The Commute Smackdown: The Kampala Matatu vs. The NYC Metro

That Announcer Guy that Made Himself Famous on One Line:  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the showdown of the world.  Northern Hemisphere vs Southern Hemisphere.  White vs Black.  Developed vs Developing.  Metro vs Matatu.  Who will win in the battle of the commute?  It’s New York City vs Kampala.   Let me ask you, ladies and gentlemen……ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLLE!!!!!

In the red and yellow trunks standing at a bustling 1.2 million people with many more uncounted.  A vast network of a soccer mom’s dream, a crusade of sliding-door vans in the hundreds, licensed to carry 14 passengers, but really, who’s counting?  All on the bumpy and often disappearing unnamed streets of Kampala.  Let me introduce to you the little engine that could… The KAMPALA MATATUUUUUU!!!!

In the blue trunks standing at 8.2 million people and counting.  A most robust transit system with both letters and numbers.  A sustaining record of timeliness and melting pot-ness, but don’t go near him on the weekends.  Ladies and gentlemen, your reigning heavyweight champ.  The NEW YORK CITY METROOOOOO!!!!!

[Crowd Cheers]

Hank:  Hi folks, we are just moments away from the first round action.  Bill, I think this is going to be a war of attrition.  Kampala has really been developing in the last few years.  He doesn’t have as much on the line tonight and should be very relaxed.  No reason to walk fast anywhere.

Bill:  Walk fast, perhaps not, but drive fast, he will.  But New York is banking on pure experience to keep the belt after this one is over.  And there is certainly that weekend strength he has that will cripple any commuter.  I’m sure The Matatu will come out swinging.

Hank:  To add to your point, Bill, we know the Matatu is a god fearing beast, and is working hard to have god.  Besides the regular Rasta-colored and sport fanatic decals on his front and back, he’s got all sorts of religious decals: God is Great, Jesus will Save, and The Lord is My Provider, Glory be to the Lord, and the most truthful, Sat is Sabbath.

[Ding Ding]

Hank:  There’s the bell and we have begun.  Right out of the gate, just as you predicted Bill, The Matatu is swinging.   It’s all offence with nothing much to protect.  It seems like he is always there begging you to come on for the ride even when you don’t want him.  And when you do want him he is there as well, waiting for you to walk down the street and reach the corner.  A model of efficiency….and care!

Bill:  Couldn’t be more the case right now.  The Metro took a big hit to the head as The Matatu comes out with his patented move: hitting a big bump when his opponent least expects it, driving The Metro’s head into the ceiling.  Those bumps are brutal if you don’t expect them.

Hank:  Ouch, that’s going to hurt in the morning.  I think The Matatu has a can of whiplash in his back pocket he will try and pull out later in the match, too.  So look out for that.

Bill:  Who knows if there will even be a later, Hank, The Matatu is being so efficient right of the bat.

Hank:  Another great attribute of the Matatu.  Seems like he’s always working together, with the people.  At a stop everyone exits the vehicle to let the last one, the person in the back corner, out through the one sliding door.  Then quickly piling back inside, in whatever order they happen to be in, taking whatever seat that will put them out of the way for the person coming in behind him.  It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Bill:  And all the while Metro is just standing there, taking the beating.  Almost without movement, standing in front of the door.  Not releasing anyone or anything.  Oh Metro, why can’t you just move to the side to let your fellow passengers off?

Hank:  Bad news for The Matatu, he is overheating.  It’s just too hot in there for him.  No AC and the consistent overcrowding, day after day, seems to be getting the better of him.

Bill:  Cool as a cucumber in the summer, sometimes even cold as ice cream, and warm like a potato in the winter, temperature control is a Metro specialty in most of these showdowns.  He’s really starting to come around and finally fight back.

[Ding Ding]

                                                                                   

Hank:  And that’s the bell to signal the end of Round One.  What a fight, huh Bill?

