Bwindi Women's Community Center

Evelyn, Denis' wife, runs the Bwindi Women's Community Center, having returned to the Buhoma area after getting a degree in tourism wanting to give something back to women.  She remembers her own mother, who was known in the community for having only one dress, and no shoes.  This in a community where women wear only dresses. Evelyn wants a better life for women.  There are 300 women enrolled in the programs at the Women's Center, and she tries to target the poorest (like her mother), and those in the local area.  The center teaches women skills that can empower them to change their lives.  Buying materials and making a product to sell is powerful.  It sounds lofty and it is, but their needs are modest.

When there are no funds, they don't operate, because they need to pay the women to come and feed them while they're working.  The women produce things for sale that are made on treadle sewing machines.  I remember my grandmother having one.  You rock a "treadle" back and forth with your feet creating the power and guiding the speed.  There were three women sewing, two cutting and two hand sewing when I was there.  One was feeding her baby.  They produce patchwork placemats, aprons, napkins, and cosmetic and shopping bags, all from African cloth.  I bought as much as I could.  Evelyn pays the women 5,000UGX (about $2USD) per day and feeds them lunch when they come to make it easier on their families for them to be away for the day, and to reward them for work outside the home.  Evelyn runs it as a business so she can show the women a different life than having babies, and the backbreaking work of survival that is all most of them know.

I asked her what she needed.  She needs a pit latrine so that the women don't have to relieve themselves in the bushes and woods surrounding the site.  She also wants to try some electric machines to encourage more creativity and products.

Sponsored by a Canadian group of women, another project underway is bike repair.  The women get road bikes to ride and maintain, and come once a week to learn bike repair.  They were learning to change spokes this week.  The plan is that they will rent and repair tourist's bikes.  Denis explained that they try to repair things by trial and error first, and then they look in the manual.  I couldn't help myself saying that it was a typical male approach, but Denis said the women learned well that way too...maybe...

A new electric sewing machine costs $150, and the pit latrine will be $2500.  They've saved $200 towards it.  Let me know if you'd like to help.  I'll be happy to collect your donations and get them to Evelyn.  It's money well spent for women. 

The Sounds of Bwindi

In this remote corner of Africa, bounded by the DRC, Tanzania, and Uganda, it is a rural, agrarian society.  Although electricity is available, not everyone has it and it has been out for twenty-four hours now, but not here where we are blessed by the hospital's generator.  We had a downpour last evening, and as a precaution against damage to the turbine that creates the electricity from the dammed water flowing past its fans, the water in the channel to the dam was diverted back into the river.  As we walked past it today (I was with two men), the power plant was silent, the spillway empty.  There is universal cell coverage, provided by satellites, I think, so many people have cell phones, but not all.

The Hydro-electric Pland

My room is in the back of the Guest House, and I like my windows open (the low this morning was 69F, and the high this afternoon 73).  The humidity is always high, and the only wind comes with the almost daily thunderstorms.  It has not been a destructive wind, nor has the lightening struck close by.  The valley is very deep, and people don't seem to fear it.  Life goes on the midst of crackling thunder and torrential rainfall.  And the sounds of life are everywhere around, as is life itself.  Many nights there have been drums continuously until 3 or 4 in the morning, endlessly repeating the same rhythm.  I dared to complain at dinner one evening, and Leonard (one of the Ugandan physicians who comes frequently) mentioned that it might be part of a ceremony honoring a death..."when they are very old, many days are needed."  The sound was suddenly not so irritating.  There are of course, birds calling at daybreak, and all day long.  At night, when the drums are silent, it's very quiet, since there are so few vehicles.  And with no lights, people sleep at night, especially when they've worked physically all day long, to wash clothes by hand in tubs of water, to cook every single mouthful from its raw ingredients, to walk everywhere they want to go, and to milk cows, collect eggs, tend gardens, and mind children.  Although I will say that children are left pretty much to roam free after a certain age.

But in the morning, as people awaken after the twelve hours of darkness, there is a continuous hum of human murmuring, surrounding everything.  The vegetation is so dense, and the area so remote, one might think they were in a wilderness.  It is so not so, except for the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, which is a park.  Outside that set aside area, there are people, animals, homes and children everywhere, except on the steepest hillsides.  No roads, but trails.  Acres of tea plantations, but homes everywhere.  Because the weather is so mild constantly, kitchens are outside, and lives are lived outside.  Flip-flops are the most common footwear I've seen.  Goats blatting, cows lowing, children laughing and playing all create a low murmur all day long, every day.  No yelling, no screaming, very little crying of babies or children.  Just the sounds of humanity and all that goes with it. 

