Home Leave III: Puerto Lopez, Ecuador

In the pre-dawn morning we rolled into the bus station in Puerto Lopez, Ecuador.  The bus terminal was empty, devoid of life except for a few tuktuk (yes they have them there, too! They are just called moto-taxis.) drivers out front waiting to scoop up arriving tourists and take them to the handful of hotels in the town.  The air was salty, cool and damp, redolent with the scent of the ocean.  There was a slight breeze, and it was actually quite chilly.  Previously, my experiences from mountains to coast in Latin America were in Costa Rica, where you start chilly, and wake up in cloying heat.  It was not the case here.  I needed my sweater and jacket.

We hefted our bags onto a tuk tuk that took us to our hotel about 1 kilometer north of the downtown malecon (boardwalk).  We had to yell for some time to wake up the night guard, as it was still only 5:30 in the morning.  We even shook a rain stick, and tried thumping the gate.  Eventually he awoke and let us in.  We sat outside on the deck of the hotel with our bags as none of the staff were there to open the main building, and the room had not been cleaned because the previous guests had not left.  So we sat in roughly-hewn wooden chairs. As the day became grey, then light out, we could see the waves breaking just past a line of palm trees.  The ocean was in sight, not only just in sound!  By about 7:15 the staff showed up and let us into the main lobby/restaurant/public area of the hotel and showed us to an area full of wicker couches with pads where we could sleep until our room was ready.  We took full advantage, sleeping until nearly 11:00.  We had some breakfast, then went to our room which was finally ready.  We had a lovely little cottage with a giant porch, complete with hammock.  The room was open and airy, with only screens and glass doors.  It was set back in a lush jungle-y garden.  We had a private bathroom, and plenty of space, and it was only $30/night!

We put on swimsuits (covered by shirts and shorts-it was still chilly, only 70 degrees!) and we walked the distance to town to find some lunch on the malecon.  We sat at a restaurant on the beach, our chairs sinking slightly into the sand.  We had a view of the ocean and the pier.  We ate fresh ceviche, plantain chips, and drank fresh fruit smoothies, all for about $3 each.  Apparently this was steep for Ecuador prices, but we were in a touristy little town.

We walked around town, browsing the eclectic jumble of small artisan shops, clothing sellers, and jewelry-makers along the malecon.  We crossed over onto the beach and we walked back our hotel following the shoreline.  We put our feet in the water, and it was not cold, but not warm.  The day was still too overcast to swim, and a slight breeze was picking up again.  For quite some time we watched gulls fly over the water.  We slowly ambled back towards the hotel where there was a sign with hundreds of capital cities painted on wooden signs pointed in the direction of those cities, with the distance in kilometers from Puerto Lopez indicated on them.  Lee and I counted the places we had been separately and together.

We had a pretty lazy day overall, but traveling overnight, and sleeping/waking at odd hours had taken it out of us.  Later we went back into town for dinner, appreciating the glow of the street lamps, the sound of the waves, and the fine mist that made everything shimmer.  We ate wonderfully fresh fish with rice and limes, and enjoyed crisp local beers.  Then a random French girl and a Colombian came and played the guitar and violin very badly and sang in Spanish.  She did all the talking, though her accent was very heavy and she wasn't a native speaker.  The Colombian boy said nothing.  It was weird to see the two of the playing the instruments and asking for money together.  Why a French girl?  We wandered around a bit more in town, bought tickets to go on a tour boat to Isla de la Plata the next day, then eventually made our way back to our hotel for drinks on the porch before calling it a night.

In the morning we woke up hoping for sun, but it was still overcast and cool.  We ate a cheap breakfast ($3.00 each) and then we were picked up by the tour company and driven down to the pier for our adventure out to Isla de la Plata.  Isla de la Plata is known as the Poor Man's Galapagos, given that it has giant tortoises, blue-footed boobies, birds with big red neck balloons, lizards, fish, and all that other Darwin-esque stuff.  We got on a boat that sat 16 of us.  It was spacious and comfortable.  We headed out to sea into some pretty big waves for a boat ride that took about an hour and a half.  The farther out to see we cruised, the clearer the sky became until it was hot and sunny.  On the way we stopped to watch hump-backed whales hump out of the water and play only 50 feet from the boat.  They are so big and bulky and graceful.  Their movement was fantastic.

