Calls in Mbarara

Woke up this morning to two things that were particularly effective as an alarm clock. The first was the broadcast call to prayer from several mosques in town. Promptly at 6:00 AM, they turn on their speakers and blast out the call. It’s really not that bad; quite musical really. Just not something I would usually choose to have waking me up.

The guest house where I am staying has it’s back to the main road in town, High Street. In an effort to reduce speeding, several groups of 3 or 4 speed bumps are located interspersed along the road in multiple areas. I don’t know what kind of trucks they use in Uganda to transport goods, but they sound enormous when its an empty truck rattling over speed bumps at 6:00 in the morning. This must happen all night, but I’m usually so tired that I don’t notice.

I’ve still been waking up at 5 or 6, which is extremely unusual for me since I am a night owl. I think I am adjusted to the time difference, since I am now going to bed around 9 or 10 and waking up early. Still not used to either thinking about the time difference or considering it- I find myself wanting to call people only to find out it’s 4 in the morning there.

Olga, the resident who last did a rotation here, was nice enough to let me borrow her cell phone that she purchased while she was here. They come pretty cheaply, and you can use a pay-as-you-go program that allows you to “top up” your minutes. Shops for this are everywhere, including wooden crates set up on the side of the road with minute prices listed. The phone has worked great for calling within Uganda, I am able to talk with other volunteers and hotels in and around the country. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, I was unable to talk to people in the states. I was able to connect and hear them just fine, but they could not hear me. For two days I tried to figure this out by calling several people I knew, only to hear “hello, hello” for a while and have them hang up. I promise everyone, I was not trying to be rude, I was replying on the other end!

First shift at the hospital today. Thankfully it’s located behind right behind the guest house across High street. Campus here is as confusing as any campus in the states; I had to ask several people for assistance with directions. Luckily, the people here are insanely nice and courteous, and one gentleman led me right to the library. It does feel odd to be the only muzungo (white person) when I am walking around. You feel everyone turn to look and stare at you, even if it is only for a minute. There is nothing hostile in the stares, I just think that actually seeing a white person is an unusual enough event to warrant observation.

Went to the open-air market today. I wish I could take all the vegetables here home with me; there is no pineapple that I have ever tasted that tastes like the ones here! The open air-market is a square filled with rows of wooden displays, covered with corrugated roofs. Piled high on each of the displays is an enormous selection of fresh vegetables, pineapple, avocados larger than my two hands together, ginger, tomatoes, peppers, beans, watermelon, and of course, several varieties of bananas, along with many other vegetables and fruits. Everyone seems to have much the same produce, which helps when you are trying to bargain. It’s funny- I would walk up to someone and ask the price for produce, and I could see them doing a quick calculation in their head after they saw I was a muzungo. This would be followed by the price of the item, say a pineapple, delivered with a small smile; “for you, 2000 shillings.” Of course, I have been told that the real price is around 1000 shillings. The difference is actually pretty small- 1$ American versus 50 cents, which is not a significant amount when you consider that this is the money these people subsist on. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to at least let them know that I was aware of the actual price of things, and wanted to be treated as fairly as everyone else. I have found that after walking around and comparing prices, along with comparing notes with the other western volunteers, I can figure out what the price should be and bargain accordingly. Yesterday was the first time that was successful- I would reply (politely) “how about 1000,” to which he or she would counter, etc. Ended up getting these enormous avacados for 300 shillings each, which is a ridiculously low price. I wish that I had someplace like this within walking distance back in the states; makes for an interesting afternoon.

While exploring the alleys of Mbarara I also stumbled on the apparent garment district. I have been wondering where everyone gets their clothes. To a westerner, the people in Uganda are always impeccably well dressed, with tailored shirts and trousers when they are not wearing a suit. The women are dressed either in business dress or in traditional dresses. No one is seen outside in anything less than the best. I felt like a genuine schlub for walking around in shorts. There is only one person I saw who was not clean and tailored, and that was a construction worker working on a shop. I have been wondering, though, where they get their clothes, since I had not seen any garment shops. I turned down an alley from High Street, trying to cut over to the market, and was suddenly in a collection of alley surrounded on all sides with clothing shops, complete with people sitting outside pressing and cutting cloth for clothes. I think they were quite surprised to see a muzungo strolling through there.

I’ll write more on the hospital and patients here shortly- I’m still processing an entirely new and shocking experience.