Last of the Bugandans

And as all things, this blag too must come to an end.

It's been a wild ride, and you've all been a part of it. Some would compare it to the silently applauding audience at a professional golf game, mere bystanders, standing in the way of the game itself. But to me, it's different. You, faithful readers of this blag, did your part in shaping my time in Uganda.

Many left comments, thus managing to be right there beside me, sharing in my moments there. Others read each entry in silence; whether it was an awe-inspired silence or a quiet admiration behind it all - don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Each in your own way, you were there.

It was my connection to the outside world, the blag. Much like having friends and family in helium balloons attached to my wrist wherever I went.

But it didn't stop there. Even the act of writing had its impact. It added a point of routine in an otherwise changing day-to-day life. Not to mention the processing. An experience like this one doesn't end the moment I land on Norwegian soil again. It grows in meaning with time; with the processing that is done. And for that, rereading my own blag will likely be a wonderful tool along the way.

It's been a perfect trip for me. There's not a moment of it that I regret.

I've seen the heart of Uganda.

Can't always get what you want

Okay, I'll be honest here. I was secretly hoping for the doctor to give me a very specific diagnosis. "It was malaria after all," she was supposed to say. "Your immune system just crushed it far too early for our tests to pick up on it."

No such luck. The current diagnosis is "unspecified gastroenteritis" as suspected earlier. Chances are it won't get much more specified, either.

So there it is, then. Don't mind me, I'm all better now. I'm just fond of complaining about stuff.

The hands of time

At this point, my body clock is thinking, "Oh, shut up."

I originally travelled from Norway via London. That's one time zone to the west, or -1 hour. Not much of an adjustment, sure. After London, I flew to Uganda, three hours ahead of London. Now we're at +2. Seven weeks of that, then it was back to London, for one day of -1. Then good old Norway, back to 0.

And now, it's +1 again. Daylight saving time.

Drumroll

I'm a hypochondriac!

Well, no, not exactly. It turned out not to be malaria after all, but the symptoms did fit, so it wasn't exactly far-fetched. Most likely, it was just some gastroenteritis of some form or other. I'll only have the final diagnosis on Monday.

I'm back home now, after having spent the night at the hospital, taking various blood tests and workups. It's interesting being on this side of the needles for once.

Be careful what you wish for

The abdominal pain has arrived! I've been admitted to the hospital now, where they've just taken some tests. We'll see what they say...

The adventure continues.

Toto, we're back in Kansas

After a trip like this, most people bring back souvenirs. Some bring sculptures, some bring postcards, some bring photo albums. I've probably brought malaria with me.

At least, I think it might be malaria. Headache, fevers, joint pains; sounds about right. The symptoms aren't entirely typical; I have no abdominal pain, would have expected that perhaps. If I haven't gotten better by tomorrow, I'll go and get myself tested. Keeping my fingers crossed.

I'll tell you one thing though. Of all the times when this could have happened, I am incredibly happy that this happened now, back at home. Mommy's here.

It's good to be back.

Back to the horse and cart

It seems strange to me that we take world travel in stride the way we do. Among the passengers on my flight, an ominous indifference marked the crossing of the Ugandan border, as witnessed on the flight map.

Think about it. You're in a country filled with this blend of peoples, all with their various cultures, personality traits and appearances. Music, dance, language, life. The very idea of it is too vast to fathom. The millennia of intricate histories that have shaped these to become the way they are today; the struggles they've faced, the changes they've had to go through. Blistering climates, adding their own touch to everyday activities. Not to mention nature in all its splendor, carrying its own variety of colors and roars.

Hours later, you're in a whole new country, with its own mixture of peoples, cultures and whatnot.

Where do you get the time to appreciate all this when it's just a matter of hopping onto a plane and waking up in a whole new place?

Robert Louis Stevenson

The original plan was to relax at home for my last few hours in Kampala. But, as a friend of mine pointed out, today has a whole other atmosphere to it than other days. This day would be so much better put to use by experiencing the full last-day-here feel of the country.

So I made myself a treasure hunt. I jotted up a quick list of things to find, and then went out looking for them. A bottle containing a red fluid, a wrapper with exactly two triangles on it, a person with one ear-ring. A rock shaped like a face, a 50% bargain, a person who knew three languages. A spelling mistake, a button and a pool table.

I found some things, I didn't find others. Didn't matter. It was the experience of it that was the point.

My friend was right. A last day is different. And with that, I bid farewell to Uganda.

Jack Bauer

My time's up. Within 24 hours, I'll be sitting on a plane home. The mood may be more somber than the analogous one from Last King of Scotland though.

I've thrown all my stuff onto the bed now, thinking that it'll force me to get packing. After all, this way, I can't go to sleep before I've moved all my stuff into their respective suitcases. One piece at a time, that's all it takes. Put like that, it sounds so simple, doesn't it? Nonetheless, I've got my suspicions that I'm going to hate myself for this much later tonight, when I still haven't gotten off Facebook.

I've got even stronger suspicions that I'll end up sleeping on the couch today.

Angels & Demons

It was so dark in my room last night that my brain went haywire. No kidding. Pitch black outside, the power gone. No amount of waiting would allow my eyes to adjust. It was all just... black.

