When something is major, it’s major. 

After 23 years I should know he’s right—99.9% of the time. 

So I asked, what time we needed to start the journey, he said 6:30am 😳.

I mean I love nature and I’m usually up by 6:30am but for some reason when it’s outside my plans it’s as if eh?!

6:30am, I was up and ready. 

Snacks were packed—road trip-ready on Monday morning, can you handle?

We drove for a long time. I finished an office assignment, listened to podcasts, music, slept, snacked…

But by the way let me first tell you. 

We stopped at a Pilot truck stop—like a fuel station with a supermarket. I went in to pick a thing or two when an announcement went out.

“The showers are ready. If you are a truck driver and need to take a shower please stop by.” Eh!! 😳

Ok, I’ve paraphrased but the message was the same.

I looked around. People were just going about their business.

Again the announcement went out “Shower number 5 is ready” 

You guys! 

The supermarket has a business model which includes showers for long distance truck drivers—how convenient?! Do you see how valuable this could be on the road to Mombasa, Masaka, Mabira…?

People be thinking—where’s the need? How do I solve for it? Nga they become billionaires.

So we reached our destination. Groups begun to gather. Around 2:30 pm Mr. O got out foldable chairs and the eclipse paper shades. He sat down and continued to read his magazine. I was like ok, tuli wano! Now what?! 

I checked, the sun looked crescent 🌙, then less crescent. Clouds kept floating over the sun. 

Mwana! I was concerned that the clouds would cover the event. I didn’t even know what to expect. Maybe darkness at noon?

Me: “Has it happened?”

Mr. O: “No, not yet. They said it will happen between 3:15pm and 3:19pm”

Me: 😳 You mean it was pinned down to the second? Wabula humans need to be watched, they can be too dangerous for their own good.

It was 3:16 pm.

Suddenly temperatures dropped, there was a chill in the air.

It began to grow overcast.

Some guy in the distance let out a yelp. We were like, now what? Was he the only one seeing the eclipse nga the rest of us were also there? 

Turned out to be pre-excitement.

In the moment, the sun and moon directly overlapped. Then it was as if dark, as if light. Like a choir of angels, like the chime of winning those coins in Mario video games (am I dating myself?) 

Ok, like the cheer when Maradona scored the winning goal at the World Cup. Banange! Let me stop with these examples. I’m as if digging. But you get it no? 

Only thing is that all of this was happening in my head. 

I begun to pray, I didn’t even know I was skipping around—making a whole lot of noise—few a privy to this madness. 

Mr. O quietly marveled at the eclipse—it was magical, spiritual even. I wondered how he stayed so calm.

The eclipse took all of four minutes. 

I couldn’t settle, I became super talkative—I like those stars (sun and moon) and now together? It was a total eclipse, my heart raced fast-fast.

Imagine, in all this drama, I manage to reach for my camera, switch the lens, insert the SD card and steady my hands for a shot. Like 😳😳. 

I’m getting used to fearing me also because eh!

Mr. O: “I should have recorded this.”

Me: “It’s hard to capture on phone” 

I was thinking of the instructions: directly looking at the sun can result in permanent damage.

The glasses had strict instructions “Prior to each use, thoroughly inspect the product for any signs of damage, tear, punctures or separation from the frame.”

Ko Mr. O: “No. I mean I should have recorded your reaction.”

🥰🥰🥰🤭🤭🤭🤭

Total eclipse of the…

Missing Pancakes

I started 2024 with missing luggage after a flight home from Uganda.

Immigration officer: Where are you coming from?

Me: Uganda

IO: What was the reason for your travel?

Me: To see family

IO: How are they doing?

Me: They are well, thank you.

IO: How much money are you bringing into the country?

Me: (Thinking to myself—"dude is this a trick question?”) I said, “None really”.

IO: Welcome back!

With that I went off to pick my luggage.