There's also always the sound of running water, in all the valleys, running down the hillsides and into the river at the bottom.  This is the rainy season, and daily thundershowers and storms are the rule, rather than the exception.  The sound of rushing water waxes and wanes depending on the volume, but it's always there. 

A waterfall along the river

Melissa, a Nursing Student in Uganda

I've introduced Melissa before, and no, Sarah, Kieran, and I did not go to the church ceremony.  Originally, the village ceremony had been planned for Friday and the church for Saturday.  Something happened with the schedule (the priest, the church, the groom's family?) and so we weren't able to stay.  During the 4 1/2 hour drive from Mukono to Tororo, however, I got to know Melissa, one of Jane's honor maids, along with Sarah.. 

Melissa (on right) and Sarah

Melissa is a graduating senior nursing student at Johns Hopkins University, doing a clinical rotation in nursing at a teaching hospital in Kampala.  She has been on the Pediatrics unit for her most recent rotation.  Her lack of experience in the profession showed in her conversation, mostly with Kieran and Sarah in the front seat during our drive to Tororo.  But her humanity and compassion and caring could not be doubted.  They are impressed with her ability to function in the chaotic environment of the Kampala hospital, which is known for its disorganization.  I am quiet, listening and wondering how someone from the Western medical model can provide compassionate care in a country where life is so fleeting. 

She describes being on the peds unit (sometimes two to a bed, with parents sleeping on the floor beside or under) where medication is simply not available, and the most aggressive respiratory treatment is high flow oxygen, with one concentrator shared between many patients, so no one knows exactly what is delivered.  There are shortages of IV fluids, and even IV cannulas.  Melissa bagged a baby with sepsis whose heart was strong, but just couldn't breathe on its own until she had to stop...there is no ventilator in Uganda--for anyone.  She said they'd had a run on sepsis, and it seemed as if she'd watched a lot of babies die.  She's concerned because frequently, there is a critical need for blood (Hgb of 2.0) and the lab is backlogged, and doesn't have the staff to do a type and cross, so she has been taught to do it by the physicians.  So she does, with full knowledge of her responsibility for getting it right, because there is no one else to save a life--maybe. I admire her sturdiness, and ability to deal with the tragedies of being a nurse and still function and do what's right, even though it's not anywhere close to ideal.  She sees clearly.

Melissa was a Peace Corps volunteer, living with a family for over a year, planting rice in the fields and helping them harvest it.  She had a cell phone that worked if she hiked to a hilltop and was to be used in an emergency.  She charged it weekly in town, and didn't use it during the week so that the charge would last.  She had been taught the language and had all of her immunizations courtesy of the Peace Corps and had to be evacuated after the year due to a coup in the country...don't ask me which one...it doesn't matter, maybe Madagascar???

She has a Biology degree, and ran a camp in the Uganda mountains for gorilla watchers for a year after leaving the Peace Corps, which is how she met Jane.  I didn't question her about her motivation for becoming a nurse.  I did ask her if she wanted to practice in Uganda, but she said no...she needed to work in the US for awhile to pay her student loans, which were huge.  She was a very pleasant intelligent woman, whose father lived in Nevada for awhile and whose family owned property in New Jersey, clearly a student of the world, and aware of her place in it.  She described learning to drive in Uganda, while also learning how to drive on the left, and said her greatest challenge was the rotary where she needed to go left around, and all of her instincts screamed to go right. 

On Sunday, when we were on our way home she texted Sarah that at noon the church wedding service, scheduled to start at 1000 had not yet started, and that it was to be another long day because they had then to drive to Kampala for a celebration dinner hosted by the Groom's family.  Oh my.  I'm sorry I missed the church service, but I'll enjoy the pictures.  

The Wedding

They had been up until after 0200 planning the village ceremony, which was to start at noon.  It actually started with the arrival of the groom's family at 1430.  However, prior to that there was much decorating, with three tents erected (who knew there were wedding planners in Eastern Uganda?).  Flowers, a cake, children everywhere, decorated chairs, and the women in the back cooking.  We were fed lunch (I asked for one small "Irish" please and got three, but it was an improvement) in the back, which was good because food would be a long time coming. 