It started with a dream that I had of someone walking into our room in the middle of the night. I startled awake. But, the dream didn't end - I saw this person, moving towards my bags. I heard this person, opening my camera bag's zipper. Could a mental image of a dream be so strong for it to continue even while awake? There was no question about it. He was right there.

Figuring I'd startle the intruder, I got up quickly and put on the best semblance of a military voice that I could muster up. "Looking for something?" I called out and flashed my torch in his general direction, with my heart racing.

I blinked in confusion. There were my bags, unopened. My camera, untouched. And no person there. I looked under the beds, I looked at the door. Nothing.

There had been no intruder. I had imagined it all.

Eddy lines suck

My shoulders are going to get their revenge for this tomorrow.

It was an adrenalin kick beyond compare. Rafting on the Nile a couple of weeks ago was fun, I'll grant you that. This, though. This was me and my instructor in individual vessels. This was me aided only by my own paddling, and hip movements reminiscent of a Shakira music video. Me staying afloat on rapids hellbent on flipping me over. Me vs. the laws of nature.

Which is what bugs me, see. With decidedly amusing facial expressions (as my instructor told me afterwards), I did manage to beat the rapids. Once I got onto flat water though, I suddenly flipped.

All thanks to treacherously hidden whirlpools.

Tick tock

What errands to do! Getting materials, dropping by stores, saying goodbyes... I am but one man!

 

With only five days to go of my time here, there's a lot to get done. Add to that that I'm planning on heading back to Jinja for a day, and it's clear that I'm really running out of time.

 

Wish me luck.

And justice for all

It's better that ten innocents get beaten up within an inch of their lives than that one guilty person walks free.

Or at least, that seems to be the general sentiment among the locals here. Mob justice is big here. We've seen a lot of that at the surgical casualty. As I've heard a friend of mine describe it, the police coming to the scene of a crime are more often than not the ones who save the life of the "suspect".

That is, if someone were to yell out "Thief!" and point at a person, then that person had better run. There's no waiting to find out whether the person did steal something, or even if it was that person who stole it in the first place. The pointing determines who gets pummelled.

Makes you feel safe, no?

Billy Elliot

Drumming on stage was on today's agenda, as I wrote in an earlier post. I went with the intention of trying it out, but the event got cancelled at the last minute. The reason: a nearby contemporary dance display, where the dance group apparently had said that their performance would be disturbed if we played loud music.

 

I went to watch a part of the dance practice though. Very beautiful stuff. Graceful movements, epic music, pretty girls - great show.

 

It was just a pity that the drumming had to be cancelled for this. Or - perhaps my drumming was just so downright obnoxious that they created an elaborate story with hired actors to avoid hearing me play on stage. Hm.

The unrest continues

The drama level seems to be going up here. The Kasubi Tombs, a world heritage site here in Kampala, were set ablaze today.

One thing is that this is an absolute tragedy from a cultural perspective, perhaps comparable to someone knocking down the Taj Mahal (another world heritage site). Another is that this can potentially turn quite ugly, if there were political motivations behind this as is speculated.

We've also started noticing more of it, at least indirectly. People walking around carrying branches here on campus, taxi drivers refusing to drive into campus, increased security controls upon entering the area, the embassy asking us to come and register...

We'll keep clear of the conflicts themselves to the extent possible of course. I cannot really say that I feel threatened in any way. We're safe, and feel perfectly safe as well. It's merely the tension in the air that is so palpable for the time being.

Baby's Day Out

I delivered a baby for the first time today!

It all went so quickly once it started. By the time I had put on my gloves, the woman was having her contractions and the head was on its way out. A little help along the way, and this baby girl cried her first cry to the world. A strong, healthy cry, before she settled down to sucking her tiny little thumb.

I'm well aware that if I hadn't been there, somebody else would have stepped in and delivered the baby instead. I did nothing remarkable there. Try telling that to my feeling of bounding pride though.

Did Cæsar live here? I didn't think so.

You know, I always thought that I had crossed surgery off my "list". I could never picture myself dicing, slicing and suturing for hours on end. But, I'm beginning to realize, the more I get to participate in the operation while assisting, and the more the procedure makes sense to me, the more interested I get.

I observed two emergency caesarian sections yesterday back-to-back, and then immediately afterwards assisted in a third one. These three, in the course of about two hours - and there were several more planned. But I was getting hungry, and needed food.

Even thinking of getting so many in one go in Norway would be remarkable. They simply don't happen that frequently.

If I spent a couple of more days doing this, I could go solo with this. Well, no, maybe not. But it's fun to think that I could.

School shooting

A bit of everyday drama: there's been a shooting at the university here, with subsequent riots, deaths and lockdowns.

So far I've only heard rumors of the event and gotten strict instructions to not walk back to campus at this time. For all intents and purposes, we are safe and unharmed.

We're even hoping that the volleyball tournament that we're organizing today will continue as planned. Life goes on, right?

Sandman

Missed me? I've been to Murchison Falls this weekend, getting as close to roughing it as I've gotten here in Uganda. A pit in the ground for a toilet? I call that roughing it.

