Water and our daily interaction

The drip, drip, drip of the faucet is nothing but an annoyance. Either its bedtime and the perpetual splash is simply too much to take or its your inner-plumber calling you to make a go of it to end this audible nuisance. Lately, here in Uganda we have come to realize out daily interaction with water is something unique. We covet the filters, we seek out the beauty, we have found additional listings on water’s resume that come in handy all over Mbale. Quick admission this post was inspired partially by our trips to the Nile/local waterfalls and also by Al Gore offering up the fact that the world’s ice sheets are losing 300 metric tons of ice per year. Astonishing to think about the abundance of water despite its prevailing preciousness in so many places.

One more inspiration: Rain. Rain brings out identical feelings all over the globe. As human beings we run from small droplets of water as though they are about to attack us. We shower, swim, drink and pay surcharges for views of oceans of the stuff, but when it’s falling out of the sky pass the poncho please. Rainy season here creeps up somewhere in the neighborhood of 2-5 pm fairly regularly. Last week rain was up and out of bed early and caught me (and a few of the other fellows) during a motorcycle ride to Namatala. Failing to find a roof anywhere in sight I pressed on through the muddy crevasses and nascent river formations to get to our worksite. Head to toe soaked I arrived and everyone was very sorry for the new color of my gray shirt. I was half appreciative of their concern and half excited as it felt like one of the more satisfying showers of the past couple weeks.

Each of the women we work with gets their water everyday from one of two local dispensaries. Each can of water (they go through about 3-5 per day depending on laundry loads) costs 200 Shillings and this represents a fairly large portion of their daily expenses. It makes the drip of the leaky faucet represent a little more to me now. It also makes me that much more concerned when someone brushes their teeth with the water running or wants to give the grass a healthy drink despite the fact it already stands 3 inches tall.

“The pearl of Africa” certainly lives up to its name. As Marjani, Kaliya, and I climbed up Sisiyi Falls (shout-out to our favorite Si Si back stateside) we were covered in greenery. The trail was no more than a sliver of dirt and rocks through palms, wild grasses, and coffee beans (which are green until they ripen to a mahogany red). We stood underneath the falls to catch the mist cascading off the rocks and also to take a look at the piping set up to collect water. Our guide, Ronald, told us the collection from the falls supplies towns for miles in several directions. There was no electricity attached to the plumbing, just plain old gravity supplying the push. No question there is a symbiosis with the natural world that makes it possible for civilizations to survive generation after generation. Big thanks also has to go out to civil engineering folks for life’s basic necessities being so widely available back west.

Marjani talked a little about our weekend getaway to Jinja last post, but talking about the Nile never gets old. The Nile is majestic. It’s massive, lush, full of energy, and it feels like it can pick you up toss you around and put you back wherever it pleases. The fact that we were sitting right at the beginning of it and could watch the start of that flow was awesome. Truthfully it’s hard to figure out how all that water can start flowing without a connection to the ocean from the other end. The Nile flows northbound right? So how does all that water replenish itself back into Lake Victoria quickly enough to keep up with the demand? It’s almost as confusing as traffic jams that spring up out of nowhere or trying to answer how the take a penny-leave a penny jar is never empty. It just is. It’s all happening (blog trademark) and that’s what matters.

Lately Mbale has been working on some major civic upgrades. We’ve talked and chatted and explained all we can about the potholes and condition of the roads. I hesitate to even call them roads at this point. I believe they are simply convenient collections of cement/pavement that most people have decided to use for transport. So the construction crews came into town. The crew included three guys on bikes blocking the flow of traffic, a roller machine, a sign that says “Take another route” throwing all kindness to the wind, and a truck full of dirt. Dirt is dropped near the pothole and rolled to form a concave protuberance. Why concave? It needs its magical bonding agent to form the seal. That magical glue is nature’s most wonderful resource: water. From what I gather mud lasts longer and stems the daily dust storms along the roadsides. When I was a young lad I used to throw water on my hair as a styling product only to realize I was stuck back in the same conundrum hours later. Just as my hair found its way back to its original position there is no doubt the “roads” will find themselves with the same potholes not long from now.

Water sustains us, brings us peace, and fixes all problems. Apparently it’s natures duct tape. We just had to travel to Africa to figure that out.

Passing thoughts

At home in the Casa:

Today, I washed both my cloths and myself in a bucket. #watercrisis (literally).

This particular morning we awoke with one goal at hand–wash our stanky, dirty clothes. No problem because we’re pro’s at this now! Well, one problem, the water tank was just about bone dry. No worries though because we cleaned out the remaining water and managed to get the job done. Clothes hanging to dry on the lines… success! Until, of course, we went downstairs and found out there was no remaining water anywhere in the house, or in town, for that matter. Note*** we did not clean out all of the water in Mbale with our wash job. Apparently, when the power goes out the water runs out because there is no electricity to pump water through the city’s pipes.

Catch me at the bus park:

Africa time does not apply to buses, Ron Warren time does. 

“The bus is scheduled to leave at 9:30,” said clerk 1.

Scratch that. “It’s more like 9-9:30,” said clerk 2. Actually, “you should probably be there at 8:45,” clerk 2 continued.

Me: “So we should be there no later than 8:45?”

Clerk 2: “Yes, definitely no later than 8:45.”

Me: “So we should really be there at 8:30?”

Clerk 2: “Yes, but 8:45 it’s okay.”

We arrived at 8:15 and without cause, concern, or notification the bus departed at 8:46 that morning. 9:30 bus,  indeed! Takeaway: if you’re not 45 minutes early you’re late. The bus leaves when the bus is full, stragglers be damned.

En route to Jinja:

You don’t know what a bumpy ride is unless you’ve traveled in Uganda.

