World Peace Rankings: Uganda is 104

The Economist Special Intelligenct Unit released the World Peace Rankings today. And Uganda is number 104, Norwary coming in first as the most peaceful country. That means Uganda is less peaceful than Ethiopia (103) and Iran (97), but more peaceful than Thailand (105) and Cote d'Ivoire (113). Hmm.... USA comes in number 96.

The least peaceful place on Earth? Surprise surprise, Iraq, at number 121.

But who believes statistics anyway?

See the full report here.

The Pilgrims Have Come

The pilgrims from Nebbi walked single-file in foam sandals and open shoes, carrying cases of soda donated by Coca-Cola, and singing songs of jubilation to make the 40 to 50 kilometers they walked every day pass quickly. They walked from Northern Uganda to Kampala for the occasion of Martyr’s Day, this upcoming June 3.

Miss Landmine 2007

Miss Benguela's favorite color is sand and though she is currently unemployed, she dreams of one day doing anything. Oh, and she was horribly disfigured by a land mine in 1984 which claimed more than half of her leg. But now she has the chance to be a beauty queen thanks to the new Miss Land Mine 2007 competition to be held in Angola at the end of this year.

You can vote for her or the other competitors by clicking here.

Tororo Cement Saga Continues: Comment Wars on My Blog

Thought these comments were worthy of their own post. There are now quite a few comments on the TC post, but these two, by Anonymous and my reply, seemed too easily missed by some of my blog readers, so here they are in their own post.

Says Anonymous....

I have a decade long business relation with this multi-national company. This company has always taken care of its employees through their HR department. When they can spend millions on social cause why they will not reimburse the medical bill of one person? During this month, May 2007 they have donated one medical centre to the local community!!
The journalists should properly cross check whether the information provided is genuine or not.
It is very disgusting to observe that ‘Lion’ has acted on the information without proper verification.

May 28, 2007 5:50 AM

Scarlett Lion said...

Dear 'Anonymous,'

I'm wondering a few things about your post...

1. Why you didn't sign your name if you find it necessary to make such harsh accusations against me? If you're going to say such things, you should identify yourself.

2. Why you find it necessary to put 'Lion' in quotes, as if who I am is only partially true.

3. What makes you think I don't have verification? I did indeed SEE the order forms for safety gear that specified they were only for managment, and the personnel director was unable to produce others.

4. What is your relationship with the employees? Because I spoke with a lot of them, and not too many were happy, so I'm wondering what makes you think that TC treats the employees well. Again, this brings me back to my point, of, who are you? What are your interests in TC? And why don't you identify yourself? I think you're holding an awful lot back...

5. Don't you think TC not paying the bill of one person is symptomatic of a bigger problem?

FINALLY, this is MY blog, and I don't appreciate my work being called things like "disgusting." That is insulting, mean, uncalled for and unnecessary. I'm not deleting your comment because I appreciate a lively discussion, however, I hope you, anonymous, choose your words more carefully in the future. Not just words like "disgusting" but all the words you aren't saying...

Please refrain from defaming me on my own blog. I'm happy to have a conversation, but I won't be insulted.

Also, please come forward with more information about your identity, motivation, and source of information so we're all in the clear as to just why it is you find my work so "disgusting."

The only thing I find "disgusting" are the burns on Gabriel's hands, the threats doled out by TC, and their unwillingness to pay his medical bills.

My Writing is Pissing People Off

In addition to the Tororo Cement business (see posts below), this morning, the PR rep from Makerere University gave me a call to tell me that he'd been both misquoted and misrepresnted in my article in Sunday Monitor here. After a bit of ranting, during which I could hardly get in a word, I finally told him to write a letter to the paper and I'd make sure it would get published.

Here's a bit of the article:

When the Ivory Tower crumbles: searching for a job after Makerere

Glenna Gordon

After you graduate from the Harvard of Africa, what are your options?
In Uganda, not many, as 36.6 percent of recent graduates are unemployed - the
highest rate of any sector of Ugandan society

Abby Nakkazi has a problem. “When I went to one interview they told me I
was overqualified,” she says. “But at the next I didn’t get the required marks,
the first marks.” Though she finished with second upper marks in her February
2007 Makerere graduating class, she hasn’t yet been able to find a job.

“I’m not discouraged,” says the bubbly 23-year-old. “I know one time I
will get a job. If I get discouraged, it means there is no hope for me.” Hope is
there: she has an interview tomorrow at 8:30 am, and plans to arrive at 8,
dressed smartly, but not too smartly.

“My parents put a lot in me to earn my degree,” she says. She is
bright, determined, enthusiastic and qualified. She is everything, that is, but
employed. And she’s not alone. According to a study by the Uganda Bureau of
Statistics entitled Labour Market Conditions, graduates of universities have the
highest rate of unemployment of any sector of Ugandan society - registering at a
huge 36.6 percent.

(...) and the quote that enraged the PR guy....

Even Makerere representatives acknowledge that employers have difficulty with
their graduates. “The complaints are that they are too academically oriented,”
says Mwesigye Gumisiriza, Acting Public Relations Officer for Makerere
University.

Yes, he said this. Yes, he also said also things, but no, I can't include the whole interview.

A letter from Mr. Mwesigye will soon be published in Monitor, and I defend my actions, because yes, he did say this. I have it in my notes.

Did I unfairly target Makerere, as he says? Well, my article was about Makerere, so unfairly or no, I did target Makerere. But I have to have a focus.