And it's been great. I can't describe the weekend as anything but a photographer's dream really. Witnessing the sheer force of the waterfall as it bellowed out into the valleys below, against a tropical forest backdrop. Crossing the Nile and realizing that the clear skies and calm waters were about to give us the most perfect sunset, with the occasional yawning hippopotamus off in the horizon.

Seeing everything from baboons to antelopes to warthogs during game drive. Baby elephants ambling around without a care in the world, while their massive parents watched closely. Tall giraffes refusing to stand up straight for a photograph. Catching a glimpse of a lion – so rarely seen in these areas that it magnified the pure satisfaction of it all tenfold.

As if that hadn't been enough, the next day's boat ride had even more to offer. Kingfishers diving for fish and crocodiles cooling themselves off in the water. Buffalo grazing and fish eagles perching on trees. Monkeys leaping acrobatically from tree to tree, latching onto distant branches with nimble fingers.

It was beautiful; deeply, movingly beautiful. Nature, the way God intended it.

Knowledge, power, and all that

Some people know too much. I say this in light of just having had my team come in second-last place in a pub trivia quiz.

I mean, how do people remember the year in which the ANC was taken off the terrorist watchlist? Or stuff like who won silver in some Olympic sport from many years back?

I am a big fan of trivial knowledge, I'll grant you that. It just seems like such a conspiracy that nobody ever asks me the stuff that I do know.

Thumper

"Tap-TAP-tap," says Jonathan to me, gesticulating in time with his hands. Tap-TAP-tap, responds my drum.

 

I met Jonathan yesterday at his band's concert, where they combined East African rhythms with other musical styles, ranging from blues to jazz to Carribean in true fusion style. Very fascinating to listen to.

 

What was particularly fun for me was the fact that Jonathan told me that he could give me private drumming lessons if I wanted, after seeing that I was interested in drumming. That was definitely an offer I latched on to. I went today, and added a few new rhythms to my "vocabulary". Rhythms with names! Imagine that.

 

The best part: I've even been challenged to play on stage this coming Wednesday. You know what? I think I'll do it.

Moment of panic

Whatever am I going to do when I get back to Norway where it's no longer cheap to order food in?

It's so easy to let laziness get the upper hand here. There's no need to go to the shops, to make food, to go to restaurants. A phone in your hand and a rough idea of what you'd like to eat will cover it. They'll stop just short of feeding you grapes while fanning you with palm leaves, but it sure feels like luxury nonetheless.

Of course, that's not to say that we do this every day. We've had plenty of days where we've prepare a nice home-cooked meal, or found a nice restaurant to visit. It's just that, after a long day at the hospital in the sizzling heat (apologies to people back at home reading this from snowy climates), it's nice to not have to worry about this.

Here's to the lazy! Just for celebratory purposes, get me a grape, will you?

Plethora

In terms of maintaining a sustainable population, the low birth rate in Norway is good, I guess. But for a group of medical students hoping to participate in as many deliveries as possible, ten deliveries a day at the hospital back at home might be a bit on the low side.

 

No such problem here. With 33,000 births every year at this hospital - which translates to about 90 deliveries a day - I do suppose we'll get to see our fair share of them while we're here. I'll be looking forward to it.

 

With that, I officially welcome the beginning of the last two weeks of our stay in Uganda.

Siesta

Women's Day today. Usually it means flowers, perhaps a day of pampering, maybe an extra compliment or two. But who would have thought that the whole country stopped up almost entirely to observe this day?

 

Women's Day is a public holiday in Uganda, it seems. Hey, I'm not complaining about the practice. It would just have been nice to know about it before waking up early in the morning today and going to the hospital, and finding out that there was nothing for us to do.

 

Not to mention, this is one more day we could have had in Jinja. Assuming that it's safe to say this now: damn, had I only been in Jinja today, I am positive that I would have gone bungee jumping. What a pity.

Extreme sports FTW

There's a good chance that my body has some parasites now. It's not that I have any symptoms of the disease itself, but rather as a result of probably swallowing quite a bit of Nile water while learning how to kayak today.

 

Spent an extra day in Jinja today, seeing as how it's a place that offers so many activities that it'd simply be wrong to only stay there for a single day. But, a conundrum: too muddy for mountain biking, too much of a wimp for bungee jumping, never been big on horseback riding... what to do?

 

Lucky for me, I got to know this kayaker there, who was so nice as to offer to give me a private lesson in basic kayaking. Loads of fun, I tell you. Scary at first, but when I finally got into the trusting mindset that was needed, it was one heck of a learning experience.

 

Plus, the very notion that I was learning to kayak in the Nile just blew my mind away.

Vikings!

"Feels like you're dying" they said? Pah, I say to them. This is what it feels like to be living.

Rafting on the Nile was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. This might, by itself, be reason enough to come back to Uganda.

We're talking about fighting with the forces of nature to stay inside the raft as it crashes from side to side by massive waves. Getting our vessel overturned and blindly aiming to swim back to it with water in our eyes. Rushing down a waterfall face-first. Enjoying the bliss of paddling in the sun in still waters between rapids - with the vast Nile scenery surrounding us.

Poseidon, this the best you got? Bring it!

