Tag: uganda

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“Mzungu! Mzungu! How are youuuuu?”

“Mzungu! Mzungu! Give me money!”

“Mzungu! Mzungu! Taxi? Boda boda?”

Whenever I walk around with more than 2 of my caucasian friends, constant calls this like follow us around town (indeed, in most places we have gone). The most annoying prize, however, has to be given to the first few trips when we travelled as a group of 15 and more. Mzungu meaning foreigner or more specifically white person, miraculously transforms into a plump walking wallet in the eyes of many locals. One time, when my friend was bargaining for a boda ride, the driver insisted on charging 500 shillings more. My friend, exasperated, said “why? Just because I am white?” and the driver nod and agreed “white people have lots of money!” Unfortunately, there is no local word that you can throw back at these calls…the only ‘revenge’ (results not guarenteed) seems to be buy yourself a “My name is not Mzungu” t-shirt at one of the many tourist shops. Indeed, our African friends refuse to buy anything when we are with them, because prices will always be higher (exception is food stuff).

Of course, there are also many benefits of being a mzungu (otherwise known as playing the white card). Lots of people come talk to you at bars (often starting with ‘where are you from? Can I come to your country? Will you marry me?), people help you on the street, people come up to you and thank you for building them a new road (actually happened to my friend), swarms of little kids trail you when you walk through residential areas…hard to get used to, really. Getting preferential treatment just because you look different just isn’t what you grow up with in Vancouver (Hong Kong is a bit different).

Actually, one of my friends asked and mzungu originally meant traveller in Swahili (more properly: Kiswahili). My dictionary lists it as “European” or “something wonderful; a way of doing things (e.g. love-making, speech-making).” (Well, since most of the Norwegians get asked if they are Americans, I suspect mzungu does not mean European only anymore.)

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The way I see it, Ugandans love showing off their publich speaking skills. Albeit, according to standards I’ve been taught, they aren’t very good at it. Rapidly rising and falling tones, over emphasis on nothing worth emphasizing, hand gestures that become blurry with speed, and most annoying of all, an all knowing tone that implies ‘do not argue with me.’ Among our professors and guest lecturer’s there were only a few that were more reasonable and understandable from my (our?) standpoint. But when you step outside of the classroom, almost everyone I’ve met and heard a speech from, speaks in the same pattern. Speakers at Sunday Church, taxi (special hire) drivers, drunk people at bars/clubs, people we interviewed for class…you name it, although mostly they were men.

I suspect, just as how we are taught at home to speak to a crowd in a ‘correct’ way, Ugandans have their own standard of what is engaging speech. I wonder if when Ugandans see the “western way of speaking” would they feel we are unenthusiastic and boring?

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Probably the one thing I would appreciate the most when I go home is the hot showers. There is no hot water at the grand hostel (for that matter anywhere except fancy hotels, even then, the hot water comes slowly and painfully), meaning rain or shine, we take bone chilling cold showers. The most pleasurable moments of the day are probably standing under the shower and relaxing, unfortunately, this is hard to do when goosebumps appear all over your body and the only thought running through your mind is ‘get off darn soap!’ If I had to do this in the Canadian winter (or even the Hong Kong one), I will definitely freeze.

I don’t care if cold showers are actually good for your health or not! I want my hot showers back.

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I’m not a big fan of mosquito nets, although they were fun at first. My first night without one at the Grand Hostel ended in approximately 10 bites on each arm and 3 on my face, so I caved and bought a net. Covering you like a little tent, it’s the most annoying when you come home late and a bit drunk, and you still have to tuck the ends into the mattress before hitting the pillow. Although in the end, you find out that you don’t really need to be so careful about making it mosquito proof, most of the time, they can’t get in anyways.

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‘The Grand Hostel – Simply the Best”

How can you beat that kind of slogan? Except situated right next to a slum area and on a really bumpy dirt road, it really wasn’t grand or the best. It was, nevertheless, decent and livable. Although rumour has it that it is owned by one of our professor’s relative, which accounts for the “we surveyed around and found the best bang for your buck hostel” explanation given to us at the start. We also found out that we actually had to pay for rent for the whole semester because no students would rent it after a month of school starting. Wish they had told us that before!

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I must admit, Ugandan food is not my favourite. I don’t know if it is because our hostel and faculty cook crappy food, or is this really what people eat everyday. According to our one Ugandan classmate, yes, this is what they usually eat, with even less variety. We even play a guessing game before meals, we almost always get all the dishes correct, because, of course, we get almost the same things everyday, especially for the vegetarians like me. Beans, matoke, posho, rice, noodles, local spinach, cabbage, meat, etc.

For me, famous for having not many tastebuds, the food actually tastes good most of the days. Without much variety maybe, but decent and filling (you can say that again, I never understood how Ugandans can polish off a piled plate of matoke for lunch and dinner). But once in a while when we go out for food (Italian pizza! Indian curry! Lebanonese humus and falefal!) I realise how much I miss food from home…all kinds of Chinese food, sushi, veggie dishes from the Foundation, Indian dohsas, not to mention real cheese etc etc. (It was, frankly, a relief when I arrived in Rwanda and Tanzania to find food that is actually seasoned and tasty!)

That being said, I actually do enjoy matoke, posho, chapati, and the beans/peas. Especially the fresh fruit, oh dear, I have never tasted such good fruit in my life – whole pineapple, mangoes, avocadoes (!!), passion fruit, papaya – I remember one time when I was buying a pineapple, the guy actually asked if I wanted it ripe for today or tomorrow! That’s a far cry from the expired this month or next month pineapples from home. As for street food, I enjoyed the ‘rolex’ – an omlette roled with a chapati – cheap (only 800 shillings), tasty, and filling. Unfortunately, we didn’t really dare to try the street food because of health reasons. Everywhere, you would see grilled corn on the cob, grilled plantains, grilled meat (goat’s liver, chicken, and the like), little fried cakes, little round flour pancakes…the only two I dared to buy were seasame/honey crackers and samosas – both too good to describe! We did make our own chapati with fruit (like a crepe) sprinkled with brown sugar. Very recommended!

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203 “whats” in 1.5 hours. It must be incorporated into the gunnius book of records.

You must be wondering, what in the world am I talking about? Well, try sitting through a lecture where the lecturer talks like this: “As the department of what? Finance, we have to be what? Careful when doing what? Procurement because of the what? Exchange rate from foreign currencies to the Ugandan what? Shilling. Note that every ‘what’ is said with a high pitched questioning tone.

One of my classmates actually counted how many unnecessary whats were said, with a total of 203. Fascinating. Little wonder that I learnt much more from reading the notes later than in class (which almost never happens…what?).

Apparently many Ugandans learn to speak like this (this lecturer was extreme, but many do actually speak with this pattern) because their primary school teachers use this as a method to ‘engage’ the students…This is what? A. It stands for what? An apple. Oh dear.

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We were in the middle of a computer class on SPSS when suddenly the lights disappeared and siren-like warning bell started. Startled, we all stretched our necks and scanned the room like radars. My first thought: bomb! In those eery moments, I actually thought the building was going to blow up. (I have a video of this which I will upload once I get back home)

Of course, it was nothing of that sort. It was simply a power outage and the backup battery power of the computers were telling us to shut down before our work was lost. Simple as that.