Bill:  So true Hank.  The Kampala Matatu really came out strong.  You’d think with all those bumpy roads he’d be slow to react, but was quite efficient with the people inside, and using the bumps to his advantage, smashing The Metro’s head just after the opening bell.

Hank:  Matatu is looking real strong in his corner.  His team is singing and dancing and really being friendly over there.  And The Metro is getting reamed out in his corner. 

Bill:  …In typical New York fashion.  His team is shouting about all the potholes, and complaining to the referee. 

Hank:  Looks like Bloomberg will be out to fix those in a week.  President Museveni isn’t going to do a thing about the potholes in Kampala.  It’s another two years until the next election, and if those roads don’t get fixed in the months before the election, it’s going to be another five years of crater roads before we see an opportunity to get them fixed during the following election.

Bill:  No good for anyone, Hank.  Moments from Round Two, it will be interesting to see if The Metro will be able to pick up where he left off...

[Ding Ding]

Bill:  Here comes Round Two, and it’s a different fight already.  We’ve passed the town center and Metro has plenty of room to sit and spread out.  Meanwhile The Matatu is looking cramped.  Never a worry about overpaying, Metro is working without a care in the world, a real free bird out there in the ring.

Hank:  You are so right Bill.  The Matatu seems to be distracted because he is trying to get his change and the conductor doesn’t have small bills.  Nor do any of the other passengers.

Bill:  The Matatu is getting frustrated. Oh, but wait.  The Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon”???

                                                                

Hank:  Boy George!  Is this really happening?

Bill:  Amidst all that Luganda jabber and jabbing that’s been playing, it’s red golden dreams for everyone in here.  I’ve heard of this happening before in the welter weight division, but here….  It also looks like The Matatu is exchanging smiles with a pretty short-haired girl in the front row.  They are both mouthing the words.

Hank:  Oh boy!

Bill:  You said it Hank.  [Laughter]

Hank:  Culture Club couldn’t last long enough.  The Matatu is now stuck in a jam, that’s traffic for all you lay people.

Bill:  Bad news for the Tu.  He is frozen in his tracks….But wait, look at this!  He’s pulling a K-turn in the middle of the ring. 

Hank:  What a nimble guy!  Always able to find an alternate route when things get bad.  The Metro cannot do things like that.  He’s a one track mind, unless you count the express track.

Bill:  However that may be true, the other route is usually just as jammed for The Matatu.  That looks to be the case now. 

Hank:  Seeing that is the case, here comes the Metro on the attack.

From the Ring:  Ladies and Gentelmen, sorry to disturb you.  I am homeless and have eight children.  Please please please please please please help me.  Anything, a potato chip or a dime.  Please please…. 

Hank:  Looks like the Metro is pulling the old Jewish Mother move, guilting his opponent into submission.

Bill:  Perhaps Jewish Mother guilt, but no matzo ball soup with this kvelling.  [Laughter]

Hank:  Here comes the big Matatu with the rebuttal.  From outside the ring young men are selling phone airtime cards, bags of munchies, sunglasses, steering wheel covers, and sunglasses to whoever will make eye contact.  All the merchandise dangling off their arms and necks in long strips.

Bill:  Well that’s convenient if you’re into that kind of service.  There’s even a young lad selling the morning edition paper.

Hank:  It’s the evening, now.

Bill:  It’s Kampala.

[Ding Ding]

Hank:  And that’s the end of Round two.  It’s too close to call at this point.

[Commercial Break]

Bill:  Bill and Hank here, your trusty ringside announcers here.  Action for Round Three is about to begin.  It’s all tied up and we anticipate a great final round here.

[Ding Ding]

Bill:  And there’s the bell.  The Matatu looks a little broken, but then again, what else is new, that thing always looks like it only has got just one more kilometer left.

Hank:  But for the low price of $0.91 to get all the way across town, what do you expect?