Huckleberry Finn

Big plans this weekend. Now, I'm just going by the rumors I've heard: "You fall in the water and get sucked down, it feels like you're dying!" Sounds like fun, no?

They've also made claims that this trip is one of the most memorable and fun experiences they've ever had though. If there was a single attraction we should not miss while in Uganda, this would be it, they've said. What expectations.

Rafting on the Nile. There's not a fiber in me that believes that my high expectations will not be met.

If the glove fits

When tragedy strikes at the hospital, feeling guilt is a very natural reaction for medical students. Not so much because we feel we didn't do enough or that we were responsible for it. Rather, it's due to the misplaced feeling that we willed the tragedy to happen.

As a medical student, one wants to learn. One wants to see things, to experience things. Learning in ways that textbooks cannot provide. As such, the dramatic is high on the wishlist of many a medical student.

Does this mean we want to see people getting cardiac arrests? Of course not. It does, however, mean that when cardiac arrests happen, we'd very much like to be there - perhaps to help, perhaps to learn. There's a world of difference there.

Take your photo, sah?

While I did go to the hospital today, I was not so much a medical student as a photographer for the day.

Initially, I was a bit worried. Would patients allow me to take photos of them? What would be the best way of asking?

I did not see it coming that patients would almost be lining up to get their photos taken. Some patients even came and asked whether I could take a picture of their kid as well. Not so much for their own sake. Once they got to see the picture I took, they were more than happy, and went off with a smile on their face.

The real challenge, however, was keeping the spontaneity of the shot. How to get people not to pose for pictures, but still get their permission before taking them?

It was an experience in itself, I must admit.

Scarlett Johansson, Bill Murray

Anyone who has watched an episode of House M.D. probably has a vague idea of what a lumbar puncture (LP) is: taking a sample of spinal fluid to diagnose conditions like meningitis. A generally safe procedure, but a common belief among locals is that the procedure kills children. It follows that many parents don't allow this to be done to their kid.

I figured I'd attempt to ask this one mother whether we could take an LP on her little boy, because of suspected meningitis. She nodded understandingly as I was explaining the procedure, and even replied "yes" when I asked her whether we could do it.

Wow. Had I actually managed to convince the mother?

Nope. As it turned out, the only English that she knew was the word "yes."

Landslide?

It was the same with the tsunami back in 2004. I was in India at the time, living my life in ignorant bliss, until I was contacted by a friend. She had heard of it on the news and been all worried that something had happened to me. It was the first I had heard of it at all.

Apparently there has been a landslide here in Uganda. Luckily for us though, it was to the east, in Mbale. We're in the south, in Kampala. So here's the official message: we're safe.

Best served cold

It's no Zimbabwe, but with an exchange rate of 343 Ugandan shillings to 1 NOK (about sh2000 to a dollar), you quickly find yourself carrying around large denominations of money. It doesn't take much to become a millionaire here. That said, it's amusing to see how small denominations some places use.

This shopping market called Shoprite for example - the only place that seems to operate with prices that require them to use ten-shilling coins. That's correct. Ten.

A friend of mine and I went to the management and told them how inconvenient it was of them to price in this manner, when no other shops accept coins like that. We were perhaps a bit naïve in our hopes of being taken seriously; we found ourselves being shooed off.

Not to worry, I have a plan. Every time I go to Shoprite, I'll be exchanging my 500's and my 1000's for these coins. Once I have enough, I'll come back and pay for my mass shopping using a huge pile of ten-shilling coins.

Go ahead. Count them.

G.I.

Getting stopped by two soldiers armed with machine guns and being threatened with jail time was to me one of the funniest things I've ever experienced. Let me explain.

On a day trip to Jinja with some friends from the local Ultimate Frisbee team, I got to drive part of the way, when we were sure that the roads were safe enough. While I drove, the owner of the car took some pictures of the scenery using my camera, including some ill-fated pictures of a bridge over the Nile.

A pair of guards standing at the end of the bridge saw this, and asked us to pull over. At first it seemed that it was the picture-taking itself that they were irritated about, but it soon became clear that it was not. They had seen foreigners in the car. Foreigners means rich. Rich means ching ching.

They had seen a bribe opportunity.

Only problem was, they had no clue how to elicit a bribe from people. All they did was jump from one wild accusation to another, in desperate hopes of frightening us. We merely answered their questions politely, and told them that we'd be more than willing to speak to their boss if they wanted. This was apparently not something they wanted, so they let us go with a warning. How nice of them.

We ended up driving from there, leaving the soldiers' wallets a little less filled than they perhaps had hoped for.

Hercules

Believe it or not, I was actually up at 5:45 today. Yes, I know, it's a Saturday. At best, the only reason for being up at such hours should be that one hasn't gone to bed in the first place.

But. All the medical procedures from the night shifts are saved up for the early mornings, so getting there really early was the only way for us to participate in these. And why wouldn't I want to? This is what I'm here for!

I got to try a number of different things while I was there. It's particularly fun to try procedures under supervision that one has never tried before, and actually managing them. Femoral taps, for example; drawing blood samples from the femoral vein in infants and young children. It can be quite the challenge.

