Monthly Archives: February 2012

A night in Kampala

Kampala, Travelling in Africa, Uganda

The first night in Kampala doesn’t really count. We only got in after midnight and then there was the long ride – with quick stop when the driver nearly broke the car going over a ditch – to the backpackers. We sat on the roof for a while, meeting each other for the first time, feeling the group out. Then bed. That awkward moment with a new group of deciding who sleeps where. It’s not a big issue but everyone is a little weary to make a decision in case it offends anyone else. Tiredness wins over and we all sleep.

I’m last up in the morning. It’s been such a crazy few weeks; it’s left me tired. I sleep late. Eventually we’re all up and we start to make a move. We’re staying at a different place tonight, New City Annex, which is closer to the bus station. We take a taxi.

The drive through Kampala is the first I get to see of the city. I love that moment of discovery, walking or driving through a city, really seeing the place. Kampala feels strange, foreign. Different to the other African cities I’ve visited. I suppose, in retrospect, it feels less South African.

We pass a giant Hindu Temple in the process of construction. There is more religious diversity in this city than I expected – churches of all types and sizes, mosques, including the giant, showy, Gaddafi mosque, this temple.

But it feels as if they’ve poured their money into constructing religious symbols instead of into building the city. Kampala should be more developed than Lusaka. I’m sure it’s bigger. It should definitely feel more developed than Gabs. It doesn’t. It feels dusty and run down – but without any of the run-down charm of Maputo. It seems haphazard. It doesn’t feel like an aid agency capital. It doesn’t feel like a business capital either. There is a strange tension to the city I can’t put my finger on but it’s uncomfortable. The city doesn’t feel relaxed.

The day passes in a blur. There is shopping. There is walking.  There is currency converting. There is buying sim-cards and getting connected. There is glorious, wonderful heat. We eat at the Hari Krishna restaurant near the National Theatre. Chilli Paneer – delicious, especially when seasoned with hunger. Then first crazy boda boda ride.

The evening is gentle. We sit on the balcony and watch the moon rise over the city. We meet some friends of one of our group and taste, for the first time, cold Ugandan beer. It is a beautiful night. We sit in the evening, the first of many, and share the space quietly as each person reads and dozes and journals. It has been a busy day and tomorrow the journey north begins.