Bill:  I guess it’s just the bang you get for that buck…errr nine tenths of a buck.  [Laughter]

Hank:  It’s go time for The Matatu, a homeless man just entered the ring and the Metro is suffocating from the smell.  And the Matatu is reeling off a flurry of stenches of his own. 

Bill:  This is the normal smell for the Matatu.  He thrives on the odor.  Some might say it powers the engine along with the $5.30 per gallon gasoline.

Hank:  Now that’s being resourceful.

Bill:  Hey, you gotta take what they give you, Hank.

Hank:  Speaking of taking what they give you, The Matatu just served up that can of whiplash he was saving up.  But why are the Metro’s shorts ripped in half?

Bill:  According to the reply I’m watching, it looks like there was a jagged piece of seat dangerously sticking out in the Matatu corner of the ring that the Matatu placed there earlier, or never bothered to fix.  The Metro had his shorts caught on that and now he’s basically naked, but still standing strong.

Hank:  The Metro fights back with a little help from a boda boda.  The brightly painted and sticker-covered boda just swerved in, seemingly out of nowhere and cut off the angry Matatu as he has to slam hard on the brakes.  There is no way The Matatu is going to get anything done on time.  Hope no one is in a rush.

Bill:  To make matters worse, the engine that sits just behind the driver has broken down. This Matatu has a flat front so he can get up real close to whatever is in front of him, but the passengers in that first row can get some hot legs.

Hank:  Well, it makes up for what they lack in hot pants.  [Chuckle]

Bill:  The Matatu is starting to lose that bounce in his step.  Looks like it’s all over for the King of Kampala.

Hank:  Wait a minute…The Magnificent Metro all of a sudden doesn’t look so well.  He’s starting to fade, too. 

Bill:  That’s because he just encountered a “Police investigation” on the track a station ahead, AND a sick passenger.  He’s not going anywhere. 

Hank:  The two Goliaths have both fallen to the mat.  Unbelievable.  It’s Rocky I all over again.

Bill:  My favorite is Rocky IV, I mean, that was so awesome when Rocky was training in the mountains of Russia.  Oh, I love vodka.

Hank: Shut up Bill, I’m making a pop culture reference here. 

Referee:  Seven….Eight

Hank:  They are both getting up now.  Yes, they have both found a way to stand back up.

Bill:  Uh oh, lookout, here comes a bus, it’s headed straight for the Matatu!

Hank:  Ouch!  That’s going to hurt in the morning. 

Bill:  The bus just took out the Matatu.  He is down for the count.  It’s all over!  The Metro has reigned supreme!  What a finish.  Just when you thought they were both going to be out, they both recovered but a bit of misfortune for the Matatu.  I’m sure the bookies are going to rake it in on this one.  No one would have predicted this.

Hank:  Well, the New Yorkers already paid so they are stuck and at the mercy of the system.  Fortunately, for everyone on the Matatu, they pay when they get off, so they are sticking it to The Matatu now.  He is not getting a shilling for all his efforts.

A Break from Kampala

Let us rewind back to the first trip I made up country…

Nicole came up to Lira to meet me on Friday, and Saturday morning we left for Murchison Falls National Park.  We were able to take a vehicle from my organization because some participants left the 4-day workshop early and everyone else could ride in the other remaining vehicles which were heading back to Kampala.  That is how we were lucky enough to have James as our driver for the weekend and have a chance to learn a lot from him.  (In the interest of transparency and accountability, we did pay for the extra vehicle miles and James’s fees. Despite traveling in a company car.)

Nicole, would you like to take the helm on this one?