I suppose I'm doing something right if my writing is causing a fuss, and hey, at least people are reading...

TORORO CEMENT WORKERS THREATENED OVER DAILY MONITOR ARTICLE

"They said we we are trying to damage the company's name and reveal the company's secrets," said a desperate Tororo Cement employee who called me late this afternoon.

Okolong Gabriel, the injurned man who featured in my article (see previous post), was taken into managment's office, threatened, and forced to reveal the names of the workers who took me to his home.

All of them might lose their jobs.

"I don’t think I’ve threatened the workers. I cannot do anything in terms of that report," said Mwambu Wodulo, the Personnel Manager quoted in the article when I called him and brought the threats to his attention.

My next step was to call the Minister of Labor, Syda Bbuma. I alerted her of the situation. "People cannot be fired without excuse," she said. "If it’s not within the law, the workers are free to take recourse. They can take them to court, they can go through a union, there are a number of channels."

Somehow, I don't have so much faith in those channels.

Tomorrow, I'll call the Federation of Ugandan Employers (it's too late tonight - it's already 7 pm), call back the managment at Tororo Cement, start writing about article about the threats, and do all I can to see these workers don't lose their jobs because they spoke with me.

If you have any comments or recommendations for what I should do (I'm a rookie, after all), please let me know.

DOES GOD NEED YOUR CAR? and TORORO CEMENT WORKERS BITTER OVER MALTREATMENT - Two articles in today's Daily Monitor

Does God Need Your Car?

"If you have it in your heart to help, then please give. Who can give 50,000?" called out Bishop Gilson Costa of the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God.
"Jangu!" (come) called out the man translating the bishop's sermon. "Who can give 40,000?" "Jangu!" "Who can give 30,000? "Jangu!"

The calls continued to ring out through $1.3 million church (more than Shs2 billion) until each and every congregant had donated some shillings. Bishop Costa stood behind a cut out sign "Jesus Christ is the Lord," illuminated by blue neon, complimented by a large neon cross.

The semicircle of hard wooden chairs surrounding the podium were filled with mainly women and some few men, dressed well, dressed poorly, but all willing to give.

"Pastor Gerald always said, 'Are you ready to give everything to God? Everything?' But Jesus shed his blood for us – there's no bigger sacrifice," says Francis Adroa, a former member of the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG) now in the middle of a media frenzy over an unusual case against the church.

Ms Adroa is HIV positive. Last year, the leadership at UCKG promised her that if she made a "sacrifice" during their Mount Sinai campaign, her prayers would be delivered to the holy site and she would be cured of the disease wracking her body.
At the time, Ms Adroa had no assets to give but her car.

"I put my car keys in the sacrifice envelope and the pastors took me home," Ms Adroa explained during a recent interview.

"They said all of our problems would be over."

When her HIV status had unsurprisingly not changed, Ms Adroa decided she wanted her car back. She is now pursuing a lawsuit with the help of John Kaggwa and Associates.

"God owns everything in this world, so why does he need my car?" Ms Adroa asks.


(AND)

Tororo Cement Workers Bitter Over Maltreatment

On May 2, Mr Gabriel Okolong was working in the compressor room of the Tororo Cement factory when there was a problem with one of the motors. He tied a neutral wire to the surface of its frame, and then there was a huge spark. Mr Okolong's left hand was instantly covered in second and third degree burns.

The skin gathered in thick folds around the fingers, swelled around the wrist and charred to the pale baby pink of exposed flesh in scattered places from his finger tips to his elbow.

He wasn't wearing safety gear. Not because he didn't want to - but because Tororo Cement didn't provide it for him. Personnel Director Mwambu Wodulo denied that there was a shortage of safety gear. "We have some workers who don't put on uniforms no matter how many times we tell them to put them on," he said. "Workers are given uniforms annually, two pairs each."

However, when Mr Mwambu produced an order form as evidence, there were only 137 pairs of safety ware on order - despite the fact that Tororo Cement employs over 900 people - and the paper was entitled "Management Order Form," he said.

"We started with this bunch, and we are in the process of making other arrangements." He could not produce additional order forms, including any from previous years, to show more orders of safety ware.

Three New York Times Journalists Imprisoned in Ethiopia this Week - INCLUDING KAMPALA RESIDENT

Three journalists were imprisoned in Ethiopia for five days and one of them was my old roommate Vanessa Vick, a photographer. They were never told why they were arrested, all of their equipment was confiscated, they were threatened and held and gunpoint and Vanessa was kicked in the back.

There are several write-ups of the situation, but the most informative is on AllAfrica here.

(I don't think you need a log-in for it, but if you do and you'd like to read the article, email me and I'll copy the text of it in an email to you as I'd rather not quote at length here because some things are just better off my blog and away from Google's evil search engines.)

It's a big world for journalists to explore and discover to share with others, but the world feels very small when incidents like this hit so close to home.

Vanessa, I'm wishing you peaceful nights with your puppy Tommy when you get home to Muyenga.

BBC World Have Your Say is in Uganda... and I'll be joining them tonight from 8 to 10 pm on air

BBC World Have Your Say

Got a call from London this afternoon asking me if I'd like to be on air tonight with BBC. They found my Kiboko story on Huff Po and liked it enough to invite me to join them on their show. Very excited, and worried about stuttering...

Journalism 101: What Would You Do With a Thousand Shillings?

