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.