The Wings

The wings are everywhere.  They are piled in corners like silvery grey snow drifts.  They have accumulated in the dishes that are drying.  They have plugged the drains and they have filled the sink.  They are floating in the toilets and they have dusted the tops of tables.  I tried in vain to sweep them outside, but they stuck to my ankles and filled my shoes. I made an effort in vain to wash them out of the shower, but they swirled around my feet.  Pairs of wings, single wings, broken wings, wings with veins of silver thread, all as long as a ring finger have filled the house.  The swirl in clouds when the doors are opened and shut, and the flit gracefully out of drawers.  The wings.

Last night it rained epically hard.  It was like being on the set of a movie where they are using a rain machine.  Except there was nothing contrived about this rain.  It rained biblically, and in turn, there was an exodus of white ants (termites) that flowed forth from the earth.  It sounds dramatic, but at times last night it was hard to hear the roar of the rain over the pounding flutter of wings.  The White ants were drawn magnetically to our lights in the house.  They were pulled towards our safety lights outside as if by gravity.  They seeped through the cracks in the doors and windows like water and many made it inside.  They made it inside and rushed chaotically, like a flooding river around the lights, and they lost their wings and began to die.

I eventually shut myself in my room in the dark to avoid the incessant flurry of insects and I fell asleep to the sound of wind, wings, and rain.  In the morning I came out to survey the damage.  The blizzard of wings had settled.  I began the process of sweeping them up and moving them back to the outdoors.  I tried to eradicate the house but the wings were to feathery to sweep, so I just pushed clouds of them as well as I could.  Once they were outside (with the white ants they had been attached to) I poured insecticide on them.

Then our colleagues arrived and lambasted  me for killing and wasting a delicacy.  Then I ate a handful.

Veterinary Care in Africa: How I Inadvertently Adopted a Dog That Nearly Became a Vampire/Zombie

Zombie/Rabid Dog Watch.  Day 1.

Today is the 3rd day of watching Alfonso for signs of rabies.  He bit Sam on Wednesday when we were trying to administer drugs to him.  The vet came to give him a follow up shot of antibiotics to control for worms.  This poor dog was so sick.  On Monday he was happy, frolicking, we ran around the compound, I played tug o' war with him. Then Monday night he was eerily quiet and sleepy.  He just slept like a little lamb all evening.

In the morning on Tuesday he was sleeping far from the house.  His little brown and white body curled in the grass, or splayed out on his back, trying to alleviate stomach pain.  I saw him poop on Tuesday and it was just bloody and clear.  Not a health sign at all.  We called the vet to come and check him out.  He had acute worm poisoning and was nearing death.  The dog needed 3 shots, one antibiotic, one heart worm, and another antibiotic for worms.

I thought this would be a calm and pastoral scene, something like a James Harriot story.  No such luck.  After the first injection the dog knew what was coming, so he shrieked and howled and nipped and cried and barked like he was insane.  It was so bad that we had to send the vet to go get a tranquillizer for the dog.  We sweat chasing the dog in the 90 degree African sun, dust clinging to our damp foreheads.  The vet came back and we had to catch Alfonso who had fled to a far corner to huddle in the dark and avoid the needles, get a chain around his neck, then tie a towel around his head and then tie him to the guava tree in the yard to immobilize him enough to get the tranquillizer in him.  Once he had received that tranquillizer, the matter of getting the last two antibiotic shots was okay.  We tried calm words, gentle petting, reassuring, force, pressure, and finally we just had to go for the tranquillizer.   The dog wobbled and eventually just had to lie down because the drugs were too strong.  As he recovered he moved to the cement wall around the compound, far from the house where he had been tortured into good health.

Wednesday the vet came back for a follow-up to administer the second dose of drugs.  We had been hoping that the second round could just be eaten with food, but no such luck.  He gave the dog that injection, but in the meantime, the dog bit Sam's hand hard enough to draw blood, and then exploded green diarrhea all over the porch.  We had again needed to tie him to the railing on the porch to get him immobile enough to administer the shot.  Meanwhile his cries, yelping, shrieking, terrifying dog noises had drawn every neighborhood child to our open gate to come and watch the torture that we must have been inflicting on our poor animal.  15 dark smiling faces peered in at the trauma within our compound. After being bitten Sam washed his hand with soap and water, cleaned it with alcohol, and bandaged it.  However, the vet told him (as well as his mother who is an EMT) that he had to start the post-exposure prophylaxis for Rabies.  So today he is going to get shots. Apparently you can also isolate your dog and make sure that there are no signs of rabies for 10 days, and that is likely enough to know that the dog doesn't have it, and thus could not have transmitted it.  But, better safe than sorry.

