I spent nearly all of last week in Kampala. I have always said I didn't like Kampala, largely because the first time I went it was just highly overwhelming. Well, this time I knew what I was in for, so it wasn't nearly so bad. Don't get me wrong, I'm still not in love with it, I still prefer Gulu, but I didn't come home in hysterics this time like I did last time. Part of that was thanks to my new best friend, Kristin Barlow. She's from Connecticut and has the same job as me, only for a different organization. She's been here nearly three years now and knows how to maneuver and get what she needs, so she gave me a lot of tips and it was extremely helpful.
While I'm in Kampala, the name of the game is paper, paper, paper. I go to what is called Owino Market (Owino translates to "everything" - and it's quite literal.) It is an enormous market and there are about a million people there at any given moment (OK, so a million may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much.) As I walk through the "aisles" I am bumped, pushed, knocked in the head by large loads being carried on other heads, and any number of people are calling out "Muzungu!" (White Person!) simultaneously. I've gotten pretty good and at ignoring the calls, and this time I tied my hair back so no one was tempted to reach out and stroke or pull or touch it. And only a few people couldn't resist the compulsion to grab my arm to see what white skin feels like, compared to the dozens that grabbed at me last time. After I make my way through the maze for a bit, I find myself in the midst women seated high up on stacks and stacks of old paper. They see me and start pulling from the stacks to show me how great their paper is. I have to sort through the bazillion stacks and find what actually is good paper - paper that will create interesting beads, or the right thickness of paper to be re-printed with a color our buyers are looking for. The large orders being placed lately take a lot of paper. A lot. I probably brought home close to 200 lbs of paper this time. The women tie it up according to whose stack I pulled it from, weigh it and then throw it in a woven sack to be carried out. Both times I've been I've paid a guy to carry it out for me - either to a car parked far a way or to the bus park, also a ways away. Both times the paper has weighed more than me and the guy has been considerably smaller than me. I do not know how they do it. Literally. But somehow they manage to haul the paper up onto their backs and then make a beeline for their destination. In the end, they are men I don't argue with when they tell me their price - they deserve every shilling.
Next I visit the printer to print over paper that would make terrible beads as is. As many things are in this country, it was a struggle. I spent several hours three days in a row trying to get the colors right. It still was only sort of right in the end. Part of it is miscommunication while the other part is just that the beading operations (I'm not the only one who visits these printers) are so much more specific because Americans are buying them than anything Ugandans order. They can't quite wrap their head around why an orangey red isn't just as good as a brick red. And I see their point. But not everyone would, so we have to try again. Friday was particularly frustrating. I was there for nearly six hours and we only finished one color. Electricity kept going out, the guys took a long lunch break, it was a very tricky green color, etc., etc., etc. Point being, when it all ended I was out of time and had to buy the remaining supplies elsewhere in the city so I could head back to Gulu the next day. I left the printers with a lavender sample and when I received it on Sunday it was burgundy. Sigh. We'll try again next time.
I made a few lists while I was there:
Reasons I Hate Kampala:
1. My taxi driver told me it was "unconstitutional" to be 28, unmarried and without children.
2. Every expat I met that is living there made some comment to the effect of, "It must be so nice for you to come down here to civilazation once in a while."
3. I had to pay to use the toilet (a squatter of course) - they handed me an inconsequential amount of toilet paper and I had to flush the toilet myself by pouring water down the drain - most women just threw water into the stall, so the floors were all comepletely flooded.
4. I may or may not (really don't know here) have seen a dead body laying by the side of the road.
5. There are no traffic laws - just like in Gulu, only here there are thousands and thousands more cars. No stop lights (not even stop signs,) no lines on the roads, no sense of right-of-way, so getting anywhere by car takes hours. Literally. Think DC traffic jam on steroids.