At least eight chickens were slaughtered (for 100 people--meat is scarce in Uganda), the cow had been slaughtered the night before (happily I missed that).  The chicken slaughtering was carried out by 8 year old boys with machetes, very serious indeed.  Then the feathers were singed over the fire, and the boys also plucked them, while the women removed the pin feathers and butchered them.  These are very thin tough chickens, cage free their entire lives, living on greens and few grains. 

Chicken carving

At 1300 all work stopped because word was received that the groom's village procession was arriving.  The women hurried to change, and the food left to itself.  In their finery, they arranged themselves in front of the gate to welcome the arriving village--and waited another 1 1/2 hours.  Finally, we in the audience, and those waiting greeted the entourage, about 20 people.  Their credentials had to be verified prior to entering.  Imagine how this ceremony must have evolved.  Tribes would make arrangements to meet for a "greeting ceremony", but they didn't really know each other well, and so imposters and enemies had to be avoided.  Statements of peace for the duration of the ceremony were made by both sides.

Groom's family arriving

 And then lengthy greetings of  parents, children, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and village officials from both sides began and the giving of gifts to the bride's relatives by the groom's representative .  All to music from a DJ with speakers as large as a bunk bed.  Dancers from Ngongdera, Jane's village danced. Joking back and forth was common.  The women in Eastern Uganda have a unique way of greeting each other and important strangers.  They simple fold to their knees and hold out their hand courteously.  It is done with dignity and beauty.

The Aunties and sisters

 Finally the bride was invited to come out of the house (after 3 1/2 hours!).  She arrived with her sisters and bridesmaids to meet the groom's sisters and representatives.  The Greeting Ceremony was over, and the party began.  The church service was scheduled for the next day. 

The bride

Back Home in Bwindi-via Kampala and the Jinja Highway

We arrived at Nagongera, Jane's village, which is north of Tororo, late Thursday evening, and departed late Saturday evening, traveling both ways via the Kampala-Jinja Road (A 109) that runs between Uganda's border with Kenya and Kampala.  I'll blog about the wedding later, but first--the trip there and back.

Thursday morning, Jane and I went to the fruit market in Kampala, and then she ran errands prior to heading out to meet Sarah and Kieran in Mukono, picking up Melissa, a friend of hers along the way.  Those words don't describe the lateness, the waiting, and the unfolding drama of Sarah and Kieran waiting and the taxi driver waiting, and the cell phone calls back and forth, and the getting later and later.  Melissa is studying nursing at John's Hopkins and completing an extra clinical rotation in Uganda.  (More about her later).  She would be a bridesmaid along with Sarah.  We were 2 hours late meeting them, operating on African time.  As many brides do, Jane had committed to too much in too little time.  We left Mukono at 3 in the afternoon, on a 2 lane sometimes 3 lane, sometimes one lane road that was sometimes under construction, sometimes had an accident, and sometimes ran through a village.  Instead of stop lights, there are speed bumps, which may or may not be signed and painted with white stripes.  Quite a shock at any speed. 

The fruit market

We arrived at Tororo at dark, in a downpour that caused local flooding, obscured potholes large enough to hide a truck tire and caused a power outage.  When we turned off the highway, we were still 20km from Jane's house, but diverted to Mororo village, an aunt's house where dinner waited.  We chatted with relatives by candle and flashlights while they finished preparing our meal--another hour--noodles, rice, chicken, port, beer (for myself and Kieran-hooray!), all very good.  BUT, it became known that there was more food  waiting, so tried to eat lightly, and moved on to Jane's village at Nagongera.  It turned out that Sarah and Kieran had reserved a hotel in Tororo Village, and I prevailed upon them to check if there was a room for me.  I just had a bad feeling...a wedding, many relatives, a remote village, small houses, bathroom facilities for many people, etc. etc.  I was right and lucky to be able to connect with a hotel and have transport back and forth. 

The back of the Toyota was absolutely full, luggage, fruit, various wedding supplies, etc., so we headed  down the dirt road, dark now, but at least not raining to the village.  No lights anywhere, and in the town of Tororo, people everywhere, trucks, cars parked on the street (I use the term  street loosely), with dogs, chickens, and cows running free.  Many motorbikes, with 2 or 3 people on each.  It was a warm night, as always in Africa, and eerie, so many people appearing and disappearing, and no lights.  There was just occasional candlelight in a house or shop. 

