Tag: Kampala

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moments, freely

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We drove into the heart of Kampala on the last night, and ended up in this little gymnasium sized club with a fountain right by the entrance. The stairs leading up into the party was nothing fancy, just a few wooden stairs; the ticket man saw that we were mzungu and waved us in without asking for cover. The music was so alive, everyone was dancing and having a good time, enjoying city nightlife. At first we were a little awkward, like those first grade-six dances, but we warmed up and after a few drinks loosened up and just danced. I remember feeling incredibly lonely, homesick, and all the same reluctant to leave Uganda as it was our last night there. Then I let go of all those emotions/thoughts/overthinking and just celebrated being and staying true to me. For the fact that I knew I had grown and moved past little grudges and upsets that made me want to leave Vancouver so desperately in the first place, the reasons why I applied to go so far away. Knowing that I had become a better me, knew what I wanted, what I was willing to give.

Danced for all the moments of happiness from the three months, for the moments of connection, bonding, heart to hearts… for living out our lives: careers, passions, visions, for making real friendships with people we may never see again in our lives. The music was in Afrikaans, in Luganda, and Swahili– those were the three main languages that most city people knew. Our friends sang translations of the song lyrics so that we could understand. The room smelled of vodka. We were the center of attention for a little while, since we were mzungu. The men in the club were gentlemen, not like so many of the cat-calling men we put up with over the three months in rural villages. We danced with each other mostly, me and Hannali, me trading her my fuller bottle for her emptier one, because our friend kept insisting on buying me more and more drinks (1500 shillings each, $1). I remember just letting my body dance to the music, celebrating being there, living and enjoying and laughing and in the moment. I felt so free. Liberated. Escaped from having to think about the realities and practicalities of life back home. Dancing is amazing for that, letting go, being free.

Hours later we left the club and I remember sitting there under the African stars breathing in the fresh, fresh air, wondering when I will ever feel that rush of exhilarating freedom and happiness the next time.

On another night in London, a few girls from my room decided to go out, and so I went with them in a little cab into the heart of the city (so glamorous compared to Kampala). We went into this little club that had just opened up, after a guy on the street ‘recruited’ us; apparently there are people who try to recruit people to go to their clubs and not others, it’d be an interesting (sleazy) job. It was empty when we went inside, so we had some drinks (three Canadian girls including me, one Australian and one Spanish) and just started dancing on the floor. It felt so different from the African floor. I felt awkward, out of place, uncomfortable. It felt like dancing was according to certain sets of moves, to standards of beauty and sexiness that’s been dictated. As the club filled up, the music blared louder, and I felt more comfortable. Perhaps it was because we were more anonymous. We left soon after, though, we just weren’t feeling it. I remember the ride back home in the club as a really cozy conversation, I forget what about.

And I remember one more night in Mbale, when all of the UBC students on exchange went to a dance club to spend some time together after dinner. There were a lot of expatriates and other volunteers there, and the music was also lively. What I remember, though, was when one of the placement doctors from Denmark asked me to dance and I said yes out of boredom and curiosity… and suddenly I was twirling and following his lead and somehow I really danced. The people in the club formed a circle around us and it was another of those really uplifting freeing moments– I remember thinking in the moment, why I can’t seem to let go more often back home in Vancouver. So I danced and just let my personality shine through, and our little tango seemed to be the icebreaker for everyone in our group because next thing we know, we were all dancing together, trading partners and just enjoying the company we have in each other. Being that far away from home, in such a foreign place, they were my family, even if outside of that place there was little chance of us getting along as well as we did.

When we came out of that club, I remember seeing five or six women in their 40’s, selling bananas on the street. It was 3am. Apparently they sleep on the streets because if they were to commute back home every day it would take too long (5 hours one way). Also, that way they could make a few extra dollars by selling bananas, since there are no fast food chains in Uganda for club-goers to grab some food.

I went back to some posts from 2010, when I was just starting to apply for my placement in Uganda.

So now, I am starting anew, distancing myself. I aim to indulge in myself, allowing time and space to discover where my passions lie. I will seek out what I want out of life, and my goal is to find that balance between my health, my mentality, and my personality. I no longer need approval from others, because in that, I cannot discern between others’ and my own opinion of myself. Focusing on myself and nurturing the wonderful network of friends and family that I have will help me understand who I am and allow me to love myself as I am loved by others.

It’s wonderful how experiences in life build upon each other: little moments of surprise, anger, learning, giving, hurt, sacrifice, love, that come together every now and then to give you a glimpse of how you’ve changed and grown as a person. It’s lovely when your relationships and friendships with those you care deeply about really reflect these changes in your own self.

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Kampala nightlife

Last night Hannali and I were escorted by two guys we knew to the ‘uptown’ club scene. They have similar districts like our Granville St., or our Yaletown area… but with a sketchy twist. It still kind of felt like we were just driving into a cheap parking lot, where the club stood. In the day time it’s probably not that impressive. Anyhow, the music was really good– there was a good mix of music from East Africa, and it was really fun to dance to all the different beats. People just love to dance here, and they do know how to treat the women well. Around midnight, we hopped to another club, which was considered more expensive (the cover was almost as much as those in Vancouver!)… but of course there weren’t any women around, only rich Ugandan men. As soon as H and I hit the dance floor, the whole place was dancing, so that was flattering in some ways.