See, it's hard to tell an infant that the pinprick they're going to feel is done in the best of intentions. This in turn means that they won't quietly lie around while you take the blood sample. No no, they will fight it with every ounce of their body - and sometimes you're left wondering where a baby this tiny gets so much strength from.

Stand in line, mister

Since I've already barely started comparing India and Uganda, here's some more to add to that.

What I've noticed is that the very concept of a queue is nonexistent in both countries. Or perhaps it is a hazy blur, so that "lines" often end up more as a cluster of people. There is one aspect which distinguishes people who sneak in India and people who sneak here though.

Here, if someone sneaks in front of you and you tap them on the shoulder, they turn around and start apologizing profusely. They're suddenly all humility and grace, and almost manage to convince you that they hadn't meant to cut in line. They had just not seen you, honest.

In India, you tap them on the shoulder, and they'll turn around, sure. But moments later they've convinced you that you're the one who's been cutting in line.

Godspeed

Imagine having come here for a period of six weeks, looking forward to all these new experiences that one can get from here, and then getting sick. Really sick.

It's one thing to have seen how things are managed here in low-resource settings. There's a level of respect one gets from that; a knowledge that people don't just sit back and hope for the best, but rather make use of the limited possibilities that they have.

It's another thing entirely to also have seen how disorganized things can be here. Mistakes that are made. Avoidable complications that take place simply because the routines here are less rigid than back at home.

If I were to get really sick, I think I too would go back home, like one member of our group now has decided to do. Back in the company of friends and family, and with a health care system that I trust far more than the one here. Is it unfair that I have this possibility while locals don't? Of course. I'm not sure I'd let that stop me though.

In a rich man's world

Here's an interesting ethical conundrum, and I would love to hear people's opinion on the matter.

Many patients here are poor. With their minimal wages, we see a great number of people who have difficulty sustaining an income at the same time as taking care of their children. This leads to plenty of problems. Some medical investigation or treatment that they need but cannot afford. Not having the chance to follow vaccination programs. Malnutrition.

They need money, we have money. Sure, we're students and don't exactly have splurge economies, but we have enough to be able to give. In fact, we probably wouldn't even notice the change in our wallets' weight. So, should we do it? Should we give them money at all?

One could say that on an individual basis, helping a few is better than helping none at all. No one would blame us if we didn't give money, but should we feel so comfortable with our hands firmly planted behind our backs?

There are arguments against giving, too. Question: if we say yes to one, how do we choose to say no to the next? Would it not be preferable to save up the money and donate it to sustainable projects instead, rather than to give it to individual cases? Are we really doing anyone a service in the long run by coming here as "saviors" to this new world, like a rich uncle coming to save the day?

Yum yum in my tum tum

So far six out of the nine of us here in Uganda have had debilitating tummy problems. Just to stick to tried and tested medical terminology here.

I doubt it's poor hygiene that's behind it. We've all been quite good at washing our hands before eating and being somewhat careful about what kind of places we eat from. Still, I guess a bit of traveller's diarrhea is inevitable for stomachs that are not entirely used to the local cuisine.

The betting stations are open: how long will it take before me and the two others also fell prey to the Curse of the Tourists?

How to survive without blood tests

If I had a patient with anemia back at home, I'd know precisely which blood tests to order to be able to say more about what its cause was, and thus how to treat it. While I'd be twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the blood test results to come, any medical student from here would already have the answer and get on with treating it.

Blood tests, as well as other investigations, are expensive here. Patients often have to pay for things themselves, which often stands as a huge limitation in patient treatment. There is a silver lining though: doctors here become masters at finding stuff out just by clinical examination.

There's so much you can find out just by using basic tests. Palpating the spleen to see if it shows signs of increased destruction of blood cells. Looking for signs of small bleeding spots called petechia, indicating that there might be something wrong with the bone marrow's production of blood cells. And the list goes on.

Perhaps if I'm here for long enough, I too will learn how to not twiddle thumbs.

Here's looking at you, kid.

Twenty-five posts written, and I still haven't said much about what it is we're here for. Well, to remedy that: the plan is to be here in Kampala for six weeks total, two weeks apiece for clinical rotations in psychiatry, pediatrics and obstetrics/gynecology. In short, seeing how things are done here.

However, it is with mixed feelings that I say that we've now started pediatrics. On the plus side, I find the specialty very interesting. I mean, it's easy to think of kids as adults in tiny packages. But try getting a two-year-old with vague symptoms to tell you where they're hurting, and you'll quickly find out that they're anything but.

It's a specialty that gives you a touch of everything from adult medicine, while at the same time being entirely different from it. Massively fascinating stuff.

The minus? Starting pediatrics means that we've already finished one-third of our time here. Time flies way too fast. I feel a mid-life crisis coming on.

Ssese: The verdict

Sure, it was nice enough; that's as far as I'd go to describe the visit to Ssese islands. I won't make claims that it's "the most beautiful place" I've ever been to; after all, it's hard to impress a person who's lived in Norway all his life.

But that's not the full story. There was one aspect that took me entirely by awe, you see. Now, what especially fascinates me is that I didn't even notice it to begin with, even though it was all around me, everywhere. It was only when our forest guide happened to mention the sounds that it all truly came alive.