I didn't think it was right, but I did it anyway. Or rather, I wasn't sure if it was right, but I did it anyway. I was taught it wasn't right, but everything I was taught in a classroom doesn't work so well outside of a room bordered by a chalkboard.

"Give her some money," my friend demanded, insisting I paid the woman we'd been speaking with for a future article I'm now at work upon.

I explained that wasn't how I did journalism, but he explained that was how journalism was done here.

But here I was, with a Ugandan journalist friend of mine who was translating for me, and he was insisting I give the lady a thousand shillings or so. Already, our styles of reporting had clashed and I could tell I wouldn't get what I needed to write the story I wanted to write. And since he's a friend, I was trying to keep things smooth and easy.

"You create good feelings when you pay and it's better that way if you come back," he explained.

Things I didn't explain: that I thought people should talk to me because they wanted to tell their stories; I talk to so many people that even if I only gave a thousand shillings or so, the costs would soon pile up; that I thought I wasn't supposed to.

"You're going to get paid for the story, right?" he asked.

It was a valid point.

In some ways, it makes sense - another economic transaction in a system based on economic transactions. In other ways, it goes against what I thought journalism should be about. But things are never actually about what they should be about, and the fact was that I was talking to a very impoverished lady supporting a large family in a slummy neighborhood of Kampala.

What would you do with a thousand shillings?

New Vision: I Blame You

New Vision ran a story, HIV-positive children: Who is to blame? on May 20 about HIV positive children.

My favorite quote from the article:

In his presentation, Dr. Emmanuel Luyirika, the director of medical services at the Mildmay Centre, said: "If there were no adults, children would not be HIV-positive."

If there were no adults, there would also be no children. Period.

Bread Machines Directory Blog: Places My Posts Get Picked Up

Bread Machines Directory Blog, a site dedicted to all things bread, with posts like,Quality bread, service focus of Breadcrafters, andLewes baker sees tasty market for artisan bread ...has linked to my Huffington Post story about Kiboko, I guess because I mentioned a breakfast of bread and milk tea.

Huff Po Post Three

Plainclothes Paramilitary Beat Kampala Protesters

NOTE: THIS VERSION IS SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT THAN "KIBOKO SPEAK OUT"



The day before April 17, they were called. The orders were vague, but orders are to be followed. They were to report to Kampala's Central Police Station the next morning for a job that would take some hours.

They arrived at Kampala's Central Police Station, were photographed and identified, and given breakfast of bread and milk tea.

"We were taken to a room down stairs and given sticks to beat whoever was violent," said one member of the Kiboko Squad, who refused to reveal his name. His large body dwarfed the purchased-on-a-budget metal chair in a small take-away eatery. Sweat emanated from every pore of his shaved skull, collecting in his temples, dripping off his sizable earlobes.

"We didn't aim at beating just anyone, but in case they were a suspect, we just beat them," he continued.

"I don't know where they got the sticks from," said a second Kiboko Squad member. A boxer by trade, his strength was written all over him -- as was the reason behind his recruitment -- his biceps burgeoned from beneath the edges of his mesh florescent yellow tank top. He also refused to give his name.

"They told us not beat up the leaders of the Opposition [Political Party] but small people because they were causing the chaos," said the second squad member through a translator.

Just a few days earlier, a riot in the city lead to the death of five people -- four Ugandans and an Indian who was lynched by a mob. President Museveni planned to give away a quarter -- 7,100 hectares -- of Mabira Forest to an Indian firm called Metha to grow sugar cane. Some members of Cabinet and Parliament opposed the decision, and the conflict took on the additional dimension of party politics as well as racial undertones.

A primarily online and SMS campaign was launched, and over 10,000 people gathered causing chaos in Kampala.

They couldn't allow this to happen again. Not with the Queen of England planning to visit in November. The historic CHOGM conference is expected to bring an unprecedented number of dignitaries, boost the Ugandan Shilling and increase tourism.

Museveni refused to back down on the Mabira Forrest give away. Another demonstration was planned.

Phone calls were made. A Kiboko Squad formed.

The next day, the day canes ruled Kampala, the Kiboko Squad gathered: they were a group of plain-clothes civilians who roamed Kampala Road indiscriminately beating people with sticks to effectively quell the demonstration.

They came from the Taxi Park, the busy hub of transport. They came from the ranks of the Police, a khaki colored menace known for a low number of reported incidents of torture and a high number of reported torture victims. They came from the boxing ring near the poorest of poor parts of Kampala. They came from Kampala Road, where they stood guard at ATMs and directed traffic. They came from previous paramilitary squads, last years' Black Mambas.

The Kiboko denied doing harm to anyone but thieves.

However, they indiscriminately caned anyone how crossed above Kampala road. Among the injured were several journalists. They moved as a trained and prepared unit around the streets, inspiring fear in civilians. Every time the crowd dared above Kampala Road, the main thoroughfare, the Kiboko launched into action. They chased civilians away, beating whoever was unlucky enough to fall within reign of their sticks. The men with canes effectively cowered the crowd, reigning them back like cattle.

Someone nicknamed "Backfire," who has been previously identified by the Ugandan press as Juma Semakula, ruled the group. However, Mr. Semakula was unwilling to comment for this article, as were most of the squad members.

"It's private," one member after another repeated upon a request for an interview.