I scanned the luggage conveyor belt for a while… nothing. Exhausted but chill and with hubby still way out, navigating the highways, I took my time. I watched the luggage spin round and round: green cases, black cases, pink cases, checkered cases, cases with bright colored strings (you know the pieces of cloth torn off dresses or belts—the ones used to tie sacks of cassava or millet? Ya! People real know how to mark their luggage, so it stands out).

My cases: one maroon-soft cover and one green-hard cover were nowhere in sight.

A muffled announcement came over the airwaves, I heard “…Mary Ong”, unless there was an East Asian with a similar name, I had a feeling it was meant for me. Not good.

I traced the voice to the counter. A little East Asian lady dressed in blue and white uniform hustled with disgruntled passengers concerned about their missing baggage.

I introduced myself, she begun to stutter “Yes please! Your bags… didn’t arrive. I don’t know…” She handed me a printed form—my name.

She continued, “We will deliver your suitcases in a day or two...” She looked worried as she handed me a pen—probably thought I was about to cause a scene. There’s a way one looks after a long flight—angry Black African woman vibes—those things. I had flown over 20 hours halfway around the world—Uganda to Rwanda, Rwanda to Doha, Doha to D.C. And now my chapati and kabalagala (Ugandan pancakes) were out there somewhere, alone and frightened. No, I wasn’t in the best mood.

I narrowed my eyes, looked down at the lady (nanti she was like 4 feet tall) and with gritted teeth said, “Look here Miss. my bags had better be found. No one messes with a Ugandan woman and her kabz.”

Ok, if you believe I said that to the lady, we need to talk. Hahaha.

I wrote a description of my suitcases, signed the form and went off to find my people.

The baggage arrived at my door two days later and all was intact. The cool temperatures outside helped preserve the chapati and kabalagala. I placed the valuables in the freezer and now, for the next two weeks or a month (depending on my self-control) I have some easy meals—chapati and chai garden tea.

The hustle of living away from home—bu simple pleasures naye!

Happy New Year!!

A spin through Heathrow airport

You guys’, Heathrow airport is huge like this.

It is oba the size of Soroti city?

You haven’t been to Soroti city? What’s your excuse? I will wait.

If you have friends from Soroti and you’ve not visited their home…

You know where I’m going with that, in fact, let me go there. My absence shouldn’t be an excuse for you not to visit my home, to check on my people. In fact, you my Ugandan friend should make the trip to Serere - check on my zeyi’s give me updates.

Whoosh!!! I went deep there and no, I’m not joking.

Okay back to the size of Heathrow airport. The surface area is like a combination of Soroti flying school, Soroti airport, Soroti sports field, Soroti rock, Soroti Nurses’ quarters…you know?! As in if you clear everything; buildings, trees, petrol stations… then add Soroti market, yup! Large area like this.

Era at Heathrow airport, if your flight is at gate No. 62, get ready. You’ll take the elevator, get to the underground terminal, then you’ll take a train (okay it’s a cart but as if a train), you’ll take another elevator and then scan the boards for directions. If you are bad with math, I don’t know how to help you. Those days when you fumed at Mr. Kasisiri as he taught increasing and decreasing numbers and then grumbled how you didn’t see math’s relevance in your big life, well…the kuku comes home to roost.

There are several departure gate sections; - A, B, C, D – each a cluster of an even larger section of gates - you had better know your destination. If you are running late, may the powers be with you otherwise you may start humming “Oh I wish I had wings like an angel, like an angel that ever did fly.” Mr. Isabirye taught us this song in P4. “I would fly to the hands of my darling…” Yo, yo!! Didn’t the class experience bu little tornadoes that twirled around each desk?! Big words like “darling” were unmentionable. In fact, some pupils didn’t recover. 

Mr. Isabirye looked stunned, he wondered what the excitement was all about. Some sober students (usually the goody two shoes at the front) explained to him how “darling” was in the category of bad words. He was undeterred. He had to finish the song “for I’m tired of living alone.” Disorganization just. So, we learned the song but in place of darling we said “mm mm”.

But I’m still telling you about Heathrow.