We arrived at the Island, and only one side has calm enough water to disembark.  We got out with our guides into crystal clear water, and trudged up to a reception hall with nice bathrooms and shady sitting areas.  We were then taken on a 5 kilometer hike along the cliffs of the island.  We did a fair amount of hiking up to the top of the island, then generally circumnavigated it along the cliffs.  It was beautiful.  Apparently it is called Isla de la Plata (Silver Island) due to how the cliffs are covered in bat poop and shimmer in the moonlight.  Simultaneously romantic/terribly unromantic.  We saw many birds, many boobies, beautiful vistas, and got some good hiking in.  It was sunny and spectacular on the Island.  It was incredibly dry, in the lee of the mainland, and so all the foliage except for the cacti was brown and crunchy.  It made all the blue feet seem extra vibrant.

It was so fun to see all of these beautiful creatures I had read about for the first time, and to do it with lee!  We walked holding hands, took romantic pictures with dramatic views to the ocean behind us, shared zone bars, and just enjoyed the simple things one cannot do when separated by two continents and an ocean. After a few hours we headed back to the boat where we got to go snorkeling just off the shore of the island.  We swam next to turtles and enjoyed the cool but pleasant water.  They gave us some small lunch, and then we headed back to the mainland over massive rolling waves.

We were tired when we got back so we napped in the cool of our room, then went out for dinner in the evening.  The street was packed as it might have been a Friday.  There were many young European tourists out to listen to live music and eat, and we struggled to find a free table on the malecon.  Again we ate delicious, incredibly fresh seafood, and we chatted up some locals who owned the restaurant.  We drank a few beers, then walked back to the hotel in the moonlight.  We were in bed early because in the morning we were setting off at 7:00 am for a bus back up to the Andes.

The next installment will be about Cuenca!

Home Leave Part II: The Latin America Chronicles Quito to the Coast

I was so excited to land in Ecuador.  I knew that Lee would be waiting for me on the other side of customs and immigration.  After months of waiting, being apart, skype calls, phone calls, g-chats, text messages, and every method of communication in between, we were finally going to have physical contact with each other.  I of course wanted to do what I could to look put together, so I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on a spritz of my cologne before getting in line for immigration.  The line was slow-moving, but I eventually made it through, got a stamp, picked up my bags, and headed out the sliding doors into official Ecuador territory.  And there she was!

She had written out a sign for me "el chico mas guapo en todo el mundo" and had a huge, beautiful smile on her face.  We hugged and kissed, and generally made a romantic movie scene in the arrivals hall at Mariscal Sucre airport.  Then we made our way into Quito.

Quito is an amazing, sprawling city built primarily in a long valley in the Andes mountains.  The elevation is very high, at 9,200 feet.  The city is extensively built up, with sky scrapers lining the avenues of the valley floor, and neighborhoods clinging to the slopes of the steep mountains on all sides.  It makes for beautiful views everywhere you turn.  We went for a a coffee at Kallari Cafe in the Mariscal area of Quito, then we sauntered around, looking at different plazas and neighborhoods along the way.  We walked through Parque El Ejido, a lovely park with plentiful green space, eucalyptus trees, pine trees, volleyball courts, and a whole walkway lined with artisan vendors.  The sun was setting as we were walking, and it was amazing how the temperature began to drop as soon as the sun was going down.  The elevation of Quito makes for VERY cold nights.

          

That evening we went for drinks in a very cozy bar called El Pobre Diablo.  It is known for live music, and an avant garde feel.  There were plenty of young, hip Quitenos in the bar sipping cocktails and sharing plates of cheese, olives, and various meats.  We enjoyed some national beers and also shared some appetizers while waiting for two of Lee's college friends to show up.  They eventually made it, we had another round of drinks, and then made our way to an upscale sushi restaurant in the Bellvista neighborhood of Quito.