I sure would….So, off we went. The road started out great—paved tarmac most of the way.  During the trip we learned a bit about James.  Not only is a fantastic driver, careful, alert, and informative when it comes to pointing things out along our travels, but he is a real Ranger.  He retired from the Uganda Wildlife Association, or UWA, after working there for over 40 years.  He’s 69 years old, jovial, missing many teeth and speaks broken English.  He is literate but his education did not stray far from the first few years of school.  At UWA he was mainly stationed in Murchison National Park, so lucky for us he knew the area real well.  Upon retirement they gave him an award for being such a dedicated and faithful employee.  As a parting gift, he was given a lifetime membership to the national parks—something he is very proud of.  In the many hours of travel, James told us about his family and children. His salary over the years was meager but he prioritized education for his five children and now has two daughters pursuing degrees in Brisbane, Australia.  He and his family (he had multiple wives like many men here but eventually decided that having one “was better on [his] wallet”) grow on their farm most of what they need to live.  As a driver, James earns 20,000 shillings a day (8 USD) and gets 40,000 extra for food and accommodation when traveling up country.  Work is intermittent.  In a society where no real pension scheme exists and salaries are small, it’s no easy feat to put kids through secondary school, and nearly unheard of to send all 5 kids to higher education.  I can just imagine the sacrifices he and his wives (yes, plural) must have made to do so. 

We quickly fell in love with James.  And, it turns out, we weren’t the only ones.  When we got to the park, we easily saw how everyone’s faces lit up when they spotted him. Once into the park, we realized that James is also an expert on the wildlife.  Not only was he able to tell us the names of all the animals and birds, he was able to tell us about their lifespan, their hunting habits, and all sorts of other fun facts.

Driving through the park on Saturday, we reached a split in the road and started down the newer dirt road.  James very quickly realized this new road would not take us in the right direction.  He, rightly so, was annoyed there was no sign at this intersection.  The next day, as we were exiting through the park gate, James pulled over to let the guard in the booth know that a sign is needed at that juncture.  What a stand-up guy, still dedicated to his work even after his job was done.

James was able to arrange our riverboat ride on Saturday. We took the boat past crocodiles, hippos, monkeys and birds to the Murchison Falls, discovered by none other than some famed British exporter who named the falls after Lord Murchison, who, by the way, never saw the falls in his namesake.  Murchison Falls is the part of the River Nile (not to be confused with the Nile River) that squeezes through a 7 meter gap and comes rushing out.  It started to rain very hard just as we reached the falls and were ready to turn around and head back.

This is about as close as we got.  It was rushing pretty hard, trust me.

Sunday we woke up early in order to see some lions attempting to grab some breakfast.  They were unsuccessful, but we did get a little show.  Here are some pictures from our day.

 Sunrise over the River Nile

 It's a hungry, hungry one

These guys walk like they own the place

On a very sad, but real note, the jaded past of LRA’s destruction for 20 years in Northern Uganda is inescapable in this area.  The originator of the quaint lodging we stayed at was shot and killed by LRA rebels when he went out one afternoon in 2006 to save a distressed hiker.  This victim of the LRA left behind a wife, a kid, and another on the way.

What’s for Dinner?

When I first wrote a travel journal I was 9 traveling in Israel with my family.  Upon the journal’s inaugural reading, after we returned home, it became evident that I had meticulously documented every single meal we ate, for better or for worse.  I have always loved food.  I’ve been experimenting in the kitchen since I was nine years old.  In thinking about what to document in this blog, I purposely left out food because I didn’t want a repeat of my first few journals.  I also thought there wouldn’t be much to say to this end, the food would probably be redundant and bland, I thought.  Besides being a pick pocket victim, food was my second biggest fear when we were embarking on this trip.  In fact, I was so concerned that I imported five packets of powdered cheese from the mac & cheese box and three cans of tuna (they do have tuna here, it’s not Chicken of the Sea though).  Nicole and I have both come to realize Ugandans are not the foodie sort.  Spicy food, heavily salty food, especially sweet food, and just plain ole’ variety are all not offered on the Ugandan a la carte menu, but they do love to eat and everyone eats well.  The land is green and fertile.  The Ugandan takes pride in her land and will always remind you that they never use fertilizer. 

I’ve already noted the avacodo in Moa that was rich and smooth like butter, but here are a few other things that keep us full at the end of the day.  So… what are we eating?