I got intricately familiar with Heathrow airport one fine day on a layover to Glasgow. In the end I was done. Enough! Even me I said, this whole idea of seeking new experiences? Simanyi adventure, simanyi exploration…I don’t want. Just tell me the gate number well in advance nga I know where to go and sit. I will read a book, listen to music, watch family travel vibes, couple coordinates, lone travelers, people with infants ... byona. Just situate me in one place. But no, Heathrow airport would not have it.

First, one has to gulp down or pour away drinks in containers larger than the recommended size for carry-on luggage. Era for those of you who carry Uganda Wa, oba Scotch, oba Johnnie Walker - those ones - in your hand luggage just know it’s going in the bin oba you’ll stand there and set your throat on fire. Mpozi nga you have the mini bottles - there you’re sawa. Place contents in see-through zip lock bag (kaveera) nga the machine scans and everybody knows that this one is not a teetotaler.

Empathy guys, it’s all empathy, you know I don’t drink this stuff. But yeah, the liquids have to go at the security check point before you enter the terminals - that’s if you have a connecting flight.

The waiting area is like a sophisticated market; screens, escalators, duty free shops, coffee shops, restaurants, mini bars… every possible bright electronic color screams - see me. But that’s not the worst of it. Travelers pack like sardines in the foyer - at least ko sardines are stationary - travelers are wiggly, they pace, they are pensive, others are strewn in chairs like exhausted marathoners. Meanwhile Maaso ku lutimbe as they wait for their gate numbers to flash on one of the digital screens suspended in the air.

                                              

I think some humans go through the airport with the sole or soul purpose of finding their people. It’s in the eyes. Guys be looking around like, “Are you the one?”, “Maybe?”, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”. I learned not to make eye contact. Don’t idly look around. The questions change to “Yes?”, “I mean, you know?”, “Why not?”, “Let’s talk about this”.

At this point, I lengthen the handle of my carryon case and roll to another location. 😂😂😂😂

Back to gate numbers. This is where my problems begun. I was accustomed to having all details on my boarding pass: Flight Number, airline, time of departure, gate number - awo I knew the plan. Mama! My flight through Heathrow airport? Perhaps doing things cheap-cheap was half the problem, nanti they say you get what you pay for but yo! One never knows the gate until like an hour before boarding time. Then there’s a mad dash - like a real rat race - era just watch the movie Rat Race to familiarize yourself with the concept. People trip, jog, knock others as they attempt to get to their gate on time.

What is this game Heathrow airport, really? Making grown humans run around like…

This is how things unraveled. My first flight was delayed, as a result I missed my connection – domino effect. The smart and delightful British airways staff rescheduled my booking but, you guessed it - no gate number. So, I was hovering, not sure whether I should stay nearby or go to the middle just to have a vantage point - nanti maalo. Era maalo may be my undoing in this life. 🤦🏾‍♀️

Let’s first have a moment of silence right there.

Then I over relaxed – nanti 4 hours - lost in thought and fascinated by technology. I didn’t get to the gate in time. I huffed, panicked paka my heart was like oba I just come out and beat double-double on the outside. Eh! It was too loud.

I explained to the flight attendant on ground. “I’m going to… the gate number… I missed the connection.” The lady listened, nodded her head like yeah, what’s new?

                                                      

I was placed on another flight, given a new boarding pass and yeah! Life continued. I calmed down but I also gave myself a pep talk - that kind of stress is unnecessary. What was I going to do? Did life stop? Free stress just to move from one place to another. Ah! Airports.

That’s how I toured Heathrow airport looking for my gate; up the escalator, down the escalator, through the terminal, onto the train, out of the train, up another escalator. Nkugambye!!

Naye on my return I real confirmed Heathrow airport is about as large as my beloved Soroti city. This time I got the gate right - I can also be a ninja please 😎. But there was a twist. Where usually, you show your boarding pass and get ushered onto the plane, this time we went through the doors and were told we’d get onto buses waiting on the ground. The bus would drive us to the plane. I was like sawa, just a quick ride to the plane.