We sat outside under heat lamps and ate delicious Japanese-Peruvian fusion sushi.  It was great to get to know Lee's friends a bit better, and enjoy not travelling on a plane.  I was tired as I had flown overnight, and the past two weeks of travel were catching up with me.  Plus I was with Lee, and bundled up in many layers for the chill air, and finally felt like I was adjusting to a time zone.  I was beat.  We called it an early night, and then headed to our hotel for bed.

In the morning we had a leisurely breakfast, and then we met up with Lee's friend KK to go to "La Mitad del Mundo," the place where the equator crosses through northern Quito.  It was a 30 minute taxi ride out there, and I slept the whole way.  The taxi driver tried to make conversation.  He was a gruff guy with neoprene sleeves that made it look like he had tattoos.  I was too tired though.  La Mitad del Mundo was warm, windy and dusty.  We took a tour where we were shown some of the interesting gravitational effects of being on the equator (draining water does not make a spiral, strength is different, sun clocks show different time) mixed with some information about traditional indigenous tribes in the area.  It was an interesting and informative experience.




























After La Mitad del Mundo, we left Lee's friend KK, and we headed over to the Centro Historico to tour the basilica, see the city from the heights, and wander around the city a bit before hopping on an overnight bus to the coast.  The basilica itself, "La Basilica del Voto Nacional" was stunning.  The views were even more breathtaking.  We climbed hundreds of stairs to reach the top of the cupola high above the city.  The stair climbing left me winded at that altitude, but the views and the experience were well worth the time.  From above, the views appear as though you could reach out and touch the clouds.  The mountains, the sky, and the city all seem so close together at that altitude.  The city stretched in all directions, only bounded by the inclines of the mountain slopes.


















After a lovely stroll around the cathedral, and meandering through old town, we needed to make our way back to the hotel to pick up our bags before heading to the bus terminal.  We went on a mad search for a particular empanada place called las medialunas de Abuelo.  It was to take on the road.  We gathered our belongings and hopped in a taxi with Lee's taxi driving friend Alex.  We crawled north through rush hour traffic, fearing we would miss our bus to the coast.  We arrived at the bus terminal (a large, modern, beautiful terminal reminiscent of an airport) and had to run through the chaos of people, out to the buses in order to get on the bus in time.  Running with a 35 lb pack at 9000 feet is tiring, but we made our bus and we were on our way to the coast!

Home Leave. (Where is home, exactly?) Part 1. The US Section

I don't think I realized that I had left Uganda until I was coming back into the country.  I was waiting in line at immigration after 5 weeks away, explaining to some other tourists how to get a taxi and what to pay.  I recognized the immigration official (the airport is not big at Entebbe) and joked with him about how he was the one who gave me my exit visa, too.  I pushed through the crowds with a stack of luggage that had multiplied over my journey.  I left with 1 bag to check, and came back with three massive bags. A driver from our favorite Kampala hotel, Red Chilli, was there to pick me up.  The night was warm and damp, it had clearly begun raining in Kampala.  I was back on the left as a passenger, and on the left side of the road.  Suddenly it hit me that I had actually been away.  This realization, about 5 weeks too late, sent a dizzying flood of emotion into my small brain, and I promptly shut off and slept until arriving at Red Chilli 45 minutes later.

My trip started with a terrorist threat that was confirmed to be real and potentially very violent against Entebbe airport at the exact time I was supposed to fly out.  We had the veracity of this published threat confirmed by a colleague who is a Member of Parliament, and head of the defense committee in parliament here in Uganda.  He advised me, "fly out as soon as you can, or wait two days."  Well.  I wasn't going to wait two days, so I jumped in a taxi with a friend who was flying out that afternoon, rather than late at night.  We arrived to the airport, bought a one-way ticket on Qatar airways from Entebbe to Washington DC (I was supposed to go to Seattle) and thought, well, I can figure the rest out in Doha.  I just need to get clear of Entebbe.  We spent a tense few hours waiting in the airport for either our plane to arrive, or the apocalypse.  Fortunately the plane landed first.  We boarded and were soon in the air on the way to Doha.