The sounds of nature. Birds, insects, water, wind. Waves crashing on the beach, life erupting from the trees. It was all just... there. Everything had this aura of peace and calm. A serenity to it all that would almost make you freeze in place just to be able to soak just a fraction of it in. Almost a crime that, just earlier, my brain had decided to shut this out, of all things. Unbelievable.

 

  

 

 

Duct tape? Check.

Perhaps the most useful item I have brought to Uganda is my roll of duct tape. Originally my plan with it was to take it to the Equator and place a little piece of duct tape there, so as to be able to say that I had patched up the Equator (still haven't done that).

Turns out I've had way more uses for it than I had imagined. My sunglasses broke the other day (Gucci...), easily fixed with a matchstick and some duct tape. The rim of my headlamp cracked; not a problem, just a bit of duct tape, and it was as good as new. Found out that the one chair they had on the deck of the ferry from Ssese islands was broken in several places. This took a bit of creative taping, but needless to say, duct tape saved the day.

It's like they say: if you can't fix it with duct tape, you haven't used enough.

I spy something beginning with a double S

The few weekends we have here, like I've already mentioned, are dedicated to travelling. This weekend, Ssese islands are up. They're supposed to be these islands that have this untouched-by-man feel to them. I have my doubts.

I've visited one other place in my life that I'd describe using those words: the beaches of Latvia. We're talking about the longest beach in Europe, so you could be forgiven for thinking that you're the first person to set foot on exactly that part of the stretch. It is vast.

Assuming that these "untouched" islands do not have internet access (in truth, that would only disappoint me), faithful readers of this blag will have to test their patience this weekend :) The good news is that there will likely be pictures posted when I get back.

They may survive nuclear warfare...

...but this cockroach that just crawled over my foot and attempted to scuttle away didn't stand a chance against the impacting force of my chair. Feel my wrath.

Insects here are more scarce than I had expected. Spiders, likewise. I quite like that actually. It's one of the first things I noticed here, that there weren't any flies around us at the airport. It came as a little shock to me.

I mean, it's not that there are no flies. It's just that in comparison with India which is so like this country in so many ways, the big separating points seem to be the people's skin color and the number of flies bugging you. That's it, as far as I can tell. It's almost as though the same architect was brought in to design both countries.

The dangers of walking

You think you've seen potholes before. You haven't. If you think potholes are little holes in the ground, think again.

Relatively speaking, I'm leaning towards calling the potholes here "abysses". They're perhaps a meter or so deep, and from the look of it, they seem to be intentionally created, perhaps for trash disposal purposes. In the middle of the road. Don't ask me why.

You can just imagine how a midnight stroll could turn ugly. Here you are, walking along, expecting to make contact with the ground - except you don't. Moments later, your bones are broken and your clothes stink of trash.

But hey, on the flip side, if you're driving your car and need a place to throw your gum wrapper, you don't even need to get out of the car! Ain't that grand.

Jiminy speaks

Common sense dictates that I shouldn't be up now. The time is 1:30, and it's a school night. I should be fast asleep - or at the very least be trying to sleep, not writing a blag entry.

That's part of the fun with living in a dorm-like house though. Playing volleyball outdoors until it becomes too dark to distinguish between the ball and the players. Long evenings of staying up and chatting, having a drink together and playing card games for way longer than intended. The sound of crickets chirping away in the background.

Night here is not like in Norway. It comes alive with sounds from nature and from rather more artificial sources. It may be dark, but it breathes and sings.

Be a man. Do the right thing.

One thing that I've noticed here in Uganda is the number of "educational" billboards that they have here. Everything from safe sex campaigns ("HIV stops with me!") to fidelity campaigns ("you can be a reliable partner!") to anti-violence ("it's time to grow up!"). All these can be seen along the roadsides, right beside the ones advertising for this and that ("buy 2 for 1!").

On the one hand, it's good that they have such campaigns in a country where these are all-too-real problems. On the other, I'm having trouble seeing how effective billboards can be, really. I'm skeptical when it comes to the influencing power of sex life advice from this kind of media.

Call me a cynic, but I simply can't imagine this being much more life-altering than, say, online petitions against racism.

Little Johnny

Not only is it raining, but I'm noticing it. The fact that I'm noticing could be because of two reasons. One, I've been away from Bergen - a.k.a. the City of Perpetual Rain - so I'm no longer used to it raining all the time. Or two, the sheer force of the rain.

This is what monsoon rain sounds like. Huge droplets falling with such frequency that one could be forgiven for thinking that the clouds have intentionally been withholding rain for this long. Clouds that have been collecting it up all this time, and are now running about in mischevious glee like secondary school pranksters who have just turned on all the water taps at school. They know they'll be caught for it. Doesn't matter. Water!

The carrot and the stick

We had an interesting debate at Butabika today, about the use of disulfiram for alcoholics. To put it simply, this drug causes any intake of alcohol to give a quick and massive hangover, and thus functions as a deterrent for drinking. This seems to be a drug that is more widely used in Norway than here in Uganda.

For once, this is not because of a lack of resources. Rather, it's the principle behind the use of such drugs that appears to be the issue here. Their point is that getting alcoholics to stay away from alcohol by making them fear its consequences is a step in the wrong direction. That is, that it is better to actually motivate them to manage it on their own.

