"Mzungu! You Want Buy?" -or- Bussing to Gulu

Baboon on the road to Gulu

Good morning all, and welcome to Gulu, Uganda. Yesterday's post bus ride was an all day adventure in and of itself. We had to be up very early to make it to the post office on time. The bus was practically empty, maybe a dozen people or so. Denise says this is unusual--that normally the bus is incredibly full. A bit of dramamine, a quick swig of water, and we were off. 

Before we could be on the open road we had to pass through the rest of Kampala district that we hadn't seen yet. Suddenly we went from being in the city, where there were buildings and facilities everywhere, to being in slum districts. There were children carrying water in yellow water jugs on their heads from the wells, and the houses became these little shanties that housed many people with poor facilities. One thing didn't change though. In the middle of these slums you would find monumental buildings that would have huge signs "The Lord's Church" and such. I was disgusted. I know that those buildings were built with mission funds to Africa, but perhaps instead of building these mega-churches, maybe the international Christian community could be assisting the people of these neighborhoods. Don't get me wrong, I like a church as much as the next person -- but few things seemed more out of place than a mega-church in a slum district.

The bus then barreled out onto the main road. Occasionally, we'd pick up speed and be going between 60 and 70 mph, at least. But most of the time we were slowing down for mail drops or for bumps. See, in Uganda, when they're fixing a road, they create these massive speed bumps out of dirt. In some places we'd go over 25 of these speed bumps at a time, which gets to be quite the up-down-up-down experience. 

We stopped about half way to use bathrooms. Laura and I jumped from the bus and headed down the hill, assuming we'd have to go in the bush. Turned out that they had stands "women only" and "men only" where one could go in. I walked into the stall and was greeted with my first hole-in-the-ground bathroom experience. I know, you're all jealous. Heading back to the bus, we were stopped on the hill by a young man who was trying to charge us 100 shillings (about 5 cents) each for passage back to the bus. Unfortunately, we didn't have it on us, but thankfully he let us pass anyway. As we headed up the hill we were also surrounded by street vendors, "Mzungu! You want water!" "Mzungu! You want animal!" "Mzungu! You want chipote!" We made our way through this crowd, to the bus. 

I have gotten very tired of being called Mzungu. Probably because to me it is the same as equating me with my wallet. When they call me that, they mean they want me to buy something, and sometimes they assume that I don't know any better than to pay what they demand. The other thing is that I really didn't notice any difference between myself and the people around me until we got on the bus for Gulu...and I began to receive strange looks. And then I realized we were the only three white people on the bus. And I began to realize that I stuck out like a sore thumb...worse--I don't know Luo, so when I got to Gulu I was forced to use English. It  makes it impossible to blend in. 

At one of the stops, a woman with a baby got on the bus. As she made her way to the back, the driver and the conductor began to discuss her. The conductor said that she was taking her baby to the Catholic hospital in Gulu because it was very sick with malaria. The driver asked if the baby was still alive. The conductor said it was. I found out that malaria is considered to be one of the leading causes of Uganda's poverty rate with 1.2 billion shillings (about $600,000 USD) per year being spent on treatment of the disease. This is equivalent to what Uganda spends each year on its education budget. 

Further down the road there were more stops, and at each one there were people trying to sell us peanuts, chipotes (pronounced chip-ought-eeez), meat on sticks, water, live chickens, and dead fish. There were children at each of these stops with the bloated bellies of hunger, and most of the girls of ages nine and up were carrying babies strapped to their backs in slings. We also saw baboons (like the one in the picture above) as they hang out by the waterfalls that we passed (which I unsuccessfully attempted to photograph). 

There were three overturned tractor-trailers on our journey (not at once). The roads are very narrow, and to pass, the driver has to drive into oncoming traffic or onto the steep shoulder. Sometimes, drivers who aren't careful flip their vehicles this way, causing traffic snarls. About 30 miles from Gulu we swerved to miss an oncoming bus and suddenly our bus began to make this awful high pitched whining noise. The driver had to

 stop and mess with the engine for a bit, and then we were on our way again. All of these things added up to us being about an hour late in arriving in Gulu. We had been on the bus about 6 hours total.

Once we did arrive, we had to walk about a half mile over a muddy, mucky road to get to my hotel. My bag was rather heavy, and this slowed us down considerably, but I know now to pack lighter. The hotel I'm staying at is the Acholi Ber (pronounced Bay). The rooms are incredibly nice, although there is no elevator, so for the first night I had to climb five flights of stairs to get to my bed. I had a gorgeous balcony overlooking Gulu's market as well as a community of huts and a field where the children play football (soccer). 

Community of traditional huts in Gulu

My hotel costs about 25000 shillings a night, which is $12.50 USD. It seems like a bargain for me, but that rate equals about one week's pay for the average person in Gulu. This is why the room seems five-star in comparison to the surrounding area. I almost feel guilty staying there, but I know that it is good for the community to have a hotel that thrives on western money. It is also extremely safe and comes with my own toilet and hot running water in the bathroom. (I'll have to discuss the showers in a later blog). 

I'm right around the corner from the Refugee Law Project, which is where Laura is staying, and so I get to come by their compound to borrow internet in the mornings sometimes. There is no internet at Acholi Ber, so I may not be as consistent as I've been to this point, but I'll try. The RLP is a compound among compounds. Behind a brick wall with barbed wire and a huge gate with a guard, there is a manicured lawn with chickens, and a beautiful little house that has a large common area and several smaller rooms that are protected behind locked doors. 

Well, the day needs to start, so I need to end this blog post. I'll try to get back on in the next day or so and keep everyone posted. Best!