Speed humps are there for a reason. #respecthehump #kaliyawisdom

These are pretty self explanatory. Prepare to catch 2 feet of air while cruising on the bus every time you pass through a village. Basically it’s like getting punched in the gut every every 30 feet. Exciting, entertaining and funny at first, this ab work out is no joke.

In Jinja:

I’m drinking Nile Specials on the Nile River like a BOSS.

“Dude, I’ve got melted shot glass on my leg.” 

Life is good on the Nile and beer tastes even better with a view like that. Although the next morning’s not as charming, especially when you’re sitting next to a bunch of British frat boys recounting their evening. For the record, paddle board fire shots are never a great idea. #justsayin

On the adventure home to Mbale:

You can’t escape the Matatu.

But seriously, you can’t and we didn’t. I vowed to never ride in one of these but I, along with Jack & KK, got bamboozled. There is no sign marking the bus stop, bench to wait or any hope or prayer of a schedule. There is however, a public toilet charging 200 UGX, a fair amount of trash, a few folks hanging around and a boda or two waiting for it’s next charge. We flew off the bodas at the transportation circle and towards the bus that had just coasted up out of nowhere. A man yells at us to hurry and confirms that this bus is headed for Mbale. Sounds promising until he tells us 3 seconds later that it’s full and that the other bus has already come and gone. This bus takes off like a bat out of hell and leaves us in the dust. There is no promise of another bus but we hold out hope and are prepared to wait. We pass the time with wishful thinking and stare down the road, squinting our eyes, in search of a bus.

Matatu after matatu pass, yelling at us to come forth, they’ll take us wherever we need to go! We decline each of their offers in search of better pursuits and are pleasantly surprised when a shuttle bus rolls up. 10,000 UGX to take us home to Mbale? No problem! We get on the shuttle bus and are pleased with our good fortune. This bus functions just the same as a matatu, stopping every 1-2 minutes in search of more passengers, but we accept this fate because it’s breezy and spacious and it’s not an official matatu. Flash forward 30 minutes and the man who took our money is demanding we rise and exit the bus. Pause for WTF moment! He boots us and delivers us to a matatu that’s waiting just behind the shuttle. The man assures us he’s paid our fare and that this taxi, full to the gills with 20+ people in seats made to accommodate 15, will take us all the way to Mbale.

We were sold to the lowest bidder and had no choice but to comply. 2.5+ hrs later and we reached Mbale town. For those of you struggling with a visual, think of the peeps as sardines in a can, chickens, goats, unhappy babies, large men who are 7 feet tall, a stench that could kill, steam room temperatures, stops every 1-2 minutes in towns and 70 mph on the roads in between, and a man hanging out the window the whole time fiercely soliciting his next customer. We threw on our headphones, cranked “Can’t Knock the Hustle” by Jay-Z and counted the kilometers to Mbale town. I’ll forever remember it as an incredible, hilarious,frustrating, stinky, hot and INSANE experience.

Perspective gained from the last 72 hrs:

It’s not camping, it’s real life. 

From showering in a bucket to sleeping in a safari tent outside, and back again, the beauty of running water and electricity has not been lost on me. My bucket shower was somewhere between cold and exhilarating and our safari tent was cute. This has been my inconvenience for 3 days, but for all the people we see in the towns we pass and the ladies we work with, this is not a weekend camping trip, it’s real life. And though this experience has been no walk in the park, it has been fun and I am grateful for it.

Uganda in a word

There are so many situations, stories, objects, experiences that we are sure to encounter throughout this trip and we both were trying to find just one word to help encompass and describe some of it via our first thoughts of our new home.

… Robust …

Africa, Uganda in particular, is a robust place. The symphony of sounds during morning’s first light is more robust than home. Frequency and electricity of the stars at night is far more robust than seen in the evening DC sky. The vegetation, birds, bugs (African ants carry WAY more weight than their counterparts back home), and other animals are more robust. The headspace and opportunity to think about the things of vital importance and meaning is much more robust here than back home with the cacophony of commercials and entertainment circling your head.

Our first bit of wonderment came in the form of a car ride through the African countryside. There are no directions or lights guiding the way, only a single, two-lane highway road leading all the way from Entebbe (where the airport is) to Mbale. No music is needed to keep the ride enjoyable. All that was needed was the boundless expanse of the sky and a peek into what life is like for so many people halfway around the globe. We headed through the bustle of Uganda’s largest metropolitan city, Kampala, over the Nile, through small villages of mud huts and fields of sugar cane. All told the ride took a little over 6 hours with a gripping stretch of driving in the pitch-black darkness of the country night. Not a single streetlight is to be found which meant plenty of flipping from high beam to low beam and honking of the horn to make sure nobody walking alongside the highway made a misstep to the right. The headlights almost acted as a brief respite of light for some villagers as many scurried to a new location or found their friend or family sitting nearby. It is truly a difficult sight to capture via words and something that both of us will never forget. The ride was both the most fantastic journey and perspective gaining experience we could have asked for out of 6 hours of life. 

The internet is close to working at our home so for now we are relying on fifteen minutes here and there at various internet cafes around town. While most of the surroundings are very robust, describing the pace of life in Mbale as robust would be a stretch. It’s not laid back, but better described as fitting. Think about the joy of spending a day preparing a meal. Wake up brainstorming possible options, weigh which sounds best, then move along to the market to search for the ingredients and further inspiration, back to home base to prepare, cut, chop and finish the whole day off with a relaxing meal enjoyed with friends/family. Whether we perceive that to be enough for the entirety of the day, in Mbale it definitely completes a day.

More stories are in store to share so for now we will leave it at that. We are both safe, happy, and filled with anticipation for the next day ahead. We have been off the grid for a couple days and don’t want to overwhelm with too much that is going on at once. It’s all happening so go out and find it.