But I ask, isn't all motivation based on either a fear of consequences or the want of a reward? Even telling the patients something as basic as "abusing alcohol will make it harder to recover from your other psychiatric conditions" is still a telling them about a consequence per se. Ignoring side-effects for the sake of argument, why should disulfiram be considered so different from telling them that?

The plight of a food lover

Ask me how the food in Uganda is, and I'll tell you that it's pretty good. Having eaten largely Italian, Chinese and Indian food here though, I wouldn't trust that answer. Whether Ugandan food is any good is another question entirely, you see.

My answer to that would have to be no. Fact is that there's something very bland about the taste of food here, with everything lacking any taste of its own. The meat tastes of meat, and the carbohydrates taste like carbohydrates; that's as far as I'll take this very colorful description. It's almost as if they go out of their way to make food as nondescript as possible.

A bit of salt, some spices, a little gravy - the slightest touch would do wonders for the taste buds. Until such a time comes around, I'll stick to my Italian, Chinese and Indian.

Crowding

We visited Butabika today, a psychiatric hospital just outside of town that is for the more severely ill patients. This is what we knew of it from before. I had conjured up images of patients visibly talking to people who aren't there, or perhaps rocking back and forth in some corner somewhere. The way one would act as the character "mental patient #5" in a soap opera or something.

In some ways, this was even more extreme. Walking through the crowd of patients was mildly uncomfortable, as they all slowly started to approach us, and had to be held at bay by one of the guards who was using a prodding stick. Some patients had even undressed themselves and were hanging off the gates.

Of course, none of this reflects patient neglect in any way, but rather a combination of limited capacity and late-stage conditions. What's the alternative? Leaving them to themselves without any chance of help? After all, this was just the "outside" impression. In terms of treatment, they get what they need. They're here to get better - and if there's any chance at all that they will, this is where it will happen.

The others

We invited some of the other exchange students over to our place the other day. While it's nice to meet the locals too, there's some sense of solidarity one feels when one meets others who are also here for a short period.

They're most certainly the ones who know what we need to do with the few weekends we have here. I've gotten plenty of tips, and the common message seems to be that rafting on the Nile is a priceless experience. Will most certainly have to try that at some point.

It was great fun though. We've made plenty of new friends now. Also known as people you can ask to borrow change from. You know, like when you're at the cafeteria, need to buy something for 500 shillings and the ATM has left you with only 50,000 shilling notes.

Speechless

Modesty aside, I've always convinced myself that I can manage to write in such a way that it gives a realistic idea of how I have felt and experienced the events myself. For this day, I don't stand a chance. I don't have the words to describe it, bar from saying that I just had one of the best days of my life.

I visited an orphanage today. From getting out of the taxi and being greeted by a three-year old coming to shake my hand, to meeting all the other children, to finally having to call it a day - I don't think I could have managed to stop smiling. I just felt such warmth in all of me, no doubt caught from the way the children were. Happy, smiling little ones, as only children can manage, in their innocent happiness that belies the worries from their past.

Kids came and hugged me, wanted me to dance capoeira with them, play chess with them, play drums with them. Some just wanted to chat, and hear about Norway. Some wanted me to sit next to them when they were eating lunch. And then there were those that wanted to try my camera. I figured that I could show some of them how to handle the camera safely and how to take photos. Then they ran off, and soon afterwards, I had around 250 photos giving a glimpse of their world through their eyes.

Life would be so different if we saw through those eyes once in a while. The joys of life would simply be appreciated more, I imagine.

This little piggy

Technically, we're supposed to be having psychiatry the first two weeks. And I find psychiatry quite interesting too, but on the other hand, we've already had psychiatry back at home. While it's a fun experience to see how things are done differently here, my view is that I'd love to experience some of the other fields that are available here as well. So what do I do? I roam.

Surgical, getting to assist in suturing up boda boda-related injuries. Getting to see massive fractures following random assaults. Getting to see the resilience of some people, how they grit their teeth and just endure the pain when we no longer have any anesthetic to give them.

Medical, seeing the different spectrum of diseases here. Seeing how conditions are detected by clinical investigations rather than by the use of multimillion-dollar 5 Tesla MRI machines. Seeing how much one can manage to communicate even without speaking the same language.

Infectious diseases, cardiology, pulmonology, endocrinology. The list is endless. And don't get me started on the tourism side of the country. I don't even want to think of how many weekends we'd need to have here to get the full Ugandan experience.

Alive and kicking

If you had asked me a couple of months back what I would describe as the one negative thing with travelling to Uganda for a stint, I would have known exactly what to answer: the fact that I'd be missing out on so much frisbee practice back home. A friend of mine from back home had comforted me with the news that this was just me underestimating Kampala though. And today, I went and played with them. It was awesome. Great workout, great people, great day.

See, this is how it is. One gets so used to things being different that one forgets to notice the similarities that are there as well. There are plenty out there to really appreciate. I've just now started looking for them.

Death on wheels

Tough day today. Visited the surgical casualty room, where I saw some extreme cases. Three accidents involving boda bodas, the local motorcycle taxis. I stitched up the one of them, who had been hit in the face by a bus and brought in by a random stranger who had found her on the street.