So here I am watching the dog for signs of Rabies, what I equate with just looking like a zombie more or less.  He seems fine so far...

Vampire/Rabies Watch. Observation 2.

Turns out that my small bite was something to protect against as well. So, since I had two small barely-noticeable puncture wounds, I wound up getting the first of three injections as well.  Apparently there are no side effects from this, except a little light-headedness.  They say this can protect me, but do they really know?  I may need to pack my hand in garlic tonight.

The dog is napping in the shade of the porch.  We are working on not letting him inside.  It is major progress that he can lay there with the door open and not come in.  Granted this lasts for like 11 minutes at a time.  Still.  The little village rascal can at least adhere to some rules if he is making me get 3 shots totalling 150,000 shillings spread over three weeks.  Oh Alfonso.

The Dog-Zombie Apocalypse.  Observation 3.

Day five of the Alfonso watch.  I think that he is still doing fine. His hips seem to be a moving in a way that is funny, and his nose might be a little runny.  But other than that his temper seems very fine.  He is playful and chipper and seems to be timid still.  He gets surprisingly feisty at night, and the fleas distract him from doing any one thing for too long.  He is still sort of a mess, but we are working on him.  I am hoping that by Friday he will still be ok so we can be more relieved.  And then we don't have to euthanize him and cut his head off like a zombie.

I watch him for fear of the sun (rabies=vampires).  I watch him for signs of excessive panting (it is 90 every day right now).  What it comes down to is I expect this dog to really become some sort of un-dead creature if he gets rabies.  Isn't that possible?  For a dog I didn't want in the first place, I sure spend a lot of time, money, and thought on him.  We have to be vigilant in these times…

Is the End Near?  Observation 4.

Alfonso watch day 6.  Apparently an excitable dog that then becomes more docile can also indicate rabies.  Basically anything an animal does means it is rabid.  This is getting more and more difficult to monitor.  Now I am looking for signs of the un-dead in my (potentially) too-docile-formerly-excitable puppy.  I have decided that rabies is terrible.  There is no good that will come of it.

I also blame this rabies situation, and our shitty dog for nearly being run down by a boda and having to jump out of the way yesterday afternoon during my run.  I know the two are not connected, but I have to be able to channel that rage I felt at falling again towards something.  Alfonso seems to be the appropriate channel for that.  And of course because my knee is too damaged to run today, and likely in too much pain for any good exercise, we will instead take the dog to get his balls chopped off, injected against rabies and distemper, and hopefully adopted to some family who doesn't find him so annoying.  I am sincerely hoping that my opinion of him changes once he is a fully vaccinated and cleaned eunuch.

Making it out Alive.  Observation 5.

I am in Kampala.  I have escaped the grip of the small dog in Hoima. It is now day 10 or 11 and Alfonso still seems to be fully alive. There are no signs of rabies, and now he has a rabies vaccine. Hopefully this means we don't need to start wearing crosses made of garlic around our necks in the house.  The problem is we have already invited him in the house, so that means he can come and go as he pleases if he turns.  That is what happens with rabid dogs, right? Maybe that is vampires.  Either way if there is a surprise shift in un-dead status we are fucked.

Meanwhile I got my second injection of verorab rabies post-exposure prophylaxis yesterday.  I waited for nearly 2 hours with Sam at the clinic in order for them to realize they didn't have it, send someone to town to buy it (which took 50 minutes) then bring it back to the clinic.  Sam was nervously awaiting the shot (he hates them) and I was trying to work, which was impossible given that Handel's Messiah was blasting over the clinic speakers in Luganda.  We waited on the porch for the vaccines to arrive, sweating even in the shade and cursing the name of Alfonso for putting us through this.  Who wants dogs?  They are cute and fun, and then that wears off and you realize you have a living thing with you for years to come.  Dammit.

Demon Dog

Zombie Creature

Hoima Nights

I got in a fight with a Boda Boda (motorcycle taxi) driver.  No fisticuffs, but many heated, slurred, (now forgotten) words were exchanged in the front yard of where I work.  At 3:26 am.  He tried to charge us 5,000 Shillings to come home!  FIVE THOUSAND!  I know now that sounds like a lot, right?  Well it's not.  It is $2.  BUT the thing we are all discussing here is principle.  PRINCIPLE!  I mean would that boda driver try to charge an African 5,000?  Never.  He would be laughed out of town if he did.  Right out of town.  But what happened?  As my Ugandan colleague said this morning when I called to relate the story to her, "He saw two whites who he thought didn't know."  Well you know what?  These whites did actually know a little bit.

"You think we can't tell you apart?"  Doug yelled?  

"Yeah I know you."  I said.  "I will not call you again.  You know why?  You don't give fair prices.  Its not right."