Gundi, we went, as if on the main road (but this was on airport grounds), through more terminals, round a bend and another - like we’d gone into a new district. I was like ka le we are being driven to America. You may say, but Mary how? Nange simanyi. I was not the only one thinking things.

The young lady at the front of the bus turned to her neighbor and asked in an East European accent: We are taking a flight to Baltimore, right?

Her neighbor nodded and smiled.

I laughed.

I had company. Ka le Heathrow!

Anyways we weaved around several stationary British Airways planes. Each time we thought we’d found our plane the bus driver drove on. We gave up and just waited for him to stop. Then it was off the bus on to the plane. Naye Heathrow!

Just to say I hahad.

New experiences can be fun but also unnerving when things are out of your control, in unfamiliar territory. It builds faith and trust muscles. But as you can see my Ugandan village genes are still strong.

The ultimate expression of trust is boarding the plane, storing away your hand luggage, buckling your seatbelt and believing that this monstrous machine is going to somehow balance in the air, and you will land in the city of your destination.

The irony of it all.

Kampala like a Rowdy Teenager

 

Wandegeya

“I could hardly believe it when I heard the news today. I had to come and get it straight from you. They said you were leavin'. Someone's swept your heart away. From the look upon your face, I see it's true.

So, tell me all about it. Tell me 'bout the plans you're makin'. Tell me one thing more before I go. Tell me how am I supposed to live without you? Now that I've been lovin' you so long. How am I supposed to live without you? And how am I supposed to carry on? When all that I've been livin' for is gone.”

Michael Bolton’s husky voice sounds like he’s lost every reason to live – yeah! Love can get that way sometimes.

Anyways, just shaken off the fog of jet lag – the cobweb cast - soft and stretchy and yet sticky and firm. I bobbed between exhaustion and exhilaration. Memories of home still fresh, the taste of mangoes pasted on my pallet.

Now I emerge.

Was I even in Uganda? It was too short. The overall experience was exhilarating but when I start picking it apart, I’m like hmmm! I see the good and the complicated – just like in all relationships.

Ugandan’s give the best hugs – paka the hearts as if squish, high five and attempt to merge. My hair grew. 😊

It was great to be with family again – those people who embrace every bit about you – who notice the subtle changes but acknowledge you are still the same. You have the courage to bare your scars and know they’ll be around to the end. Safe.

Kampala has grown. The Cafés, the lounges, the new buildings, and incessant construction. The Air bnb’s and hotels, the malls, the lodges, and supermarkets – it’s amazing the businesses brewing in this small country.

I came across “Secrets Guest House” – but Ugandan’s!!! Is it Sidi or Lakunle in “The Lion and the Jewel” who says “Have you no shame – at your age…” anyways none of my business.

Time is money. Kampalan’s have got with the program – whether they can’t see you because you are not priority or because schedules are tight – some people are more aware of the value of time. Trying to get across town for a meeting? The stress of a taxi going back, back, forth and forth is the last thing one needs – in comes Safe-Boda flying passengers from Ntinda to Muyenga in no time. Want to send a package, the phone number of a trusted boda-boda guy should be set in your contacts. He’ll do all the couriering you’ll ever need.

Once I had car trouble; Suzan gave me the number of a mechanic. Our conversation went something like this:

“Hello, my name is Mary, your number was given to me by a friend. Can you do some body work on my car?”

“Yes madam, let’s look at the car. Where are you?”

I told him.

“Ok, we are coming.”

They found me, looked at the car, took it, found the parts, returned with a quotation, sorted the car, and delivered it, all at my convenience. Not bad – I could get used to this.

On the flip side, every transaction is layered – something for something – the levels of dodginess are through the roof. The love of money brings out the worst in some Ugandans even people you once considered friends. I made a transaction last year that left a sour taste in my mouth – that “friendship” is on the shelf.