Sarah and Kieran and I unloaded the van with help, declined to stay for dinner but met everyone, including Jane's mom, and departed to the hotel (20 km back the way we'd come).  We returned Friday at 1000 to help with preparations.  I watched the cooking and they served me lunch after bringing me handwahsing water and soap, whens it was done.  I would have stopped them and gotten it myself if I'd known what was coming.  Ugandans are big eaters because they work so hard at everything, and they serve everyone that way.  I ate maybe 1/3 of what I got...posho (a soft pan bread sort of pudding made of boiling water, millet, and sorghum), chicken, rice, Irish (white potatoes as opposed to sweet), and a cabbage salad (like our cole slaw) all seriously mounded on two very full plates.  I had brought her mother a gift of scarves, and so I was hopeful that would absolve me of my offense of not eating....they just didn't understand how I could stop before the plates were empty.  I managed to get it consolidated to one plate so it didn't look so bad.

Cooking Posho

I love the company of women working, and they talked among themselves, while also making sure I was okay, and taking the food into the house for the others.  There were outside fires, built for the multiple I had a stool to sit on and just watched.  Sarah, Melissa, and I also made time to make the ribbon flower corsages/boutonnieres for the groom's family, and did quite a good job, if I do say so myself, with just scissors and creativity.  Sarah painted all the toes and fingers she could find.  Jane and Julius disappeared to go find a music system and DJ.  We left at 2100, not having seen them.

The Cooks

We returned at 1000 for the big day.  I'll blog about that later, but suffice it to say that the wedding started about 1430, which was 2 1/2 hours late, and the ceremony concluded at 1900, which was just past sunset.  Kieran and Sarah are physicians at Bwindi Community Hospital and had committed to be at work Monday morning.  Everyone knew we'd have to leave as soon as the ceremony was over, and we'd expected to hit the road at 1630 at the latest.  So we sneaked to the car (much pressure and angst would be caused by our departure if they knew) and hit the road.  Darkness was setting in as we turned onto A109 for the return to Kampala where we would spend the night.

We all agree that none of us have ever spent a more terrified 4 1/2 hours, 217 km.  First, it was dark, no street lights, no moon, no starlight, no house lights, and very little reflective signs, if any.  The road is the main route between Kampala and Kenya, so is a constant stream of trucks, buses, cars, motorbikes, pedestrians, bicycles, and some animals (usually dead).  When I say it was dark, it was very, very dark.  Weak headlights, non-existent tail lights, no lights.  Oncoming vehicles either had no lights or high beams that blinded.  Sarah and Kieran took turns driving, I held on.  Passing a 5mph truck on a hill was an exercise in supreme concentration, taking into account oncoming traffic, side traffic, and passing traffic, who gave one small beep of warning.  The universal sign for "move over, coming through" was a truck half in your lane, with his left blinker on...it meant that he couldn't yet move back into his own lane and for whatever reason needed half of ours.  Usually it was on a downhill stretch for him.  There were bicyclists on the breakdown strip--no lights or reflectors.  There were also motorbikes over there, too slow for the traffic, but weaving in and out of the pedestrians and bikes.  There of course, were very faint lane markings.

As we traveled through a village, the only sign were the speed bumps and trucks parked on both sides of the road.  Again, people, people everywhere, faint light from some charcoal braziers from the street vendors and shops, loud music.  Otherwise dark, dark, dark.

We arrived in Kampala safely, to all of our surprise, and spent the night at St. Augustine's retreat center, where a room cost 26,000 UGX ($10.00), was clean, comfortable, austere, but quiet.  It took 12 hours of hard driving to reach Bwindi late Sunday evening over bedrock roads that shook the vehicle and us to our limits of tolerance.  Tomorrow the wedding.

Crossing the equator along the way

 

More on Kampala

My hotel room overlooks a large outdoor tiled area, two floors below me.  The windows in my room open and they are screened, so unless it's too noisy, I open them, and use the fan for a breeze.  For the past two days, a man has been working to clean the tiles (they look much like Mexican saltillo tiles, but are Ugandan clay tiles), with a broad blade scraper by hand--why I don't know.  I don't see any mortar on them, or dirt, and what he's done doesn't show much, but he might have 1/6 of them done after the two days.