In the end, we paid 3,000 each.  $1.20.  That is the ok price for 3:26 am.  I promised this boda driver I would call him in the morning once I spoke to my colleague who would verify he was ripping us off.  I still have to call him to set the record straight.

The night before that was fun.  We went to Spot On for some beers and to sit by the bon fires.  We were hanging out with two 19 year old Ugandans who didn't drink.  We bought them sodas.  Their names were John and Keith.  So we called one John Bosco and the other one Keith.  Which makes sense.  Then we went from there to the other side to go to TNT.  TNT was crowded with people and the smell of armpits was rich in the air.  We had some drinks there and then we ran into this large man who we had seen at Spot On and he had this rasta guy following him around sort of like a mascot or puppy or something.  But it turns out the large man is a radio DJ from Kampala and everyone knew him and he got us into the VIP area with him.  So that was fun.  I also had a body guard following me around.  I bought him a beer and he proceeded to follow me and procure things for me all night.  When we eventually left, the rasta and the body guard put us on bodas (with whom we eventually had words).  As we were about to launch into the cool night air, this total jerk took my dope hat (my purple trucker hat that says dope in neon green letters) off my head.  RIGHT OFF!  Then they tried to make us leave without it and I threw a tantrum of American proportions. "NOBODY JUST TAKES MY HAT.  GIVE ME MY HAT BACK,  THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!"  Note:  I am yelling this while straddling a motorcycle and turned around yelling at a crowd of curious onlookers.

Then the rasta got my hat, handed it to me and calmly said "Ey. Sorry, here is your hat."

"We go," I growled to the boda driver. "But first we find rolex."  We took a half turn down the street where the rolex (street food-an omelette rolled inside flat bread.  so good) are and they had packed up by that time so we carried on.

"I will eat left over pasta.  We go now to Kaliyabuhire (my village)."

So we began to make our way back and then we ended up where we started this story.

It was fun, and I often go back and forth about whether I should fight over boda fares.  But sometimes the principle of ALWAYS being charged mzungu price, and being treated like a walking wallet gets old.  Last night I guess it got old enough to react.  Needless to say, I probably will not call Matthew the Boda driver this morning (I made him save his number in my phone) to tell him how right I was.  Probably not worth it.

The Fade

Today I decided I needed a hair cut. That's where everything started. Well really it started last week when I went into Warid hair barbering shop one night to see about the price of a haircut for men. He told me 4,000 shillings or $1.60. This seemed agreeable to me, so I told him I would be back in the morning. Well I came back a week later and the young guy cutting hair was just as wide-eyed and eager to welcome me.

I sat down and was sweating, so I toweled of my head. Well really, he did it for me and he mostly just shook my head a lot and patted the top of my hair. Then he turned on the fan in my face to cool down.  I asked if he had clippers for the sides of my hair and he said yea. So I asked for a 4 on the side and the blended to the top with the scissors. He said ok.

First I should say that African English is not like American Standard English. There are funny things like how transitive verbs are not used, nor are gerunds. So "we are thinking of going to the pool" turns into "we go to the pool." It's more direct, but lacks some nuance. Also there is liberal use (usually non-use) of prepositions. As such there are miscommunications when Africans and Mzungus talk sometimes. So even if the Ugandans don't understand they will say yes or okay. This was a case where I told him what I wanted for my hair, he had no idea, then said yes only to acknowledge I made sounds. 

So he dove into cutting my hair first with a 4 on the sides. That was going ok.... Then he started with the scissors. First he cut in an absolutely straight line the front of my hair. I suddenly was rocking the friar tuck look. 

So I thought I would be helpful. I took the comb from him and said 'can I please show you?" And proceeded to demonstrate with his comb and scissors how to cut my own hair. He nodded enthusiastically and took the tools back. He combed up a finger full of hair and proceeded to trip it then daintily snip over the topmost hairs on my head. This clearly wasn't working.

"Can you just do my whole head with the clippers?" He smiled very big. "Yes." So he gingerly started clipping away. So I said "you can press down. Just shave it. 4 on top too, I just want it a bit shorter on the sides."

"Do you know fade?" He says. "Yes, I know what a fade is." "I can do that. I can do hair like that." So I said okay and he proceeded to give me a fade and just cut my hair like a Ugandan man's. then he pointed to the hair cut picture chart. "Number 50 please." I looked up and number 50 was the only non black guy on the chart. It was a Dominican dude for sure. My hair cutter smiled, "I am doing that and it will be good for you."

