Four lessons learned

The past week(ish) has been chock full of learning experiences. Here's what I've figured out.

1. Exotic animals taste delicious.

Last Thursday, we went to dinner at The Lawns, a nice, outdoor restaurant in Kampala. It was a farewell occasion in honor of Lugazi's one and only Scottish doctor, Andrew (sniffle!). He is a director of Living Water, the clinic that Musana has partnered with, and a dear friend to all of us Musana people. Except Julie, maybe. She and Andrew are more frenemies.

We rented a taxi (like a limo, but worse) to ride to Kampala in style.

The main draw of The Lawns is that it cooks exotic animals. They were unfortunately out of ostrich, but we still happily dined on crocodile (like this) and various types of antelope, like kudu, bresbok and springbok.

This was the best meal I've had in Uganda. It was served with naan and Indian spices and a big veggie/paneer kabab. Beats matooke any day.

And the evening itself was great. Andrew filmed us repeating a few special phrases for a project a friend is doing back in the UK. It is still a mystery what the footage will be used for, but we are certain the footage got better after each bottle of wine.

We also played dorky games.

"MUZUNGU, BYE!"

 2. Dropping babies is sometimes a little bit funny.

A recent theme at Musana has been dropping babies. Keeps happening for some reason. When I first got to Uganda I knocked 6-month old Travis over while trying to wipe the snot off his face. He's so precarious! He hit his head on the floor and I felt awful as his mom over to rescue him from me.

Travis, not snotty for once.

I feel better now that I've seen the others terrorize wee children as well. The other day, Julie stepped on Tina's baby, Emily. She said Emily looked like a pile of blankets - a fair assessment because she is tiny and she was under a pile of blankets. Tina, the Musana manager, didn't seem too upset, though. She just sang "Julie stepped on my baby!" for a while.

Also, Angela put Nicole on one of the work tables and then left, assuming Cissy would keep an eye on her. Wrong. Later, Nicole's mother told Angela that Nicole fell off the table "and bounced like a ball." (Nicole was fine, guys. Phew!)

Immaculate and Nicole, balancing a toy on her fro.
Talented and cute!

So I've learned kids are tough. And when they get a bit bumped around, it's usually not a big deal. Ugandans think it's a little bit funny.

3. Everyone loves Melissa.

This week, we welcomed Melissa and Katherine, latest additions to the Musana team. Actually, Melissa is hardly a new addition, as she's one of Musana's founders and a public health fanatic. She is also a celebrity in Lugazi. Seriously. People have yelled "Melissa" at me on more than occasion (once from inside a passing taxi) probably because we are both muzungus with brown hair.

This is Melissa, cuddling her favorite Ugandan baby, Fati, who is Mama Christine's granddaughter. Melissa LOVES Fati - even more seriously than I love Nicole.

Heavenly!

The Musana women had a spectacular greeting for Melissa. It's been documented and the video will likely be posted on the Musana Facebook page. It's great. Check it out if you like excitement and shrieking ladies.

Melissa's return to Uganda hopefully means some re-evaluation of how things are going at Musana. She is also leading efforts to do a health survey in the Lugazi community, which I've been helping set up. Melissa is also very spunky and fun. So basically, we are expecting her to fix all of our problems and entertain us in the next few weeks.

4. I will never feel remotely safe using Ugandan public transport.

I've tried to conquer the fear, but there's no way the utter terror of Ugandan traffic will ever become normal to me. I can pretend it doesn't bother me. Outwardly, I make a point to avoid flinching when another car or taxi or petrol truck zooms past an inch away.

Today was particularly awful for many reasons. The taxi (14-passenger van shown here) I first boarded to Kampala was empty, which is never the case when you pick them up in Lugazi. They are always nearly full and the conductors try to scrunch you in with families of screaming babies.

Source: http://www.uganda-visit-and-travel-guide.com/travel-in-uganda.html

I will spare the details of today's misadventure, but I'm 90 percent sure the driver and two other men planned to drive off with only me. Warning lights went off in my head. I told them I forgot my phone at home and persuaded them to let me out, even though they insisted on driving me home to fetch it. I promptly jumped in a fuller taxi.

This one was fine, apart from that that the sliding door on the side completely fell off after an hour. So after the driver borrowed tools from some dude on the side of the road to try and fix it (and failed), I boarded a third taxi, which finally got me there.

In Kampala, the fastest way to get around if you don't know the taxi system (which I don't) is by riding motorcycle taxis called boda-bodas. They're dangerous. If you crash, you will likely die. Boda drivers usually wear big puffy coats, which seems strange in the heat, but makes sense when you visualize what being thrown off a motorcycle does to you. Oddly enough, few wear helmets. Picking the ones with helmets seems logical, as you'd think they are safety conscious, but sometimes they see it as an opportunity to go faster.

Anyways, my boda rides today were as frightening as usual. Sometimes they're a smidgen fun, but today I was sort of tired of danger.

And in the taxi back from Kampala (where I visited a reproductive health organization to get materials for upcoming lessons), no one on the busy highway took precautions during a crazy thunderstorm. The road was flooding and the visibility was awful, but all the vehicles, including the large and flammable trucks, carried on speeding and swerving as usual. (For more educational reading about trucks on this highway, check out this awesome story.)

I tried to not visualize a fiery death. Didn't work. The scenario that played over in my head was that we would crash head-on with a giant truck and that all the rescue team (do those exist in Uganda?) would be able to identify was my bag, containing pieces of a shattered laptop and the sixty female condoms that the reproductive health worker forced me to bring back to Lugazi with me to hand out. Awkward.

Anyways, I didn't die. I live to blog the tale. But next time I come to Africa, I'm bringing a helmet or hiring a personal elephant to take me everywhere.