Glad you asked!  I was finally invited out for dinner last night.  I am back Up Country for a conference with the Magistrates/judicial people (Monday) and the Police (Tuesday) this week.  After finishing with the magistrates, my executive director invited me and a few others to her brother’s house in the village of Lira—note that the village is not in the main “town area.”  After some incredibly, Kampala-esque bumpy roads (jokes about sea life and tourists confusing potholes with lakes were made), we arrived at a small home with a welcoming campfire/bonfire/what-what outside.  The typical plastic lawn chairs were set up nearby and we had a seat to await our tea. 

Tea is a big deal here.  I’m not sure if it is a British thing or if it was around before the colonization of the area.  Either way, the Ugandan takes tea at all times in the day in all forms and colors: black, sweet, with hot-hot milk, with loose tea leaves, in tea bags, etc.  I have grown to love the hot milk in my tea, it goes down so easy, and you can sip on it all day long.

After tea it was time for an early Thanksgiving, of sorts.  The food came out like it was a battalion about to hold ground against the oncoming rebel forces.  Cassava, maize, peas (in about three different forms, the best with ground nuts, aka peanuts—they do come from the ground), rice, greens in a mashed oily fashion, beef, sweet potatoes, millet.  The last one is a purple-brown dough-like food that is best served by scrapping it onto the plate since it very sticky, it made me think of a mullet so I explained to my dining counterparts what a mullet is without mentioning a Bruins fan.  As for the millet, I won’t miss it.

Not only was I a hit with my now-trusty-headlamp, but tending the fire really excited my company.  Just like the bonfires we are used to, Ugandan elders will teach and tell stories, nightly, to the children while sitting around their fires. 

I took 3.4 servings of food and I’m still trying to digest it all.  Needless to say I made the hosts very happy with my eating efforts.  It was a typical Ugandan meal which means we washed our hands then ate with our hands.  I joked about the fact that my mother would yell at me if she saw me eating like that.  And we all had a good laugh, sorry mom.

Home Cookin’

In the house we have managed to cook up a few good meals.  We have bought 15 tomatoes for about $2 and made a fresh tomato sauce.  The pasta here isn’t that great though, it gets very startchy and slimy, but it is just fine with our tomato sauce.  We also made a chicken soup that lasted for many tasty meals.  Chapati is a staple starch here.  As you may remember, we made it with our Mama in Moa, but here in our Kampala Kitchen we pimp’d out the chapatti with the aid of Harriet and Presca.  We threw in some onion and carrot and then, like an omelet threw in sauce, cheese, and veggies to make a chapatti folded pizza, or a calzone, or a big pizza taco (soft, of course).  We also found some vanilla extract and baking soda and are regularly making chocolate chip cookies that are most amazing.  The chips are chopped up milk chocolate bars. 

A real Chapati Pah-ti

Office Delights

The local food occurs at our respective works.  My work orders from the same place every day.  The option is fresh fish, dry fish, beef, or chicken.  Sometimes I opt for the beans.  It comes with some combination of matoke, rice, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, bitter greens, or posho (a sticky corn/rice sort of thing).  Most everyone orders the fresh fish, it’s the safest bet.  Each portion is either the head third, the middle thick part, or the end part, all bones in.  I have perfected the method of taking the skin off with utensils, and deboning with minimal damage to the roof of my mouth from stray bones.  My colleagues, however, will sometimes eat with their fingers and I never really end up seeing how the fish is eaten, except that it has disappeared into their respective bellies the moment I turn away.  The beef is … stringy and sort of tough, but I will get it occasionally.  It is served in two small chunks with the bone in.  I only ordered the chicken once and it was a meager thin thigh-leg and quite tough.  Free range, of course.  I think it is probably fine, but I’m a bit skeptical on this one.

Nicole has similar choices for lunch, with the enhancement of pees and chapatti.  There is a man from a local food establishment who comes around to take orders.  After the meal, the same man comes back around to retrieve his Tupperware and collect his money.  When she’s out in the field, when food is even an option, she will sometimes get the chicken on a stick.  More on that further down.

