Uganda Spring Break 2011

Also known as studying the LRA conflict in Northern Uganda, classes, delicious meals, long bus rides, and a lack of water for bathing

We left Rwanda Tuesday morning, after three days of consistent grey skies, cool weather and don’t let me forget the heavy rains. Of course my laundry was not dry and I slept through two alarms. Leaving me rushing to get to the office, with a suitcase full of wet clothes. We loaded on bus; bags packed high and drove the hilly two and a half hours to the Uganda border. Once reaching the border we physically had to walk from Rwanda to Uganda, across the no-persons land that lies between. We got frisked for weapons, paid 50 dollars, and exchanged money, now a visitor of Uganda for the next twelve days.

Our Group at the Equator 

            Uganda life is freestyle. In Rwanda there is tons of organization, self-discipline and rules; Uganda does not follow the same style. There is garbage piled high on the side of the streets, burn piles in empty lots where all the trash is thrown to be disposed of. These piles are inhabited by small puppies rolling around and scavenging the garbage, and by massive crane like birds who not only look like they could attack at any minute, but if they did you would die from some odd disease they are carrying. Ugandan’s seem more relaxed, more open. This is positive in some cases, but it also means that you get the occasionally kind fellow who wishes to lecture you for hours. There is dust everywhere, and the impression of mass chaos in the driving patterns that frankly is quite organized.

            We arrived in Kampala (the capital city) late Tuesday after thirteen hours of continuous driving. Our restroom was the bushes and termite hills when we stopped to “check the tires” because it is improper to have to ”pee” during a road trip. Wednesday the road trip continued, as we moved North, covering the span of Uganda in five hours and ending in Gulu. Gulu is located in Northern Uganda, where twenty-five years of violence lasted. Just years ago after you crossed the Nile, you were susceptible to rebel attacks, abductions and killings. Northern Uganda is known for Joseph Kony the leader of the Lord Resistance’s Army (LRA) and his army of young abducted children that were trained to kill. The LRA have moved to the Congo so now Gulu is a safe and secure town, full of a lively spirit and questionable sources of water.

            When we arrived there was no power, or water. This trend continued for about three days until we all became greasy enough to cook with. Our showers would tempt us with water, but as soon as you were naked and soapy the water would disappear. After creatively finding ways to bath we were blessed with water. Our hotel sits across the street from a nightclub called Amigos. Where music is blasted until four or five in the morning, followed by the screams and shouts of market vendors. The lack of water and the loud noise seems annoying but it is actually lovely. For me I am comforted, and reminded of my time in Paraguay. It is extraordinary to be at the heartbeat of Northern Ugandan, listening to the Acholi people enjoy life, and as our driver would put it “hunting knowledge from the local people.”

Nile on the Nile

Warthogs, hippos and a fashion statement, oh my!

After visiting an internally displaced person (IDP) camp outside of Gulu, and learning some about the conflict we headed to the safari. We woke early, to head out at six, as we loaded the bus the clubs of Gulu we re still packed with people partying to welcome the morning daybreak. We spent the day driving through Merchenson Falls park. The park is where Teddy Roosevelt hunted for two years, collecting over 2000 specimens for the Smithsonian museum, wiping out many African Elephants for the enjoyment of those museum visitors. Witnessing giraffes, elephants, warthogs, water buffalo, hyenas and various other animals pass our van. Although the first five hours were fascinating, around hour six we all decided we had enough of the dust and deer like creatures that populated the majority of the park. After a ride on the Nile, while drinking Nile Beer we headed back for an early night in our tents cabins and dreamt of hippos.

            Our ongoing joke of the group is that of touristy, safari-trotting people with their neutral colored pants, shirts with too many pockets and sun blocking hats. One member of our group sports this fashion statement commonly, and has always been a sport about putting up with our gentle mocking. Ugandan women who visit the safari are rumored to wear heals and dress up, because the reality of the situation is that you are sitting all day, with no need to lift a finger, unless it is to point at a rare animal. Following this sprit, and always looking for an excuse to dress up, safari came day and I sported high heels, a little black dress, topped off with a borrowed safari shirt, with no less then eight pockets, tied in a fashionable sense. Although I looked out of place, and the jokes were endless and hilarious within our group, it did get a slight bit awkward when I was in large groups of tourists looking like I was ready to go to the club.

 

Kampala, the what? The Capital City

            Kampala is a crazy city, and full of energy. Walking the streets requires you avoid potholes, speeding cars, street vendors, trash and of course the large and ugly birds that eat that trash. It is a city where people go out every night of the week until six in the morning and then go to work. Our stay in Kampala was limited to three nights, many of which I was sick with the stomach flu. Regardless, it was quite an experience. The three big landmarks we decided to see were the craft market, the Gaddaffi Mosque, and the local Market. The craft market was nothing overly exciting, full of traditional touristy African crafts, which are beautiful nonetheless. After buying a new bag and some fabric we headed to the Mosque.

            With my fake Ugandan ray-bans bought off the road and our rented scarfs to appear modest we entered the most beautiful structure in the skyline of Kampala. This massive mosque was fully funded by Gadaffi, who to this day (well maybe it has changed due to current events) pays the electricity, salaries of the security guards and basic maintenance fees. The mosque itself can hold hundreds of people, and is decorated in beautiful mosaics on every surface. It gives a sense of community and calmness. It was the only place in Kampala that I felt everything slow down, and could get a moment of peace.  Although I am not religious there was certain serenity in the whole building, a place where I could be spiritual and appreciate the privilege that I have and my experiences. At the same time the event was temporary, after an hour I was able to strip my sweaty head scarf, return it and walk back into the craziness they call Kampala.

            Myself and three other brave souls headed to the market. This market we had been warned was the craziest we would see in all of East Africa. We removed all our jewelry and hid our money. Before entering we fueled up, on chicken and fries and two bottles of water each. We got our bargaining skills ready, and made a plan if we got lost. It is hard to explain what this market looked or felt like. It was massive, spanning a distance so far I could of spent a week and not seen it all. Everything was crammed packed, piles of clothes, stacks of shoes, and the occasional chicken. Every price was negotiable, and dirt-cheap. We spend three hours losing ourselves in the market. The stacks of used clothes were endless and required an aggressive spirit to find anything worthwhile. The four of us bargained like professionals, utilizing flirtation, stern banter, and teamwork. We all walked with stuffed bags, and a nasty sunburn. I never spent more then three dollars on an item, and found some true gems.  It was this market that made me fall in love with Uganda, I would love to return and spend a week getting lost in the madness of it all.

            We ended the trip by visiting a refugee camp, with 50,000 inhabitants from ten different countries around Africa. We met with a group of twenty Rwandese citizens who after the genocide have refused to return to Rwanda. These are mostly all Hutus, who we can assume participated in the genocide. They are also all genocide deniers, who fear for their lives in Rwanda. It was easy to get angry at this group, as went as far to reject all the facts and claim that it was not actually a genocide against the Tutsi’s but instead against the Hutus. Although this position is clearly false, it was disappointing to see the children growing up in the camp. All these men had stories that promoted fear and division, and these were the stories they were teaching their children.

2500 Kilometers of driving later, a belly full of weeks of delicious food, a few bruises from the roughness of the road, and a fair share of uncomfortable positions in the van; I arrived home. I am spending this last week with my family before starting my month long research project, in which I will be living with friends and dictating my own schedule. The rainy season in Rwanda has begun, along with the start of commemoration for the Genocide. Marking 100 days of a sad and solemn attitude in Rwanda. The country is marked my grey skies, lots of trauma, and horrific memories. The mood has shifted, into something entirely different.