Place and music

Adventures
“Ain’t it funny how a melody can bring back a memory
Take you to another place in time
Completely change your state of mind”
Clint Black, “State of Mind”
Music. Melody, words, rhythm carry the echoes of another time, another place. Korea has been on my mind a lot lately. Daegu, Busan, Gyeongju, Jecheon, the West Sea Islands, Seoul. I spent a lot of time, during my Daegu days, lost in my music. Especially when I traveled alone. In a world where the language is foreign and the K-pop almost unbearable, my music created an alternative sound-track. Now, those songs haunt me. The songs that remind me of those walks, so many walks, at Suseong Lake – rain, snow, sunshine and full-on blossom-spring. The songs I used to listen to on the bus to work and when I went walking alone. Songs of adventure, songs of homesickness. Chris Chameleon’s “Ontvlugting” from the Ingrid Jonker poem. And “Bitterbessie Dagbreek” (this one also reminds me of Constantia). And “Ek Herhaal Jou”. And “Die Lied Van Die Gebreekte Riete”. Karen Zoid’s “Maak Nie Regtig Saak Nie” and “Die Lug is Grys”. Koos Kombuis – “Lisa se Klavier”, “Liefde uit die Oude Doos”, “Mona Lisa”. Every song from the first season of Glee. “Wild Boys” and “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran. Orisha’s “Represent Cuba”.
Sometimes songs have more than one association. Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World” also reminds me of being 13 in the Eastern Cape. They were the first international band – or at least the first one I knew about – to visit our little corner of South Africa after Apartheid. That song was the beginning of the change, the beginning of everything turning upside down. Or maybe the beginning of everything turning right-side up, really. Sometimes associations are entirely in one’s own head and one’s own unique context.
Every place I’ve lived has music. “Laid” by James will always be a Grahamstown song. There are so many Grahamstown songs. So much Tori. Saturday morning Boo!. Karma at the Box Theatre. Much later, the music of Fest – from Chris Chameleon to Gala Concerts and so many beautiful ballets. Ballets. Puccini makes me think of Daegu and, to a lesser extent, Cape Town but the ballets always take me back to the Guy Butler Theatre at the Grahamstown Monument.
“Lente in die Boland” reminds me, of course, of Stellenbosch. It makes me think of the beautiful train ride through from Cape Town to Stellenbosch and of wine tasting and yakka parties and stolen weeks spent at lectures and so very much debating. Less obviously, “N1 Roete” by Klopjag is a Cape Town and Stellenbosch song for me. It reminds me of the friend I first saw Klogjag with, at Dorp Street Theatre, in the ‘Bosch. It reminds me of living in Rondebosch, too. I used to have a flat where, on a clear day, I could look out towards the Stellenbosch/Somerset West/Durbanville mountains. Most Cape Town people are deeply attached to Table Mountain. Much as I love Table Mountain on a good day, especially from the city bowl, it is the mountains out past the Cape flats, towards Stellenbosch and Somerset West that make me homesick.
Pretty much everything by Freshly Ground makes me think of Cape Town, too. That first night, the first night after I moved to Cape Town, my friends dragged me out to the Independent Armchair Theatre in Obs to see a little-known local band. It was Freshly Ground. The next time I saw them was at concert at Kirstenbosch with 8000 people.
Sometimes associations cross over. Johnny Clegg, for example, live in the Guy Butler Theatre that amazing 2002 Fest, with the family of a dear friend at Spier and then, a few years later in Korea, part of the homesickness but also the hope and the realisation that I wanted nothing more than to return to Africa and never to leave again.
And now, there is a new association: Will Young’s “Evergreen” (yes, groan) will now forever remind me of Uganda. The DRC has a far more interesting song association, but in Northern Uganda we were followed by “Evergreen”. I don’t even like the song but from now on, it’ll always make me smile and remind me that the world is such a small place that there is really nothing all that unusual about Will Young’s “Evergreen” in a Lebanese Restaurant called The Cedars in Gulu in Northern Uganda.

“Ain’t it funny how a melody can bring back a memory

Take you to another place in time

Completely change your state of mind”

Clint Black, “State of Mind”

Music. Melody, words, rhythm carry the echoes of another time, another place. Korea has been on my mind a lot lately. Daegu, Busan, Gyeongju, Jecheon, the West Sea Islands, Seoul. I spent a lot of time, during my Daegu days, lost in my music. Especially when I traveled alone. In a world where the language is foreign and the K-pop almost unbearable, my music created an alternative sound-track. Now, those songs haunt me. The songs that remind me of those walks, so many walks, at Suseong Lake – rain, snow, sunshine and full-on blossom-spring. The songs I used to listen to on the bus to work and when I went walking alone. Songs of adventure, songs of homesickness. Chris Chameleon’s “Ontvlugting” from the Ingrid Jonker poem. And “Bitterbessie Dagbreek” (this one also reminds me of Constantia). And “Ek Herhaal Jou”. And “Die Lied Van Die Gebreekte Riete”. Karen Zoid’s “Maak Nie Regtig Saak Nie” and “Die Lug is Grys”. Koos Kombuis – “Lisa se Klavier”, “Liefde uit die Oude Doos”, “Mona Lisa”. Every song from the first season of Glee. “Wild Boys” and “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran. Orisha’s “Represent Cuba”.

Sometimes songs have more than one association. Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World” also reminds me of being 13 in the Eastern Cape. They were the first international band – or at least the first one I knew about – to visit our little corner of South Africa after Apartheid. That song was the beginning of the change, the beginning of everything turning upside down. Or maybe the beginning of everything turning right-side up, really. Sometimes associations are entirely in one’s own head and one’s own unique context.