Kampala felt like a rowdy teenager caught between childish ways and maturity.  The wild swerves of boda-bodas through the alleys of Industrial area, Wandegeya and Ntinda – left me breathless. My son likened a trip through Kampala city to survival in Grand Theft Auto – surprises and life-threatening events swing out of nowhere – a pothole, a bump, a motorcycle swerving in from a blind spot, a street kid suddenly peering in through the car window. The sun’s laser gaze, and a gush of dust blown by the wind for extra measure. Traffic-jams riled my stomach, pasted over by police officers flagging the car down every few meters.

People everywhere, doing everything, minding their own business, not! Their ears are set to the ground, they know all the secrets of the town – who’s fooling who, who’s dodging what. Make one wrong or sudden move and they’ll be all over you like rash. I sat at the Kamwokya bus stage and observed the taxi touts, women selling bananas, people making phone calls, school children crossing roads. When I attempted to take a photo, I got side eye of “Don’t even think about it - been watching you”.

I observed the go-getter pretty girls in four-wheel drives cutting into traffic like – “Babe! I’m the real deal.” The seething competition to be the best dressed. The frustration – “because why are you so chill?” I didn’t have the time.

Young professionals on fire – ambition, mood, travel, vibe, confusion.

Made in Uganda is sizzling – beauty products, food, fashion, business, consultancies, authors – it’s a whole new world.

The people with money are going gaga! Saturation at embarrassing levels. Plans and business deals being sliced on corner tables in cafes and lounges. They slide into their cars and roll up windows to block out poverty.

The language and city accent has morphed.

Kampala is growing out – Kyanja, Wobulenzi, Lweeza, Mukono and beyond – the city is shifting. Sure House, once the hotbed of activity has locked shops but Muyenga is literally heaving, buzzing, expanding – shops, medical centers, restaurants, cafes ….

There is news of an oil pipeline running through Buliisa to the port of Tanga, Tanzania on the Indian Ocean. Money! Then there’s the Parish Development Model (PDM) and whatever that stands for. Money! One just needs the Wi-Fi passcode and location of the power socket to plug in and charge.

There are no sidewalks in Ntinda, Bukoto, Kamwokya, Mulago, Wandegeya, but we can eat – the weather is still the best and food stuffs are still juicy and growing everywhere. Perhaps there is a method to the madness – gotta believe it.

Summer Fly's By

Whoa!! It's been a while since I was last here.

Yes, and now I return for the heart loves familiar places :-).

I miss blogging, chillin’ out with my peeps, talking about life. I thought the summer would be quiet and relaxed but it’s been filled with work assignments and stresses.

Chobe with the view of river nile
Chobe Uganda. Photo Credit: Mary Ongwen

This picture of Chobe in Northern Uganda gives me pause – a breath of fresh air. It centers my thoughts on good things – nature, wildlife, peace, rejuvenation.

What about you? What have you been up to?

Happy Weekend!!

The Uber Vietnam Veteran: Surprises on the road

I meet different people on my commutes – some funny, some intense, some honest and some plain – I like those the best. The conversation begins with a simple question and escalates to a deep human connection, an appreciation for the different journeys we walk.

I watched the Uber driver circle the cul de sac and then leave. Did that just happen? He just turned around and left? I stood out in the cold, checked the app, it was the right number plate. I tucked my hands into the jacket and hoped the car would circle back. It did. He stopped, helped put my luggage in the trunk/boot and apologized. He said he got a little confused with the directions. Well, nothing to add. He was on the older side probably in his mid-fifties. He looked like he’d been in an accident that altered his face a little. It didn’t help that his car was not all that but hey! I trusted it would get us to the destination.

Music whispered through his car speakers – country rock-ish – not really my taste. It streamed in and out of my mind as I looked out the window and pondered the journey ahead, the cars whizzing swiftly by, the highways and the thought that winter was upon us as the temperatures dropped and the cold winds blew.

We drove quietly, for close to an hour engrossed in two separate worlds. Suddenly the silence was cracked.

Uber Driver: (In the most respectful tone) If you don’t mind me asking, do you live here or in China?

Me: I live here. I’m traveling for work. China is a layover on the way to my destination.

UD: That sounds exciting!... Twelve days after graduating college I was drafted into the army to fight the Vietnam war.

