Madness from the East

Like grasshoppers drawn to light, they are drawn to money ventures. Like ants in line, stopping to greet each other and ferrying chunks of food to the anthill, their sense of community and hard work is evident. They are spread out all over the globe, from the dingiest dark corners to hoity-toity palaces.
They multiply like mushrooms; they creep into areas and take over. They are successful business owners, when they spot fertile fields, they ship family, distant cousins, neighbors and local touts by the hundreds. Woe is yours if they employ you - getting fair pay is like squeezing juice out of a dry mango seed. They almost always carry packed lunch to work and will not leave until they must. They own shops’ in villages’ on the outskirts of civilization, yet the villagers will know where they are located because of the reasonable prices.
While the rest of us buy expensive cars, they drop children off on simple scooters. When there is a fuel crisis, guess who is still on the road?
2 grown men walk into a restaurant and order a 300ml coke which they gladly share. Don’t know if it quenches their thirst but something tells me they were on a mission, scouting out the possibility of taking over that business or maybe it’s just the sense of brotherhood.
3 families with 2 children each will live in a 2 bed roomed run down shack and there is room for grandma and grandpa.
Madness!
They make for half the population in prestigious schools around the world.
The best known doctors carry their long tongue tying names.
They are advisers' in the White house.

Even though their heads balance like eggs on spoons as they speak, we’ve got to give it to them – we need some of that madness.

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”.