We landed in Doha, and after some finagling at the transfers desk, I had a flight to Chicago in the morning, a hotel for the night, and meal vouchers.  So my friend and I proceeded down to immigration and passed the droves of officials in traditional Emirati clothes, jelaaba and head scarf.  We cleared immigration and set off into a 100 degree night at 1:00 am to our hotel.  We arrived at the hotel at 2:30, decided to take our meal right then (meals were still going on for Ramadhan, so people could eat before fasting at dawn).  We ate around 3:00, and at 4:00 we went outside to listen to the call to prayer echo around the canyons of dazzlingly elctrified sky scrapers.

I caught about two and a half hours of sleep before getting a wake up call to come down for our transfer back to the airport.  I took a quick cold shower, put my clothes back on and headed back to the glitzy, commercial chaos of Doha International airport.  There was a ferrari for purchase in the duty free shops.  I bought some chocolates and a coconut water (I was excited by these developed world choices) and then boarded my 14.5 hour flight to Chicago.

Upon landing in Chicago, I knew I would miss my flight.  The flight was already 35 minutes late, on top of a 1.5 hour layover to clear immigration, pick up my bags from customs, re-check them, and get to my gate.  No chance.  I still ran all through O'hare trying to do my best to make it, but I couldn't.  I ran to the wrong gate, then had to retrace my steps, and just sit with the knowledge that I wouldn't get to Seattle before 10:00 pm.  I Was sweating, tired, had been wearing the same clothes for 30 hours, and needed a shower, so I bought a clean shirt and undies at Brooks Brothers, and bought a day pass to the United Admiral's club.  I got a nice long shower, and clean clothes.  I had three beers in the club for free, then a bourbon, and then headed down for my flight to Seattle.


Seattle was wonderful.  It was so nice to spend time with my family.  We went boating, saw art, ate at the top of the Space Needle, went to Pike Place Market, went walking around Green Lake, went on several nice jogs, grilled delicious burgers, caught up with dear friends (@maurawatts) and just generally soaked up my family.  We even got to see the whole extended family and drive to the cascade mountains to our Cabin in the woods.  It is a hodge podge place, a little bit of family chaos in the woods, but it has so many great memories attached to it.

From there we drove down the West Coast to Merced.  I spent a very quick three nights in Merced.  This whole time I was sort of a zombie.  Up until midnight with work activities to stay connected to East Africa, and up early to check in before their work day ended.

From Merced I went to San Francisco where I stayed with Genny, one of my besties, for a week while working out of the US Office of Village Enterprise.  It was a wonderful opportunity to get in touch with the home base and refresh my perspective on Village Enterprise from that side of the operations.  It is so crucial, and all my meetings with the Staff there gave me a renewed appreciation for how our field work can inform our US work and vice versa.  In the evenings I went to lovely dinners, cooked with Genny and John, saw wonderful friends from Pitzer and AU, and was genuinely honored to be in the presence of such good people.

From San Francisco I flew down to LA and spent an amazing weekend with Harrison Weinfeld, another one of my best friends.  We ate amazing food, went to the beach, drank delicious scotch, stayed up far too late talking and catching up.  He took me on tours of his neighborhood, and I was so happy to see how established he was in LA.  It was such a pleasure.  I also got to see Geraldine and we all went out for a night, and I met Harris' writing partner Danny at a nice little gathering in Hollywood.  It was fun to be back in Los Angeles, and a good reminder of why I really wouldn't mind ending up there with Lee.  Thank you Harris for a wonderful time.  I spent an afternoon with my grandmother.  It was so good to see her, as I am not sure if I will again.  Then I had dinner with my aunt and uncle who shuttled me to the airport after great conversation and good food.

While in the car on the way to the airport, I got my last call before shutting off.  I was on the phone as I checked in for my flight to Panama City, and up to going through Security.  The phone call ended and I went straight through the security line to my gate.  I boarded an overnight flight to Panama City.

I woke up in Panama City, breezed groggily through the airport to the gate for my flight to Quito.  I barely had enough time to snag a water and a coffee before I got on my flight to Quito.  I slept again until we were landing in Quito.  The turbulence was such that we were dropping steeply, and sharply.  People were screaming.  Then we landed to a burst of applause and I had made it to Ecuador.

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