Out on the Town

When the working day is done, we are consistently finding some decent to solid food going out.  After my Yom Kippur fast, we visited an Italian restaurant called Mediteraneo that gets most of their dairy from Nairobi.

Nicole’s Note: Cheese is very rare and it became a huge craving after two and half weeks of traveling through East Africa.  Fortunately, some of the supermarkets carry cheese albeit sometimes it looks as though it has melted and solidified more than three times over.  We often opine why there are not more cheese and milk factories here, there are cows everywhere.  I think the reason is that all the cows we see are owned by people and not collected to produce in the factory setting.

Sorry for the interruption, where was I?  Ahh, yes, Meditaraneo.  They had a fantastic chocolate moose that we have already reprised.  We also found a Korean BBQ place that has insanely huge portions.  We ordered a dumpling and kimchi something-or-other that fed us dinner and lunch the next day.  The added bonus of Korean BBQ in Kampala is that the place has karaoke (albeit the program buttons are in Korean) that we will visit for someone’s birthday real soon.  Let’s just hope we figure out the search functionality and don’t end up with Korea’s top 40 blaring at us wordlessly all night.

The Indian food is renown here, South Indian, to be exact.  The complementary sauces which accompany snacks to start the meal are different than what we are used to in the States, but delicious nonetheless.  We have yet to patronize all the Indian restaurants, but we intend to, and crown the king.  A small joint, the type you would typically encounter on a side street in Manhattan, called Masala Chaat House is the frontrunner.  They have an impressive collection of bootlegged Bollywood movies for sale on a shelf that lines one side of the place.

Another favorite is Lebanese Tuesdays with the other volunteers.  Found in the third floor food court of the great muzungu mall in downtown Kampala, Garden City, lies the best hummus in town.  Upon finding a table in the food court we are immediately surrounded by representatives from each of the six cuisine options, two of which are Chinese.  Our group always settles on the Lebeneze and it never disappoints.  The best part about eating in a mall like this, is that if they don’t have what you ordered, they run down to the grocery store and buy it, then sell it to you with a surcharge.

Did I forget to mention the crocodile?  An Australian place called The Lawns serves up healthy portions of game meat, which is stupendous.  I wouldn’t recommend the vegetarian options there. 

Is this thing reading like Timeout Kampala, yet?

It Grows from the Ground

On the local side, ground nuts, aka peanuts, are a big deal here.  They are plentiful and cheap.  After boiling them with some salt water they open with a simple pinch of the shell and make for a great snack with beer or can be transformed into huge quantities of peanut butter.  Peanuts > beer, a perfect segue.  There are about five main brands of beer, all are basically pilsner in nature except for one which does a version of a stout which is actually pretty good.  Guinness in the bottle is common almost anywhere, so Nicole is happy, but it doesn’t taste like Guinness.

Walking home from work, I pass by women who sit by charcoal grills with what to American eyes looks like corn.  It even smells similar to corn.  The other day I bought some ears still in their husks and brought it home.  Lois, the landlady, was thrilled we bought maize.  I thought it was just a different name for corn, until I peeled the husk and saw it was too white to be corn.

Up country is apparently where it’s at for purchasing food.  The Ugandans lucky enough to frequently travel up there will come home with all sorts of fresh, cheap food: ground nuts, cassava, oranges, tangerines, bananas, milk, sim sim oil, bags of onions, what-what  (“what-what is basically the Ugandan yada yada, or et cetera).  There are no service areas with McDonald’s, Starbucks, Subarro, and Aunt Annie’s pretzels.  Instead, there are certain corners or towns that the road bisects where people in blue vests rush a car as it pulls over.  They have for sale beef on a stick, grilled maize, grilled cassava, oranges, passion fruits, Fanta, and water.  These merchants will continue to run up to the car the longer it stays idle despite the fact that four of every item is already represented at the site. 