Every place I’ve lived has music. “Laid” by James will always be a Grahamstown song. There are so many Grahamstown songs. So much Tori. Saturday morning Boo!. Karma at the Box Theatre. Much later, the music of Fest – from Chris Chameleon to Gala Concerts and so many beautiful ballets. Ballets. Puccini makes me think of Daegu and, to a lesser extent, Cape Town but the ballets always take me back to the Guy Butler Theatre at the Grahamstown Monument.

“Lente in die Boland” reminds me, of course, of Stellenbosch. It makes me think of the beautiful train ride through from Cape Town to Stellenbosch and of wine tasting and yakka parties and stolen weeks spent at lectures and so very much debating. Less obviously, “N1 Roete” by Klopjag is a Cape Town and Stellenbosch song for me. It reminds me of the friend I first saw Klogjag with, at Dorp Street Theatre, in the ‘Bosch. It reminds me of living in Rondebosch, too. I used to have a flat where, on a clear day, I could look out towards the Stellenbosch/Somerset West/Durbanville mountains. Most Cape Town people are deeply attached to Table Mountain. Much as I love Table Mountain on a good day, especially from the city bowl, it is the mountains out past the Cape flats, towards Stellenbosch and Somerset West that make me homesick.

Pretty much everything by Freshly Ground makes me think of Cape Town, too. That first night, the first night after I moved to Cape Town, my friends dragged me out to the Independent Armchair Theatre in Obs to see a little-known local band. It was Freshly Ground. The next time I saw them was at concert at Kirstenbosch with 8000 people.

Sometimes associations cross over. Johnny Clegg, for example, live in the Guy Butler Theatre that amazing 2002 Fest, with the family of a dear friend at Spier and then, a few years later in Korea, part of the homesickness but also the hope and the realisation that I wanted nothing more than to return to Africa and never to leave again.

And now, there is a new association: Will Young’s “Evergreen” (yes, groan) will now forever remind me of Uganda. The DRC has a far more interesting song association, but in Northern Uganda we were followed by “Evergreen”. I don’t even like the song but from now on, it’ll always make me smile and remind me that the world is such a small place that there is really nothing all that unusual about Will Young’s “Evergreen” in a Lebanese Restaurant called The Cedars in Gulu in Northern Uganda.

The girl in the red dress

Ideas, Travelling in Africa,

The girl in the red dress is beautiful. She’s has engaging, dark, laughing eyes. She is shy. Her smile sneaks up and rushes across her face and makes everyone around her smile, too. She brightens a room without trying.

The girl in the red dress hasn’t had it easy. She’s been through some of the worst the world could throw at her, in some of the world’s worst places. She still faces challenges every day. She still fears. She shares a room with five, ten people and a chicken. She has no assets and no money for college. Her family is mostly gone, except for an aunt on the other side of the world and her brother. He smiles, too, and supports Man United.

We want to tell her story. We think we can make her better. If we share her story, others might come. They might listen. They might help her. She is a victim.

She is uncomfortable. She doesn’t like the camera. She leans out of the picture. She doesn’t want to talk. She keeps looking towards her phone, which she left with her friend.

The girl in the red dress, the second-hand red dress that looks so good on her dark skin, the girl with the smiling eyes and the captivating laugh. The girl in the red dress is just another teenager. What if that’s true? What if our care, our sympathy is not the answer? An ordinary teenager who lives her life and giggles and laughs, like any other person. What if she’s just ordinary; not a victim, not a survivor? What if she’s just a girl, in a red dress, in a city, in a country? Not a sufferer, not a statistic, not a reason to build a story. Not a life we lived, not a wealthy life, but a life like thousands of others.

What if our help, our pity, serve no purpose other than to turn her ordinary, everyday experiences into something sad and heart-breaking and to be pitied? What if our well-intentioned interventions rob her of something – the ordinary, everyday of being a teenager? Vilifying what is normal and happy and ordinary for her. What if all she wants to be, just like anyone else – nothing special, nothing different – is a pretty young girl in a bright red dress?