Because that's the best nickname I've got since I arrived to Uganda: "multicoloured lady". Very refreshing after the eternal muzungu. I'm not entirely sure whether the author wanted to convey some profound meaning of me turning into a Karamojong, but in a party with only Africans, and me sunburnt after a day of fieldwork, with extra freckles and red hair, I certainly was the most multicolour object.
So, what is new in the Kaabong world of the multicolour girl?
(what follows is a random collection of largely unconnected Kaabong snippets)
So, what is new in the Kaabong world of the multicolour girl?
(what follows is a random collection of largely unconnected Kaabong snippets)
The rains are back. We’ve gone from here:
to here:
Rains mean cold. As I’m sitting here in my jumper sipping a hot tea, from equatorial Africa I’m feeling slightly jealous about the European summer I hear about now.
Rains also mean petrol shortage: a causal relationship painfully obvious after a few months of living here. All petrol comes up here in a truck (which still seems to me a miracle), and when it rains… well, imagine a truck full of petrol swimming 200km through a mudfield. Not happening. A few days back the local petrol station declared that “petrol is not there”. That was two weeks after our diesel generator broke down and we had to start using a petrol one instead. Rather unfortunate. Though no worries, you can still get petrol in town: it’s the moment for those who have some in jerrycans. Instead of the usual Kaabong 4200 Shillings a litre (some 1.3 EUR) they can start charging almost anything. Right now the invisible hand determined it to be 10,000 Shillings – over three Euros a litre.
With the rains, the Kaabong bridge continues to crumble down. And obviously, everyone is waiting for it to fall down completely before they start thinking that minor repair works might be due.
But not all are bad news. Bit by bit, the proportion of people on the street calling at me muzungu decreases in favour of those actually calling me by my name, a progress I’m very content with.
I’m no longer surprised at seeing a boy carrying a cow’s leg on his head, or at an old lady peeing on the street of the town. No definition of “normal” applies, anything is possible.
I’m also gradually getting the knack of the local timekeeping rules (though calling anything here a “rule” is probably taking it too far), which enabled me to at least somewhat reduce time wasted in waiting for people to show up (a significant amount of time wasted in waiting is of course inevitable). As I discovered, the minimum standard delay, ehhhh I mean time adjustment, is one hour. Thus, if you are invited for a meeting scheduled at 9am and you show up at 10am you’ll be considered very punctual, and are almost certain to be one of the first ones to arrive. An hour and half is playing it safe, two hours are also possible. Though these general rules still need some finetuning, as I found out the day I showed up an hour and half late for a district council meeting foolishly thinking how well I'm playing by the local rules. Obviously I had grossly underestimated the leisurely way in which the local authorities deal with time: the meeting started over 4 and half hours late. Oh well, there are still things to learn.
And I’ve also discovered that you can make naan bread in a pan. Exciting (more so in absence of both bread and oven)!
And to finish with, some mobile-shots poetry of daily life:
Rains also mean petrol shortage: a causal relationship painfully obvious after a few months of living here. All petrol comes up here in a truck (which still seems to me a miracle), and when it rains… well, imagine a truck full of petrol swimming 200km through a mudfield. Not happening. A few days back the local petrol station declared that “petrol is not there”. That was two weeks after our diesel generator broke down and we had to start using a petrol one instead. Rather unfortunate. Though no worries, you can still get petrol in town: it’s the moment for those who have some in jerrycans. Instead of the usual Kaabong 4200 Shillings a litre (some 1.3 EUR) they can start charging almost anything. Right now the invisible hand determined it to be 10,000 Shillings – over three Euros a litre.
With the rains, the Kaabong bridge continues to crumble down. And obviously, everyone is waiting for it to fall down completely before they start thinking that minor repair works might be due.
 |
| On the left, the bridge at the beginning of the crumbling |
 |
| And the progress... |
 |
| We are sinking, we are sinking! |
But not all are bad news. Bit by bit, the proportion of people on the street calling at me muzungu decreases in favour of those actually calling me by my name, a progress I’m very content with.
I’m no longer surprised at seeing a boy carrying a cow’s leg on his head, or at an old lady peeing on the street of the town. No definition of “normal” applies, anything is possible.
I’m also gradually getting the knack of the local timekeeping rules (though calling anything here a “rule” is probably taking it too far), which enabled me to at least somewhat reduce time wasted in waiting for people to show up (a significant amount of time wasted in waiting is of course inevitable). As I discovered, the minimum standard delay, ehhhh I mean time adjustment, is one hour. Thus, if you are invited for a meeting scheduled at 9am and you show up at 10am you’ll be considered very punctual, and are almost certain to be one of the first ones to arrive. An hour and half is playing it safe, two hours are also possible. Though these general rules still need some finetuning, as I found out the day I showed up an hour and half late for a district council meeting foolishly thinking how well I'm playing by the local rules. Obviously I had grossly underestimated the leisurely way in which the local authorities deal with time: the meeting started over 4 and half hours late. Oh well, there are still things to learn.
And I’ve also discovered that you can make naan bread in a pan. Exciting (more so in absence of both bread and oven)!
And to finish with, some mobile-shots poetry of daily life:
 |
| Watch out - chameleon (or whatever that is) crossing. |
 |
| Uganda is not Spain! |
 |
| The inevitable fate of technology in Kaabong... turkeys always win. |
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