Jane and I went to Mukono to see the lawyer at Uganda Christian University about the Memorandum of Understanding to allow diplomas to be granted at Uganda Nursing School, Bwindi.  We were moderately successful and will have the MOU completed within a week or so.  The traffic out of Kampala was very bad, but not as bad as the traffic coming in.  Drivers are civilized, but very aggressive, and the motorbikes downright suicidal.  The picture below was taken yesterday, and is of the parliament building--it doesn't do the traffic justice.  There's also the exhaust to breathe in, and the heat and himidity

Kasule, the taxi driver, is a hip-hop artist who wants to go to New York, that being the source of music (according to him), but in the meantime, he plays at local clubs.  He has become an expert on Idi Amin, due to driving tourists around who are fascinated by the dictator and want to see some of the history.  He was full of information, some I already knew, and lots I didn't.  I find all Ugandans remarkably aware of their history, of the politics of their own country, Africa and the world, including the US.

Today's hire car driver, who took me to Mukono to meet Jane, told a horrific story of having a pain in his side and going to a hospital in Kampala where he was told he needed to have his kidney removed (we started by discussing flying in a small plane and he was telling me of his first and only plane ride). He got a referral to Nairobi for a second opinion from a local doctor, and consequently went on his first plane trip.  He was looking for an alternative to surgery because he couldn't afford it, even though it was a modest price of 1.5M UGX.  ($600).  After spending a week and a half in Nairobi, he was told that his kidney was fine, and he was, in fact, better.  No treatment was done except some pain pills.  And his pain was gone.  He's firmly convinced that his kidney would have been sold to someone needing a transplant.  My only advice was to hold on to all of his body parts, and to go to Bwindi Community Hospital if he needed care. Or maybe he just had a kidney stone and passed it by himself.

We went to see a furniture procurer in a town close to Kampala, and he agreed to provide a quote.  It took a couple of hours because he had to write every single thing down, and draw detailed pictures.  I thought of my remodeled kitchen, and how I had a computerized print out within 24 hours, showing detailed pictures with various views.  Maybe our furniture woes will be over.  Jane and I have struggled to find sources for classroom, dormitory, staff housing, kitchen, and lab supplies and furniture, that will include transportation to the remote location where it's needed.  I can only hope.

Jane is getting ready for her wedding and like any nurse, is doing most of it herself.  We came back to the city center where I have my hotel, and she, coincidentally, was going to have her hair done.  We had a late lunch, with time she could ill afford, she's scheduled to meet relatives to help them purchase genuine African clothes for her wedding, a brother of her fiance's (new brother in law) to go over last minute details of the ceremony, a visiting nurse from Johns Hopkins who will be traveling with us to Jane's village for the wedding, and friends who want to see her while she's in Kampala.  I offered her to stay with me tonight so she doesn't have to travel back to her sister's, by bus outside Kampala.  She agreed, since I have two beds in my room, and she's totally exhausted and frazzled (not that it shows).  So I'll have company, and will have her helped in some small way.

The power just went off, but the hotel has a generator, which fired up almost instantly.  Amazing Uganda. The housekeeping supervisor comes around daily to make sure that everything has been done in the room to my satisfaction--the housekeeper today was about to give birth (8 1/2 months) and looked absolutely miserable--her first.  Little does she know that her misery has not yet begun.  She really didn't want to make the bed, but I knew I'd have to give the supervisor a report, so I had her do it, but not change the sheets.  No one knows but us.

I've decided that I don't need to see the source of the Nile, or the gorillas or the Queen Elizabeth Park, unless an opportunity arises that I can't turn down, or I am in the neighborhood.  The stories from the people and the kindness of humans living their lives here is enough to experience.  I'll tell you one more.  The taxi driver yesterday had to drop me off to get money from the ATM because I had spent all of mine at the African arts mall, and there was no parking anywhere.  I was a little nervous getting out of the car in the middle of traffic.  There's no going around the block here because it could be two miles and an hour to get back.  So we agreed to meet back at the hotel, which I could see from the bank.  He got so nervous at leaving me that he came to the hotel and then left again to go back to the bank to pick me up.  Of course, I had gotten my money and came down to the hotel by the time he got back to the bank.  He left his cab and talked to the security guard, who told him I'd left.  It took him a half hour to get back to the hotel, where I was waiting in the lobby.  That's Uganda, too.

I don't have a picture of a gorilla,

but I do have one of a red-tailed monkey...taken from the Guest House backyard.  I leave tomorrow for points east for the wedding in Jane's village.  More later.