They performed crowd control until people slowly went back to whichever corner of the city they had come from, and then the Kiboko walked down to the end of Kampala Road, sat one of the few grassy medians in the city, smoked cigarettes and threatened the journalists until they left.

They later dispersed into the city, slipping back into their ordinary jobs. Waiting to be called upon again should the occasion arise.

Without uniforms licenses or badges but with clear direction and coordination, the rag-tag bunch inspired fear in many a Kampala citizen.

Currently, the Ugandan Human Rights Commission is investigating the semi-vigilante group and will release a report at the end of the month.

Though the exact genesis of the Kiboko Squad remains hazy, the first member said in defense, "Police officers could be stoned by the public, or maybe a police officer can get annoyed and triggered to take the life of a culprit. So the Kiboko solve this problem. We came to agree that it was better to use sticks and whips than tear gas and live ammo. Someone came up with the idea of forming a small group of whippers who can beat up those strikers."

One Squad member identified DPC Emmanuel Muheirwe as the source of his order call to order, who has since denied association with the paramilitia. The same member also implied that nothing ended with Muheirwe.

"Suggestions always come from the top brass," he said.

President Museveni, though he denied ordering the squad's creation, approved of its activities. When asked about the Kiboko during a meeting of Asian Business Men after the riots, Museveni said, "I salute the Ugandans who stood by justice and opposed the criminals." With this statement, he effectively endorsed the paramilitary squad -- regardless of its genesis -- and the pseudo-lawlessness that cowered Kampala citizens April 17.

Squad members, however, agreed the civilians were not randomly targeted, and insisted they only went after criminals. "We didn't do any harm. No one was seriously beaten, except for one thief trying to steal a motorcycle and a phone," he said. "He was given twenty strokes, but he was a thief."

Additionally, he insisted, "We were not terrorizing Kampala, only protecting the property of some rich people around. One man with an internet café gave a member a Ush 50,000 note ($23). That's not terrorism. We kept peace. People who don't want peace say we are terrorizing."

Members of the squad insisted they were also there for general security, "because people become ruthless, so we were to beat them and scare them. We were there to prevent hooliganism," said the second squad member.

"We were whipping thieves out of the area," the first man corroborated, claiming he was not paid for his duties but performed them anyway out of civic grace.

The other Kiboko Squad member also claimed to work without pay. He said, however, "I enjoyed the work because in one way or another I was trying to create peace."

Goats and Wheels in Kifumbira

Three boys ran up and down a slope hitting wheels with sticks to make them turn like tops spun with a string in the small impoverished neighborhood of Kifumbira, complete with view of Kololo.

Strangers: This Post Goes Out to Dennis Ogoi

I got this email today from Dennis Ogoi:

Dear Ms. Gordon, my name is Dennis. I read about your ordeal on that fateful evening in Kabagala, in the 19-05-2007 issue of the Daily Monitor and I just want to say sorry. I kindly beg you not to take it out on all Ugandan men because a greater majority of us do respect the dignity and the right to privacy of all women regardless of their social backgrounds.Please accept my hamble apolgy on behalf of all the self respecting and peace loving gentlemen of this nation.

On a lighter note though, I truly confess that I enjoy reading your articles.

Enjoy your weekend and may God bless and protect you.

If you accept my apology please reply.

Warmest regards

Dennis

In response to this piece in the Monitor, here and below:

I was walking down the uneven sidewalks of busy Kabalagala the other night to buy some eggs and bread, maybe a pirated DVD. I couldn't tell how dark it was because of the lights shining from the pork joints and bars.

Right after it happened, I checked my watch, because I wanted to know just how late I had been walking out by myself. The last time something bad had happened, I was robbed, it had been too late for my own good. And everyone judged accordingly.

This time, it was just past 7:30p.m. I was right before the stage, and it wasn't particularly crowded on the sidewalk, but a man with a broad face and puffy cheeks was walking straight towards me. I lunged to the side, but he still sort of bumped into me.
And then his hand was between my legs before I could do anything about it.

It was also gone before I could do anything about it, but not before my space was violated, before I was pissed off, before I was embarrassed. "Hey!" I yelled. And here was the worst part. He looked back and smiled. Another man sitting on a low stool selling nuts, maize, cigarettes and candy had witnessed the whole split-second encounter.

He chuckled. It took me a minute to spit out a loud curse. The man who had grabbed me was already crossing the street, escaping into the twilight. Everyone around turned and looked at me, as if I had done something wrong. They hadn't seen what happened, after all, they'd only seen me yelling.

Random acts of sexual abuse, big and small, are far rarer than those perpetrated by friends and relatives. The anonymity gives it all a sting of its own, though the sting of intimacy's violence cannot be discounted.

There's the sting of facelessness, the sting of the realisation that even if I saw another puffy-cheeked man walking around Kabalagala, I wouldn't be sure if it were him.
And then there was the sting of tears gathering in my eyes. I reached behind the frames of my specs and wiped my eyes, as if I could wipe away his hand from where it shouldn't have been.

I walked on into the darkening sky to get my groceries and when I had them, I held the bag protectively in front of me. As if a loaf of bread would save me, or six eggs wouldn't crack under pressure, or a pirated DVD could turn into a ninja's sword.

It's strange because I almost never get responses to my writing, and this is the piece I get a response to.

Well, thank you Dennis, for apologizing on behalf on men of this nation. I'm not sure that it revives my trust in them (wait to you see my man bashing piece next week) but it certainly makes me reconsider doing these silly another-pay-check personal pieces. I do them because the editors want me to and they take me virtually no time, but they want me to do more and more "I'm a mzungu" pieces, and I just don't know about putting my identity on display like this.