So he gave me this fade and was much more confident. Then at the end he brushed all the hair off with a towel. He checked to make sure I approved. It looked clean, and that was the most important. He then sprayed olive oil hair spray on my head in a sweet smelling cloud and proceeded to wipe my hair with a flat brush thing. It was a shoe brush. Then he baby-powdered my neck and face after trimming my beard and I was out the door.

Of course throughout this process there were people in and out to look at me while I was getting my hair cut. It was quite the exciting day for the Warid barber shop. I guess I am satisfied, though I have very little hair. But it was with the experience. And at least it will be good for hot weather.


Andrew (AJ) Doty
Monitoring and Evaluation Senior Fellow
ajd@villageenterprise.org
Uganda: +256 794 485 228

Lights Out.

The power goes out a lot here.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it.  You can't really guess when it might go out or stay on.  This morning it was on when I got in the shower, and off when I got out.  Then an hour later, it was back.  Sometimes when out to dinner the power will go off and suddenly the meal is shrouded in darkness.  Sometimes when out at the club (literally the only club) the power goes off and a packed dance floor becomes lit only by the meager and erratic glow from cell phones.  Most public spaces have generators that will eventually kick on, but the erratic darkness adds an air of adventure to every day activities like eating and cooking.  Below is a picture when we were cooking in the dark last night.

Then the power came back on so we ventured into Hoima Town to get a drink with some friends and colleagues.  Even when the power was on, we were sitting outside in front of a bar called Natty and the light that was generated from within the bar was all that lit the patio.  There are also no street lights, so the shops that remain open late also throw their blue glow into the public spaces.  There was hardly enough light at the table to distinguish the faces of the people we were sitting with, so it was sort of like a weird dating game.  You can't see my face until you agree t be my friend!  The next picture is from inside Natty's.

the light doesn't do much to brighten things up, but the color is straight from a noir detective story, and who doesn't like a bit of ambience?  Especially when you have no choice in the matter.  Certainly the oddest thing to me is that there are no street lights.  Occasionally you pass through weak pools of watery light that ward off the surrounding darkness.  The approach of a boda throws some light on the road until it whirs past in a cloud of dust and exhaust, and then the light is gone.  It makes everything sort of magical, mysterious and chaotic all at once.  It's always a good recipe for an interesting night out.  I will close with a picture of Hoima town at night.  More later...

 

Street Food, and Hoima by Night

Hoima streets at night

At Hoima's Club TNT

Grilled chicken

All the makings for Roll-eggs



A street in Hoima Town at night

Uganda Be kidding Me

I have been in Uganda for a week now and I think I am just starting to realize I am here. It has been a fantastic week, and I am excited to see and do more.  The weather is generally perfect, and my living situation is absolutely comfortable.

On the surface, Uganda looks very similar to Rwanda. It is green, it is tropical, it is striking in its functional calamity. However, there are some subtle differences as well.

The roads and infrastructure in Uganda are in worse disrepair. The blackouts are fairly consistent, and given that Uganda is so much larger, it feels more sparsely populated.

Kampala of course is an exception to that. Kampala is chaotic and lively, a vibrant shock of people and cars and matatus (collective taxis) and boda bodas (motorcycle taxis). It's hard to tell sometimes if people are parking or driving, because both situations involve tons of traffic and people mixed together in the roads, and really neither move quickly.

Kigali in Rwanda, on the other hand, is clean, quiet, orderly and almost eerie in its pristine state. It's cleaner and quieter than many large cities in the US. As such it is harder to get a sense of the character there, whereas my initial observations indicate that Kampala sort of shoves it in your face.

Many of the foods are similar between the two countries, though Ugandan food seems less flavorful. There are lots of carbs (rice, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, yams, casava, ad nauseum...) and then generally some sauce or stew. Here in hoima there is a lot of fish, given our proximity to Lake Albert. Also they make a sauce out of peanuts that is savory and then they stew meat (goat or beef) in it. It is pretty good. It is rich, and not sweet-peanuty like Thai peanut sauce. Both Rwanda and Uganda feature the buffet, which consists of about 97 types of carbs, various types of the aforementioned stewed meats, beans, and then you just pile your plate high for about $3.

There the similarities begin to diverge, and I am less able to comment. I will hopefully have some more insight in coming posts.

So far Village Enterprise (click on the hyperlinked name for the website) has been incredible. The work that we are doing in Hoima is so cool. I have been sitting in on induction trainings for our business mentors and it is amazing the training, interviewing and high levels of performance required just to be hired. On the one hand it puts a lot of pressure on candidates, on the other hand it demonstrates that we choose smart, capable people and respect their abilities enough to push them to perform. It is a unique way to demonstrate the culture of the organization and indicates the level of commitment that will be necessary for success. It's very cool.

I have more to say, but instead I'll add a few photos and save the rest for another post.

Cheers!