You!!! I sat up. Fully attentive. Now I wanted to know everything. What was his experience? How long was he there? Does he have a family?... But his thoughts were swift, darting here and there. He said only that which he wished.

UD: It wasn’t great, it was ok.  But I’ve also been to Japan. I travelled with my father, he was a naval officer, that’s how I got interested in the army. It took us twelve days to get there. We traveled by sea.

I wanted to know his experience on the ship, did he get sea sick? How old was he? What does he remember of the trip?

We run out of time. Before I knew it, I was at the gate. I encouraged him to write a book, he gave me a bored look. Perhaps I should have said – “Let’s keep in touch. Tell me the stories and I will chronicle them.” What was his name again?

Lost opportunity!

I got a glimpse – a bird’s eye view into an aspect of his life. I repented for making assumptions about him based on the first few minutes of our interaction.

I thought about him again today as I listened to Richard Flanagan discuss his book: Narrow Road to the Deep North. He said “What happens in war is that good people are made to commit crimes for which in any other sphere of life you’d be locked up or executed. And then we expect these people, after the war to come back and live as normal human beings. But they are not normal human beings because they carry great sins on their soul for which in the end they are not responsible.”

This now informs my view of veterans but I’m also reminded to embrace humanity in its entirety, to make a conscious effort not to place people in boxes based on external factors.

May God be our constant guide in 2018.

Good Food, Good Fun and Good Nights in Cape Town the Mother City

AWOL Tours: A bike ride to Cape Town. Photo Credit: Ker & Downey Africa

I was having lunch with a friend this afternoon when she mentioned she’d lived in Cape Town for 2 years. I was thrilled. I wanted to know her experience, what she loved. Did she visit Table Mountain? What about the wine country? She was surprised to learn I hadn’t visited but I’d read up on it. So, planning a trip to Cape Town and you don't know what to do? This guide has an ala carte of activities.

You’ve not tasted Africa until you’ve visited the mother city. It’s friendly people and natural surroundings make you want to settle in for a while. The food hits your palate with such scintillating taste you think of your own mom’s lovely cooking.

As a passionate traveler, experiencing new places, meeting new people and capturing the essence of a place are a few of the things I live for. So while scrolling through my Instagram feed I saw a beautiful photo of Cape Town’s Table Mountain, my next thought? – I want to go there! Situated as a prominent land mark overlooking Cape Town – its size and grandeur serve well as a tourist attraction. From cable trips to hikes up the mountain – there is plenty to do. Table Mountain is also Cape Town’s navigation icon – comes in quite handy for some of us who are prone to getting lost in big cities.

Asoka, fine food and good music. Photo credit: Ker & Downey Africa

Now that the table is set, let’s talk food. With an array of restaurants that appeal to both local and international cravings we can officially call Cape Town Africa’s best restaurant city. Even though Kampala my city of birth has incredible luwombo (local dish cooked in banana fibers), it still has a lot to learn at the feet of the mother city. From local African dishes grilled over an open fire to French and Asian cuisine – Cape Town brings the world’s cuisine to you. 

But what really excites me about Cape Town is its authenticity. As a writer and a romantic, a bike ride through the Schapenberg country side to get a taste and learn the history of Cape Town’s rich wines leaves a good taste in my mouth. For museum lovers there’s the Castle of Good Hope also known as the oldest surviving building in South Africa. My love for artistic expression in poetry and dance, would have me spending evenings at “Outrage of Modesty” – you’ve got to love the catchy names too. For my Ugandan’s friends with a fashion sense Cape Town’s top designer outfits would have us shop till we drop.

Cruise IQ with a back drop of Table Mountain. Photo Credit: Ker & Downey Africa

But hey! I can’t tell you everything, somethings you’ve got to see and find out for yourself. Check out this brochure – there’s a world out there to explore. It gets even better; Ker & Downey Africa can planyour trip. You’ll thank me. And to all the Cape Town lovers out there – woo hoo!! Keep living it up!! Tell me about your experiences. Leave a comment down below.