On the other hand, though I abandoned my black specs and the harsh ideology that went with them after college, I still do believe the personal is political. That's why I wrote the first piece, and the piece for next week.

But having ACTUAL readers, like you, Dennis, read my things and respond, means my personal is political for other persons. Something to contemplate through my now-amber hued specs, lined with turquoise for kicks and giggles.

Cafe Pap Strikes Back

On April 25, I posted The Russian Ugandan at Cafe Pap.

Pap, which sits just below Kampala’s Parliament and just above the main thoroughfare, is Uganda’s version of Starbucks, only with even more mediocre food and an even more stratified social milieu. Mbu, this is Uganda, where the average family lives on less than a dollar a day, and a cappuccino at Café Pap costs two days’ income. There are 28 million people in Uganda, 1.2 million in Kampala, and about 20 people at Café Pap at any given lunch hour.

I've been frequenting Cafe Pap much less now that the internet is no longer free (boo!), but I was there today around lunch time for a bit. After I'd finished my meal and was packing up to go, the owner of the Cafe came over to me.

"Are you Glenna?"

"Yes, I am. Why?"

"You wrote the article on Cafe Pap?"

She explained to me that one of the waiters at Pap was doing some googling and found my article and passed it on to her attention.

"I am so sorry our tables are not clean and the drinks were in plastic cups," she said.

"Please, it wasn't me who was upset. It was the man I was sitting with. That was what I was trying to get across in the article."

She had read the article, sort of, at least, because she made references to some of the specific points I'd made, but she certainly missed the bigger point.

I was trying to write something about inequality in Uganda and how I came to understand something more about this reality that specific day. That I could afford to go to Cafe Pap all the time and the mad who I wrote about couldn't.

She was defensive, calling Cafe Pap a community for backpackers, expats, and the Ugandan working class. I tried again to explain that my grief wasn't with Cafe Pap itself, but was instead about something much bigger - that I was trying to chip away at understanding the fundamental inequality that exists between expats and locals, between those who can afford Cafe Pap's cappuccino and those who couldn't. I used words like "stratification," and "understanding" and "imbalance," but I don't think I really communicated.

Her closing words were something about hoping the service was good enough that I'd continue to come back.

Afterwards, one of the waiters came up to me and said he'd read the article too and was also sorry about the dirty tables. Again, I tried to say something about a dollar a day average income and Cafe Pap's $2 drinks.

"I don't really think a dollar a day is true," he said.

"Maybe not in Kampala, but if you consider the villages..."

"People in the villages have cows and farms and dairy and land. They are rich."

I'm not sure which villages he's been to, but the villages I've been to have all been less that idyllic. I'm not claiming to know more about Uganda than a Ugandan, just that since I'm a journalist, I tend not to go places that are not doing well and instead to gravitate towards places with the kind of tumult that will make for a good story. Where girls still marry their defilers and clean water is a luxury.

I don't see too many villagers buying cappuccinos at Cafe Pap.

Now whose the Sucker?

Bought airtime for 10k (about $6) but was really distracted during the process, and when I went to load it I noticed it was already scratched. Unsurprisingly, the airtime wasn't there.

The irony of the situation is that the guy who sold me the airtime was (kindly?) warning me to watch my bag.

"Ugandans, they are sharp," he said. "They will take from your bag."

He didn't mention taking my airtime.

Curtain Rods and Banana Trees

Check it out: Curtain Rods and Banana Trees.

Archery: This isn't Summer Camp

Beating the Entomological

Our Curtains Hang Lovely
Dispatches from Kisugu, where our curtains hang lovely and golden with teal borders, and have been known to entrance many a maiden, especially Glenna, who may possibly love the curtains more than David. But not really, she loves David more. The curtains frame our view of fields of banana trees that extend behind our lovely flat in the back, and in the front, they frame a construction site also known as the entrance to our apartment. There, a group of between five and fifteen Ugandan men alternate between laboring on the incomplete compound and sitting around and teasing David. They are lead by the harried Kamukama, the care taker of the compound, also known as one of Kampala’s most unhappy people. He has acne, owns two shirts, and is forced to listen to the complaints of our compounds’ residents when things go wrong – which they always do since it’s a new building. Rarely do ten minutes pass during day time hours when one of the Indian housewives in the other flats or David or Glenna are summoning him to try and fix mysterious smells that abound in the complex or inexplicable puddles of water that make our floor their home. But really, it’s a beautiful flat. And we’re happy to be here, together. This is our blog. We both have our own blogs, but also wanted to send dispatches together from the land of curtain rods and banana trees.

Is SUCKERS a Luganda Word?

Every morning, I walk to the end of my road and catch a boda into town or the office. There's always a bunch of them waiting at the stage, and usually, when they see me coming down the street, they race towards me.

Today, the one who got there first, and therefore got the shillings to take me to town, called out to the others as we were driving away, "Suckers!"

I'ts also here

Almost. Everything. I've done. All in one place. Since the Monitor's website sucks and I can't manage to keep all my clips together, and Mom, you keep asking me just what is it that I do?

But here, finally, photos, stories, everything.

www.glennagordon.com.

It's new, thanks to you, the lovely and talented JACKFRUITY. Let me know what you think of it.