Kampala

I came to Kampala yesterday on the same Cessna that took me to Bwindi.  We left Buhma at 0830 for a 1055 flight.  I had to borrow a couple thousand shillings from Patrick because I had too generously tipped the Batwas people and the guide, and didn't have quite enough for the driver.  As interest, I gave him some of my hoarded jerky.  He was smiling as I left.  Down we went, back down the red roads, muddy from the rain, gullies from washouts--people, motorbikes, other vehicles all using the 1 1/2 lanes that are graded.  About halfway there, the driver (they all tell me their names, and if they'd spell them, I could maybe understand, but even though I repeat it twice, I just can't remember) stopped for petrol.  The man at the pump said "no power".  The driver looked at the gauge and said: "We'll make it", but I knew he wouldn't have stopped if he thought so, because I hadn't paid him yet.  I heard his woeful story about needing a sponsor to help him set up his mechanics business.  He needed "spanners" of many sizes of course, which he hadn't got.

So we drove on, rain showers, sun showers, green all around, people in their Easter clothes headed for church all around, and stopped again in another village--no explanation.  I think he was trying to find some gas in containers, but didn't have any luck.  I asked him to stop at the bank in Kihihi, where the airport is, so I could get some cash, and it looked like there might be power there.  So I sent him off for gas (gave him the money I owed him and said, "Don't you leave me here!", he replying, "Madam, I could not!") and the bank was out of power as well.  The man waiting (and the security guard holding a rifle, but smiling) said that they had gone to start the generator and it would be just a few minutes, he thought.  So I waited, and when the driver came back and there was still no power, I gave up and we left.

The plane was waiting for me, on the dirt runway, already loaded with people from the tourist camps who had seen the gorillas.  No formalities like ticket checking or baggage screening.  Up went my luggage, and up I went on the other side into the seat, and off we took.

The taxi driver bringing me into Kampala told me that the hotel I had reserved was not good, so he brought me here to the Holiday Express Hotel (I don't think there's any relation).  Andrew, at the front desk (see?--he has a non-African name) became my new best friend.  All is bedlam in the streets, they are under construction, there are no signs, traffic (on Easter Sunday, no less) is horrific, and I was terrified to go out of the hotel, not only for the chaos, I was afraid I'd get lost if I turned a corner, mugged, and/or run over.  So he took me to get a Uganda phone (across the street), so that I can call Jane and the driver I'll need to get me to the meeting we have scheduled at Uganda Christian University, and then back to Kampala for a meeting, and then on to her village, if we don't get a ride from others attending.  The phone man had a display that included Nokia and other brand names, and I told Andrew, that I just wanted the cheapest..Of course he said, "Don't worry; they're all made in China".  So I picked the cheapest, then bought a SIM card, which was installed for me.  They we went out to the street, and a man with a stack of cards sold me 10,000 Ush (Uganda shillings) worth of time.  Andrew loaded it up, and I have a phone, and it works.  (Of course I called home first.)  The phone and minutes cost 70,000 Ush--maybe $25-$30 total.  (Oh, I forgot to say that I got money in the airport...only one of 3 ATMs was working).

The hotel room is like a room from a harem, all gold and red, with mosquito nets hanging from the ceiling draped artistically.  The windows open (screened, no less) and there's also A/C in the room as well as a fan.  There is a restaurant here and I had a beer and a hamburger for a late lunch yesterday, a pretty good breakfast, and a very good chicken salad (no mayonnaise, trying not to have any--I've seen how it's stored) sandwich with avocado and fresh tomato on a french roll today for lunch.  But I scandalized the wait staff when I asked to buy two soft drinks to bring up to my room.  I had to promise to call down for them next time, and a waitress had to carry them up for me.

I asked the hotel to arrange a taxi and went out to do some shopping--not much open on Mondays, it turns out, but I did buy some small gifts, tried on some shoes (my feet are way bigger than African women), and made a date for tomorrow with the driver to do some serious shopping, AND go to a Chinese restaurant for lunch.  I have to buy a wedding dress, and a wedding gift, after all.

It's true, Ugandans are very nice people.  Although I did accidentally have some cash in my hand that I hadn't put away, and felt these eyes on me that weren't at all friendly, and the taxi driver made me put my pack on the floor instead of on my lap...sorry, wasn't thinking briefly.

No pictures today, I promise some tomorrow.  The city is very dirty and chaotic, but works, (there's a sewer system and a subway system) and the people are very professional and helpful, those that I've met.  The person at the shoe store was genuinely sorry that she didn't have my size and the woman at the African arts shop discussed the dress I was considering buying for my granddaughter in detail with me, when I was wondering whether it would fit.