Another form of African Commerce

Of course, I miss my deli sandwiches, pickles, olives, and Mexican food (though we did find Mexican cuisine, the tortilla chips were baked pita chips).  Plus, the food situation is not as exciting as some of the other things we have been up to.  Wait just a moment, I do have a story (for those who persevered this far in the post).  I recently was able to make an awkward moment in Ugandan foodie history.  On the first trip I took up country, I was told to organize a packed lunch for 20 people.  Given the particulars of the early departure and the fact that the food would be in the car for a few hours before eating, I ordered sandwiches from a Western-style café, a muzungus hangout, if you will.  Chicken with mayo, tuna with mayo, ham and cheese, and vegetable were the types I ordered.  Much later in the day, after our community meeting was finished, we found a place to comfortably eat our lunch.  As the lunch procurer, I handed out the orders.  Some participants looked at me funny when I presented them with their options.  I was too hungry myself to notice how people enjoyed their meal.  But now I wonder what they expected to have for lunch that would have survived in the car all day?  Certainly not fish. 

The next day I brought up the lunch situation to one of the participants, Noah, and asked how he enjoyed the other day’s sandwiches.  He said he really liked it and wanted to know how to make one at home, he had the chicken.  I told him he was asking the right guy.  I gave him a good lesson on sandwich art and he was very excited to try it at home.  He also said that some of the other participants were not that thrilled about the options.  How could someone not like a sandwich?  Especially since it was near 4pm when we finally ate our lunch.

A special message to the parents: fear not of our shriveling up and disappearance due to lack of food while in Africa.  With all the potatoes, rice, maize, cassava, fruits, vegetables, and all other local sustenance, we are on pace to come home “fatter” than when we left, and from a Ugandan there is no higher compliment.

Dance-Off

Last week on our trip in Lira, I was basically double-dog-dared to go up and dance, by my lovely wife. Though she may be a little risk-averse, she has no qualms having me go up on a stage in front of a crowd of about 150 Ugandans and strut my North American dance moves.

We were at an “Expo.” It is a once a year fair with two rides, some food vendors, and lots of merchandise vendors. There was also a stage about 8 feet off the ground with a full sound system, lights and a big display of Splash, the fresh fruit drink. On the stage were 5 children, aged about 8-12 competing in a dance competition for a carton of Splash juice, but we all know the real reward for winning would be bragging rights and well worth the sweat expelled during the competition. One of these dancers still had his school uniform on--hopefully his parents were not worrying where he was.

So I’m egged on to go up and dance. Surely, the organizers of this thing would let the White Outsider on the stage. And they did! Two young women ran the dance-off and had me go head-to-head against the mini-dancers. Boy did I ham it up. Well, you can watch the video and stop reading my explanation.



        Click to see what the hoopla was all about.

When I got down off the stage I was swarmed, if ever there was the definition of the word, by the young kids in the crowd. They all just wanted to high-five or pound me. It was almost better than a walk-off home-run. I felt like a real celebrity.

Radio 1 – 90.0 FM

Short African Thought

Uganda is the land of Toyotas.  Seriously.   Nine out of ten cars, at least.  The Matatus are all the Toyota Haice model.  Taxis are all Corollas.  Seemingly every muzungu who drives a car drives a RAV-4—it’s really funny to see the streets outside a mostly muzungu event (think art showing and pizza in the backyard of a family’s home). 

All the cars come from Japan and have been reconditioned to be sold in the African market.  License plates all begin with UA and another letter followed by a dash and a letter and number combination, the third letter represents the year the car came over, A for the first year and so on.  I think I’ve seen as late as UAP. 

As a result of the cars being from Japan, the preinstalled radio dial only goes as far as 90.0 FM.  In Kampala and most of Uganda the station that has this frequency is called Radio 1, “where the car dial stops.”  There are radio stations here that exist beyond 90.0, but unless a new radio console is installed in the car, the manufactures radio will not get to those other stations.