Ask the Jew

At the turn of the century, Anti-Semitism was rampant in Europe, and in 1903, the Jews of Russia were offered the then British Protectorate of Uganda as a temporary safe haven.

They didn’t take it – they waited out for Israel.

But it’s interesting to imagine a bunch of assimilated Russian Jews trying to get along with some Buganda people. (Given the current state of Israel and Palestine, things wouldn’t look too good for the Ugandans.)

I wonder how the Jews would have made out under Amin and Obote – or if they would have at all.

There are Jews in Uganda – a small tribe in the East.

But most Ugandans know nothing about Jews.

Today in my office, they played Ask the Jew.

“No, we don’t believe Jesus was the son of God.”

“The Jews don’t believe in Jesus?”

“Well, yeah, that he was around….”

“Do they believe in God?”

“Sort of. Depends who you ask. You’re supposed to struggle with the idea of God.”

“Jews hate Christians, don’t they?”

“No! Well, maybe some do. But some of everybody hates some of everybody else. But more Jews don’t than do. It’s just part of the mythology of Antisemitism.” I tried to tell my editor about how people used to say that the Jews ate Christian babies, but I guess if you’ve never heard that myth in a time when Jews were like the Golems they feared, then it just makes me sound a little cuckoo.

I’m afraid that the guy who sits across from me, who has a postcard of a Virgin Mary with a practically neon red Cross above it, might think I’m a little blasphemous.

It’s okay, they probably already thought I was cuckoo.

Two Plus Worlds, Continued....

Flora said, in her comment....

Take for instance how an expat who is doing great social work helping orphans but living in a lavish mansion driving one of those posh cars, going out only to expat hangouts and functions, will seem to the middle or low class nationals;those living in the other world.
I leave that to you.

Though this hypothetical COULD exist, for the most part, I don't think it does. There are a lot of different kind of wazungu in Africa, but generally, orphan workers don't drive luxury cars. They tend to be young, idealistic ones who want to do something before they burn out. The expats driving luxury cars are the ones working in advertising firms, at embassys, at places where they make dollars instead of shillings. That's how they afford those cars. The people working with orphans don't make dollars, or often anything for that matter. So maybe they're trust fund babies who can afford to take a year off from their studies to come here and do good, but at least they're not living in New York spending their time shopping and putting money up their nose like the rest of the trust fund babies.

I just think that at the end of the day, there are different kind of expats here - the ones with cars and the ones without - to oversimplify.

I'll stick with bodas and taxis for now.

(By the way, actually met a mzungu guy the other day who works not in nonprofit work and lives in Kololo and to quote, "When the water went out, I was like, man, I'm ready to go home!")

Kiboko Squad Members Speak Out

In the Monitor and on AllAfrica here, and below.

Kiboko Squad Members Speak Out

The Monitor (Kampala)

On April 17 a group of ruffians stormed Kampala streets armed with sticks (Kiboko) whipping all who stood in their operational area. They emerged out of the Central Police Station. Inside Politics' Glenna Gordon has been on the search for the real Kiboko squad and now brings some accounts.

The day before April 17, they were called. The orders were vague, but orders are to be followed. They were to report to the Central Police Station the next morning for a job that would take some hours.

They came from the Taxi Park, from the ranks of the Police, from the boxing ring, from Kampala Road, from the government intelligence office. They were all strong men.

After they arrived at CPS, they were photographed and identified, and given breakfast of bread and milk tea.

"When we were stationed at CPS, we were told about the violence in town. We were taken to a room down stairs and given sticks to beat whoever was violent," said one member of the Kiboko Squad in an exclusive interview with Inside Politics.

He spoke on the condition that we do not reveal his identity; in a small take- away place near Luwum Street. Sweat dripped down off his shaved head and emanated in concentric circles around his armpits as he spoke of his activities as part of the squad.

The next day, the day canes ruled Kampala, a group of plain-clothes men roamed Kampala Road indiscriminately beating people with sticks to effectively quell a demonstration over the controversial give away of Mabira Forest land for growing sugar cane. "We didn't aim at beating just anyone, but in case they were a suspect, we just beat them," he continued. The Kiboko denied doing harm to anyone but thieves.

However, on April 17, the Kiboko Squad indiscriminately caned anyone who ventured beyond Kampala road towards the Constitutional Square. Among the injured were several journalists who were simply covering the day's events. They moved as a trained, prepared and coordinated unit around the streets, inspiring fear in civilians. Their sticks effectively cowered the crowd, controlled their movement and reigned them in like cattle.

Part of citizens' fear came from the lack of clarity: Who were these men? Who commissioned them? Why were they roaming the streets of Kampala without uniforms, licenses or any of the signs of respectable peacekeepers?

Currently, the Ugandan Human Rights Commission is investigating the semi-vigilante group and will release a report at the end of the month.

"I don't know where they got the sticks from," said a second Kiboko Squad member, whose arms bulged under his florescent yellow tank-top. A boxer by trade, his strength was written all over him - as was the reason behind his recruitment.

After the riots, the kiboko scattered and spread all over Kampala - from the offices of the government where they work as police officers and spies to the side of the road where they work as used clothes salesmen and taxi conductors and touts. The group itself was ruled by someone nicknamed "Backfire," who has been previously identified by the press as Juma Semakula. However, Mr. Semakula was unwilling to comment as were most of the squad members.