Even before I got here I had been advised to not take the boda bodas, and I don't think I would have either. After this here though, there's not a chance that I'm getting on one of those death machines. Unverified rumors state that 90% of all traffic accidents here are boda boda related, and I'm leaning towards believing them. These three accidents that I was telling about? They came within my first twenty minutes of being there.

I saw a bunch of others as well, but I'll spare you the details. Suffices to say that things can be distressingly different here to conditions back at home.

The village idiot

It would seem that having visited our village in India some summers has paid off. With some of the "problems" that arise here, I know exactly what to do merely because we've been through the same things there.

Very weak water pressure, not quite strong enough to take a decent shower? Fill a bucket with water and use a pitcher to pour water over your head. Toilets won't flush because the water tank takes several minutes to fill up again? Same solution, except you aim the water elsewhere.

It's a feeling of "been there, done that" that is quite welcome actually. It stands quite in contrast with my general unfamiliarity with tropical medicine.

Anopheles

What a day. Sizzling heat, drinking way too little water, and I now have a headache. Nonetheless, had a great first day at the hospital. We were shown around the place, and were told simple "tips & tricks", like that we should use the toilets over at the Infectious Diseases Institute because they allegedly have the best hygiene. Always good to know.

We also visited Garden City, a local shopping center where we got a hold of life-essential necessities like SIM-cards (+256785731854, if anyone feels like dropping me a "howdy") and sunglasses (Gucci!). All set now. Bring on the malaria patients.

Speaking of which, I saw my first [probable] malaria patient today. I was thinking along the lines of obstructive jaundice due to gallstones when I saw the patient, given his presentation. Didn't for a moment think about malaria. Entirely forgetting, of course, that similar presentations can mean entirely different things here. Imagine that. Lesson learnt: Uganda is not Norway.

Bambi eyes

Here the more bitter sides of the country start coming forth. As dusk settled in, the child beggars started emerging. What a position to be in; on the one hand, there's these tiny doe-eyed children asking so nicely whether you can spare some change. Then there's us, knowing that we can, but shouldn't.

The money would never go to them, ultimately. They wouldn't be going to feed their families either, but rather to fund the cruelty of people who run child beggar leagues - much like the ones seen in the movie Slumdog Millionaire.

If one is feeling particularly charitable, giving money to these child beggars isn't the way to go. Give the money to schools instead. That way, you know that your money is helping - but of course, at the painful cost of having to ignore the pleading of a small child.

First impressions

I have arrived at last. Sitting at NUFU House now, where we are to be staying while we are here in Kampala. Seems like a decent place.

 

Some initial observations:

- It's not snowing here.

- Driving here seems to be an eternal game of chicken. There's no suspense about the winner though. Simple rule: the bigger car doesn't budge.

- People here are friendly. Strangers say hello! In comparison, the same thing happening in Norway would elicit confused looks and people shuffling away, muttering something about kids these days.

 

I think I'm going to like it here.

Special price for you

A worrying observation: this computer that I'm paying $5 an hour to use here at the airport in Addis Ababa is allegedly running Windows 2006.

 

This just reinforces my conviction to stay away from Polex watches and Clavin Keins.

I flew Ethiopian Airlines and survived!

The flight to Ethiopia went fine. We didn't crash, that's always positive. Wasn't all too happy about the inflight movie being shown on a tiny screen on the ceiling of the aisle, admittedly. It was a good thing it was an overnight flight though, since I had to chance to get a bit of sleep.

 

I found it quite amusing that they woke us up at 5:20 local time (2:20 UK time) to hand out fruit cakes. I don't eat fruit cake. Of course, had I not been able to fall asleep immediately afterwards, "amusing" would not have been my word of choice.

My first hiccup

Already, I have had my first hiccup. And I haven't even left Europe yet!

 

Has anyone else noticed that there are two types of plugs in Norway? Sure, both have two rounds pins, but that one type has thick pins while the other has thin?

 

As is, the adapter I've bought allows me to charge my phone but not my laptop. My camera but not my shaver.

 

This could turn ugly.

Ponderings and musings before the travel

Let no one say that I go on this trip with false impressions. I've watched the movie The Lion King. I've watched Instinct. And, as if that wasn't country-specific enough, I've also watched Last King of Scotland. How's that for life experience?

No, the truth is, I know far too little about what I am going to. Which is, to me, all the more reason to go, in fact. I have these impressions based on stuff that I've read and movies I've watched, but I don't delude myself into thinking that that's anywhere close to what reality has to offer.

Nonetheless, if I see Forest Whitaker, I'm going to run.

First!

One would think that I'd have tried this before. Writing a blag. But no, this is officially the first time I've set up a site with the intention of writing about the goings-on where I am, simply because I'm going to a whole other country: Uganda. Things will be new, things will be different, and things will be interesting. I hope to be able to share that with those of you who want to read about them.

On my last full day here in Norway, I'm now setting up this page, preparing to stuff things into my suitcase. They allow me to bring 57 kgs in total. I'm curious as to how much my clothes and books will weigh. If I meet my limit, I'll tell you straight away: I either wear too much or read too much.