Reasons I Like Kampala
1. I got to see a movie in a movie theatre, with movie theatre popcorn.
2. The power only went out momentarily instead for days at a time.
3. I got to shop at a supermarket that truly resembles a supermarket and buy Leibniz Choco Minis and chips.
4. The toilet at my hostel was sit-down style.
5. That's it....can't think of anything more.
So there's my latest Kampala adventure. Tune in next time for more Ugandan Profundities!!!
 |
| Terrible picture, but you get the idea. |
While I'm in Kampala, the name of the game is paper, paper, paper. I go to what is called Owino Market (Owino translates to "everything" - and it's quite literal.) It is an enormous market and there are about a million people there at any given moment (OK, so a million may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much.) As I walk through the "aisles" I am bumped, pushed, knocked in the head by large loads being carried on other heads, and any number of people are calling out "Muzungu!" (White Person!) simultaneously. I've gotten pretty good and at ignoring the calls, and this time I tied my hair back so no one was tempted to reach out and stroke or pull or touch it. And only a few people couldn't resist the compulsion to grab my arm to see what white skin feels like, compared to the dozens that grabbed at me last time. After I make my way through the maze for a bit, I find myself in the midst women seated high up on stacks and stacks of old paper. They see me and start pulling from the stacks to show me how great their paper is. I have to sort through the bazillion stacks and find what actually is good paper - paper that will create interesting beads, or the right thickness of paper to be re-printed with a color our buyers are looking for. The large orders being placed lately take a lot of paper. A lot. I probably brought home close to 200 lbs of paper this time. The women tie it up according to whose stack I pulled it from, weigh it and then throw it in a woven sack to be carried out. Both times I've been I've paid a guy to carry it out for me - either to a car parked far a way or to the bus park, also a ways away. Both times the paper has weighed more than me and the guy has been considerably smaller than me. I do not know how they do it. Literally. But somehow they manage to haul the paper up onto their backs and then make a beeline for their destination. In the end, they are men I don't argue with when they tell me their price - they deserve every shilling.
 |
| The awesome crowed printing office with the age-old printer. |
Next I visit the printer to print over paper that would make terrible beads as is. As many things are in this country, it was a struggle. I spent several hours three days in a row trying to get the colors right. It still was only sort of right in the end. Part of it is miscommunication while the other part is just that the beading operations (I'm not the only one who visits these printers) are so much more specific because Americans are buying them than anything Ugandans order. They can't quite wrap their head around why an orangey red isn't just as good as a brick red. And I see their point. But not everyone would, so we have to try again. Friday was particularly frustrating. I was there for nearly six hours and we only finished one color. Electricity kept going out, the guys took a long lunch break, it was a very tricky green color, etc., etc., etc. Point being, when it all ended I was out of time and had to buy the remaining supplies elsewhere in the city so I could head back to Gulu the next day. I left the printers with a lavender sample and when I received it on Sunday it was burgundy. Sigh. We'll try again next time.
I made a few lists while I was there:
Reasons I Hate Kampala:
1. My taxi driver told me it was "unconstitutional" to be 28, unmarried and without children.
2. Every expat I met that is living there made some comment to the effect of, "It must be so nice for you to come down here to civilazation once in a while."
3. I had to pay to use the toilet (a squatter of course) - they handed me an inconsequential amount of toilet paper and I had to flush the toilet myself by pouring water down the drain - most women just threw water into the stall, so the floors were all comepletely flooded.
4. I may or may not (really don't know here) have seen a dead body laying by the side of the road.
5. There are no traffic laws - just like in Gulu, only here there are thousands and thousands more cars. No stop lights (not even stop signs,) no lines on the roads, no sense of right-of-way, so getting anywhere by car takes hours. Literally. Think DC traffic jam on steroids.
Reasons I Like Kampala
1. I got to see a movie in a movie theatre, with movie theatre popcorn.
2. The power only went out momentarily instead for days at a time.
3. I got to shop at a supermarket that truly resembles a supermarket and buy Leibniz Choco Minis and chips.
4. The toilet at my hostel was sit-down style.
5. That's it....can't think of anything more.
So there's my latest Kampala adventure. Tune in next time for more Ugandan Profundities!!!
I laughed out loud at that Taxi driver's comment! CLASSIC!!! Glad this went better than the last hellish visit!! And, as a jewelry maker myself, I TOTALLY get why an orangey-red is unacceptable when a brick red is needed! What a fascinating life you are leading! I am so glad you have found a good friend!!!!!! My boys leave for Utah in 2 days, so be expecting a novel this week! xoxo
ReplyDeleteI need to keep friends like you in mind when I'm stressed out because it's not going perfect here and I think, "can't we just call this good enough?!"
ReplyDeleteActually, Morg, next time your feeling stressed or upset you need to just think, "Well, at least this experience will warm the hearts/cheer/amuse/excite/or just plain entertain dozens of folks who read my blog.
ReplyDeleteAnd you should have told the taxi driver, "You know, there's a religion called Mormonism where people think just like you...I could have a couple of representatives come talk to you about it..."