"It's private," one after another repeated upon a request for an interview. Their refusals were all phrases similarly - with references to the private - as if they had been briefed by 'Backfire' or perhaps DPC Emmanuel Muheirwe, upon what to say if contacted by the press. The first Kiboko squad member later added, "Kiboko Squad was ordered from the Divisional Police Commander, though he later denied it." He also implied that the command could have come from even higher up than the DPC.

Even President Museveni at one time nodded to the activities of the squad when he told a meeting of Asian businessmen at Hotel Africana, "I salute the Ugandans who stood by justice and opposed the criminals."

Though the exact genesis of the Kiboko Squad remains hazy, the first member said in defense, "Police officers could be stoned by the public, or maybe a police officer can get annoyed and triggered to take the life of a culprit. So the Kiboko solve this problem. We came to agree that it was better to use sticks and whips than tear gas and live ammo. Someone came up with the idea of forming a small group of whippers who can beat up those strikers."

"They told us not beat up the leaders of the opposition but small people because they were causing the chaos," said the second squad member.

According to this member, when the police brief the squad, they were informed that there was a Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (Chogm) preparatory meeting taking place nearby and their job was to protect the dignitaries and preserve order while the meeting was taking place. As soon as it adjourned, their task was over. However, Chogm officials from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs say there was no meeting of any kind related to Chogm on April 17.

Members of the squad insisted they were also there for general security, "because people become ruthless, so we were to beat them and scare them. We were there to prevent hooliganism," said a squad member.

Additionally, he insisted, "We were not terrorising Kampala, only protecting the property of some rich people around. One man with an Internet café gave a member a Ush 50,000 note. That's not terrorism. We kept peace. People who don't want peace say we are terrorizing."

Members agreed the civilians were not randomly targeted, but instead, the squad only went after criminals. "We didn't do any harm. No one was seriously beaten, except for one thief trying to steal a motorcycle and a phone," he said. "He was given twenty strokes, but he was a thief."

The other kiboko member interviewed said he even "enjoyed" his work, though he claimed to be unpaid, because he was "keeping peace." "We were whipping thieves out of the area," the first man corroborated; also claiming he was not paid for his duties.

For the meantime, the squad is inactive. However, members have been told they will be called upon in case of any insecurity or chaos.

It's here.

He's here, and he's started a blog: a. punctuated. quiet.

So Many Words, So Few Pictures

So here's one I took this morning.

For Free?

I'm working on an article on the Kiboko Squad (for those not up on the Ugandan news, they're a group of plain clothes thugs who walked around with canes during one of the last demonstrations beating people at random) for which I had to go and find some of the Kiboko and interview them.

More on that to follow with my newspaper article, but for now, a funny moment from the interview.

"Did you get paid?" I asked.

"No, we were volunteering to protect the peace," said the Kiboko.

Here my friend who was along interrupted and said, "You mean you beat people for free?"

27th Comrade, Where Are You? Or, Have I Scared Away All the Ugandans?

Always, always, always. You are reliably the first person to comment on my posts. Under the Bukkede post, you just wrote a simple, "hahahahaha."

You even commented on "Tale of Two Worlds" on Flora's Blog. I'll quote here.

Maybe you've noticed that this was one of my running themes in the past blogging flurry.

And some blogger told me, when I told him that he had posted a very new picture of Gulu and that I wondered which the right picture was, he said `there is no right picture of Gulu'.

Hmm. We are all victims of one form of brainwash or another. Maybe I should stop blaming the Americans for being so naïve about Africa, as well

I know you read my blog all the time, and now I have a stat counter, so I know you aren't the only one reading my blog every day. How come none of the Ugandans have commented on my last post? Have I scared them all away?

My intention was neither self rightiousness nor self defense. It came from a place of trying to bridge a gap between of understanding between Ugandans and Expats. I think a lot of Ugandans can't really fathom why we're here, and the cheap beer thing makes the most sense. And since it's a world where the rules we grew up with don't make sense, yes, we tend to make mistakes, so it's easy to categorize us as naive or callous.

But I'd like to believe that people come here with a reason.

In the "Last King of Scottland" the Irish doctor spins the globe and it lands on Uganda so that's where he goes. For some people the destination is as casual as that, but picking up and leaving everything you know behind for something that no matter how much you've read or studied or prepared is still something you know essentially nothing about is still a committment.

It's a committment. Expats aren't backpackers. We don't pass through Kampala in three days on our way to see the gorillas. We're here because something big enough to make use leave home, to leave everyone we know and love behind, has driven us here. No looking back.

I'm here because I came once to visit and fell in love with writing here. I found that I had something to write about. At home I struggled with silly topics and fruitless novels, but here I'm driven and focused, and, mpola mpola, my writing is going somewhere. My life is going somewhere.

I have no delusions about changing Africa with my writing. But sometimes I change some things. Last week I wrote about a big company not paying its workers medical bills, and hopefully one of the workers with whom I spoke, who was recently in an accident, will have his bills paid thanks to my article. Its not changing Africa, but it's changing something, for someone.

And I can't look at the dirty woman on the street every day, but I can do something - with myself, and sometimes, when things work out, for someone else too.

More than Two Worlds

One of my colleagues just showed me her blog, here, and coincidentally, this entry had run in the Monitor where we work and I had just read it previously and had a rather visceral reaction.

A tale of two worlds

You came back in one piece," was the first welcome back greeting a colleague at work managed to offer the moment he set eyes on me after a trip to Gulu. (forget that my name must have clearly spelled out that I was no visitor to that side of the world).

