Kampala is bigger than Lilongwe, and in better repair, at least in the center. Although it definitely felt like an African city (unlike, say, Maputo or Cape Town), it just felt more vast than anything in Malawi. It also has marabou storks, which I hate, a little bit because they are frigging huge and ugly (although, from that perspective I also find them a little awe-inspiring). But mostly I hate them because one pooped on me. And a bird that size . . . .
It has a lot of restaurants and stores and museums. All in a pretty walkable space downtown (well, once you get there). The museums are small but have interesting art—some of it looking like high-class curios and the rest looking like proper museum art.
On the less fun side, it has many more small children beggars than what I was used to seeing. So many wee ones with thin and spindly arms and sharp features—I guess their parents know what they’re doing, in a way, since it’s much harder to resist giving them things than it is to kids even just a couple of years older.
A Bantu language is also spoken in Uganda, and so I was able to understand a few words, although mostly I was frustrated by thinking I understood a word and then finding the definition of the word had mutated (probably centuries ago) into something completely different.
When I arrived in Kampala, I was still exhausted. I got a bed in an otherwise empty dorm room at Red Chilli Hideaway . They had good food, good wireless internet (mom had allowed me to borrow her netbook) and I had time to rest. I spent days there not doing much of anything.
During my time chilling, though, I made plans with the cousin of a friend of my mom’s, Becky, who is Ugandan. We met in town, and talked for a while about a lot of things. She’s a very conservative Christian, so I had to make sure my Sika-in-Africa hat was on some of the time. Although, generally I don’t have that hard of a time being polite and respectful with people who believe things I don’t but who I also believe are coming from a place of love. Also, she taught me a lot about how the Poverty Doctrine is misused in many evangelical christian churches in Africa, which was an interesting conversation I don’t think I would have been able to have with anyone else.
Also, it was funny when she described to me her reaction, as an unmarried woman, going to a hen party for a British friend. She seemed to be scandalized all over again while she told me about the drinking and the presents of underwear and I don’t remember what else. A cake with naughty bits, perhaps? Penis straws?
She also introduced me to a friend who was also a guide and who offered, for a discount, to take me out to the gorillas and help me find a permit. But in the end I realized I didn’t have money for the trip and the lodging and the food and the transport, and mostly for the permit. So, I decided to go Chimp Trekking instead. But first I was going to go to Lake Bunyonyi.