Around 2am, we took a break from dancing, which was when things started to go sour. The guy that I was with got really clingy and kept professing his love for me, going on about destiny and fate…. I did not take him seriously, told him he was a stranger to me. Which was horrible timing, because then a song came on that sang, “I fell in love with a stranger tonight”. After that I just pushed him away and kept waiting for them to take us home. He made a lot of lofty promises, how he will be there for my graduation, how he will treat me like a lady, etc etc. In my tipsy state, I got really annoyed, and just started to ignore him.

Got home, hit the bed. Men were indignant and upset that they didn’t flatter us. Honestly, Ugandan men think that they are supposed to convince you to like them, as if they are trying to prove something. Flirting with them is impossible; they are so cheesy.

Slept for most of the morning, am back in a coffee shop reflecting on this amusing experience.

Watching Harry Potter tonight, finally!

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May 13, 2011 (Kampala City)

I felt a lot of fear yesterday during our exploration of Kampala City. Fear comes in many different forms, I think, and is sourced from different things. Perhaps how I process this experience of fear depends on how I decide to frame it in my written reflections and conversations with my colleagues.

I really wanted to do some writing last night but I was too tired to coherently describe my experiences and reflect properly on them. At this point in my writing I am still experimenting with various ways to present my experience. I am trying to balance descriptive writing with reflective writing, taking care not to leave out crucial details that might frame my placement experience.

We tried many new things yesterday. What made those experiences unique was the fact that the ‘new things’ we experienced were very much part of daily life in Kampala. Important infrastructures of a city include: transportation, a market, libraries, and schools. The transportation system here is less of a ‘system’ than simply a way of living. The main modes of transportation are ‘boda boda’ and ‘matukas’, on top of walking. Boda boda are motorcycles operated by men who tend to sit lower on he social ladder. It was a sight, having 7 bodas transport the 14 of us from Dewinton Rd. to Garden City Shopping Center. On the boda felt safer than watching people ride it, though I was still very much afraid of falling off or bumping into the busses. I doubt I would ride one on my own; the only reason I was slightly comfortable with the experience was because there were people I was comfortable with around me. What if they kidnapped me? What if they refused to let me off or threatened to hurt me if I didn’t pay up? What if I got lost and couldn’t communicate with them? We also got to experience the ‘matuka’ rides, which were essentially their bus system. How it worked was very communal: there would be a driver, and a ‘chief’ who collected money and rounded people up into the busses according to where they were headed. People would get off wherever convenient, and similarly get onto the busses. It was a much slower alternative because it didn’t operate on a ‘schedule’ the same way that Translink does… it was very flexible, and time consuming, but the people were okay with it because it was simply how it was. I experienced Kampala differently on the boda than on the matuka—on the boda I felt like I was given this special view of Kampala, as a tourist or foreign student. I felt more exhilaration on the boda, though on the matuka I was able to sit back and just ‘be’ in the city. Walking on the streets was a whole other experience on its own. There are very few designated ‘sidewalks’ here, and what we call ‘jaywalking’ is simply known to them as crossing the street. People and cars and bodas and children and vendors all jumble together on the roads, which causes a whole lot of honking. Of course I felt the most basic form of fear then—fear for my life—but after a couple times trying out their system of crossing the street I was much more comfortable with it.

The three places we visited contrasted incredibly with each other. We visited a strip mall (Garden City Shopping Center), the fresh fruits Marketplace, and Makrere University. In the strip mall we saw many more foreigners, and more western- influenced shoppers. It was more familiar, but surprisingly not as comforting as I’d thought a mall would be here. It was out of place, historically and culturally intrusive, and had an imposing presence… as if the Africans were so keen on joining ‘Western’ culture. I saw our culture as materialistic, extremely monetized, and so, so, so shallow. I wonder if anyone had the same experience. It was still calming overall in the sense that we were not bombarded by street vendors constantly, and didn’t get as many stares as we did outdoors. The Marketplace was a complete immersion experience. It resembled the Chinese nightmarket, where people sat with their garden fresh fruits, vegetables, preserved meats, etc…. seeing us in the market made a lot of them bitter, as if we were intruding on a private routine (which we were), and our host Josephine got many insults hurled at her because she was adamant about them pricing reasonably for us. Many of them assumed that foreigner=money=wasteful=can rip us off. I really appreciate that Josephine and Ivan were around to protect us from that discrimination, however understandable it was. I was extremely cautious about my bags and also on following the group, and so the fear I felt was more anxiety than anything. We headed through the bustling marketplace to a bus depot, which was crammed full of matukas travelling to different regions. At one point I lost the group and was constantly approached by drivers who wanted to make extra money off me. It was really, really intimidating. I felt really out of place and foreign, but not in the homesick sense either. It was just a realization that I was something out of the ordinary for their every day life and business, and they were not trying to apprehend me in any way. It was simply a ‘business opportunity from the West’ for them. There was a lot of noise, and pollution, and flies, and fresh food, and people! Very, very overwhelming for my senses.

Makrere University was a relief and retreat from all the hustle and bustle of the city. It was very tropical—there were pelicans and storks everywhere—and students were sitting around just hanging out or studying. There were a lot of really beautiful statues, and overall the university exuded history and culture. It was such an enriching space, and we got many less stares from students.

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