As I tried to digest what he really meant by this, images of a rather annoying incident with an American acquaintance who had tales of Africa, Uganda especially being a remote village without the luxury of tapped water and electricity, came back to me. It is amazing how much we live in our cocoons totally oblivious of life outside our circles.

This colleague obviously lived in the illusion of bullets flying from all directions, decaying corpses leaving the ground with barely any legroom, not to mention the stench in this little town of Gulu.

I longed to tell him that the potholes he suffered in Kampala were a myth in Gulu town not to mention the dust and pollution.

That youths full of life littered the town's streets clad in the latest of outfits, driving around in uptown cars; that the nightlife in Havana Club and other hangouts in Gulu would make you think twice about coming back to Kampala.

But then again who could blame him, for this life was simply within the town area. Behind this curtain, it pained the heart to see the immense suffering of those living in the IDP camps. Hopeless men playing cards by their huts, women carrying babies converged as if to console each other and pot bellied children with flies swarming around their bodies stared in anticipation at visitors to the camp.

But anyhow, all I felt for him was pity. Pity that the reality of two worlds had not come to him. This might have been Gulu but the bigger picture proves one thing. We may all live in one world but the realities of life are different.

Look no farther than our own slums around Kampala or your neighbourhood. You drive out of your gate in that luxurious car past the dirty looking woman or man to whom it would take a year to earn your month's pay. And even if you don't have a car, for you the realities of life are simply getting by on what you think is peanuts and grumbling about how hard life is yet you can afford to throw food in the garbage bin.
Your thoughts are captive of your circle and class in society because for you that is all that matters in life. Truly a tale of two worlds.

First of all, it’s his mistake for thinking it is Gulu, and it’s his loss for being ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE OCEAN in Kampala and not bothering to make it to Gulu.

There are a lot of expats in Africa who are here because the beer is cheap and the scenery is pretty and the climate is nice. But there are a lot who aren't. There are a lot who are here because they don't want to be in whatever rat race they left behind. There are a lot who are here because they actually want to do something with their lives other than buy stock in a company and a house in the suburbs. The American Dream doesn't mean something to everyone.

Americans don't all know where Uganda is on a map, much less Gulu, much less what it looks like, much less even contemplate venturing there.

Some people here have good intentions, some people don't, and some people don't know the difference. The road to hell is of course paved with good intentions, but I'm not sure where the road paved with bad intentions leads to. (Maybe somewhere in a back alley in Harare.)

I just think there's something to be said to getting out of the box - by which I mean, for Americans, coming to Africa is getting out of the box. Ugandans may think there are a lot of Americans in Kampala, but compared to how many Americans there are in America.... believe, not that many of us make it here.

For Ugandans, living in Kampala doesn't mean getting out of the box. But take a survey of any expat's friends' and find out what they said when he or she announced departure and I promise there will be a full spectrum of replies - from supportive and encouraging to "aren't you going to get ebola?" and "is there email there?"

I've been to Gulu. I've been to IDP camps. I've seen the dirty woman on the street. My heart breaks for all of them. That's why I try and write about them, because it's the only thing I can possibly know how to begin to do.

But at some point, when you're walking down the street (I don't have a car, let alone a luxurious car), you look away from the woman on the street. It just hurts too much to look at her and know there's nothing more you can do.

TTIYAGGASI: Even if I Can't Write for Bukkede...

Bukkede is the Luganda newspaper here, and someone tipped me off that last week my picture was there. Now I'm really famous.

A friend read it for me (I speak about ten words of Luganda, just enough to not get ripped off my boda boda drivers), and it says something about me being confused during last week's riot by the tear gas and taking a break for a fag.

TTIYAGGASI is tear gas.

Football Behind Bars

Everyone in Kampala watches football (that’s soccer, right). But not everyone can buy a drink at a bar or restaurant with a TV. When it’s match time, people spill outside bars, leaning over each other’s shoulders, crowded around the sidewalk closest to the screen.

On the road that connects Kampala Road and Nakasero Market (the roads have names, but the streets don’t have signs, so I don’t know many of them), the radio station 87.9 broadcasts from behind thick glass and protected by rungs of metal bars. Listening is almost as good as watching, so a crowd five people thick burgeoned, as if attached to the glass.

Where Will All the Butterflies Go?

With all the news about Mabira Forest lately, and with it being only an hour away from Kampala on public transport, was the perfect place for a weekend away (especially before my trip to Tororo - I know - I'm blogging out of chronological order).



We stayed at a lodge where we could watch monkeys frolic in the trees from the windows of the room, and on our walk through the woods, butterflies abounded. Monkeys called out sounding like birds and birds called out sounding like monkeys.

There's a Rock Here

I'm in Tororo, Eastern Uganda, reporting a story. There's a big rock in the center of town, and before I went and I asked anyone what there was to do in Tororo, they were always like, "See the rock!"

I'm staying at Rock Classic Hotel, to stay with the rock theme. The bed in my room is round. I've never slept in a round bed before, but find it very similar to a rectangular bed in everything but the fact that it looks pretty stupid.

My story (without revealing too much...) is about some local people being displaced by a new industry moving in. Some of them smash rocks for a living, including this young girl here. They sit on a pile of rocks all day with a little hammer, smash them into small pieces, and then sell them by the truck load for construction.

And the girls at the top? I just like the picture.