Last Tuesday morning I woke up with chest pains. Whenever I attempted to drink or eat, they became very acute and severe. I was also fatigued and the suffered from general muscle pains. I struggled through much of the week, hoping they would go away. By Thursday morning my concern grew to the point that I boarded a vehicle and made my way to Kampala. I was directed to ‘the best private clinic’ in Kampala called The Surgery.
As I started explaining my symptoms, the doctor quickly stated I must have a problem with high acidity in my stomach. I asked him if it would have caused my other symptoms. The exchange went something like this…
Me: “Doctor, would acid give me head and body aches, and make me feel very tired?”
Doctor: “No, but I still think it is acid.”
Me: “What would have caused this problem?”
Doctor: “You eat too much citrus.”
Me: “But Doctor, I haven’t had any citrus in over a month!”
Doctor: “Oh… Well, take these pills.”
Me: “What are they?”
Doctor: “Ant-acids.”
I made an appointment for the following day, when I hoped that I would what I felt was a more accurate diagnosis from the blood and stool tests. Along with the ant-acids, I picked up some muscle relaxants at a pharmacy. On Friday morning, when I arrived, the conversation went something like this…
Me: “Good morning Doctor”
Doctor: “Good morning. I have changed my mind. I think your problem is muscular. You will be better in three days.”
Me: “Okay.”
Doctor: "Also, you have an amoeba. It probably has nothing to do with your current problems."
Me: "Oh yes, thank you."
The Doctor then prescribed me the very same muscle relaxants I had bought at the pharmacy the previous day, along with some medicine to vanquish the amoeba. Returning to my original plan, I am now waiting out the course of this ‘illness’, or muscular issue, or whatever it is, and hoping it will just go away on its own.
Wyclef Jean
Wyclef played in Kampala on Friday night. It was madness trying to get into the concert grounds. What was once a line became a huge mass of people desperately pushing towards two very narrow entry points. A fence came down. The only way you’d have known was when you were pushed into it. People screamed that they were being crushed. It was essential not to trip as you would surely be trampled. Pickpockets worked the crowd. Once was caught and if there was more room to swing fists and kick, he would surely have been beaten to death (customarily punishment for thieves in Uganda). I had my hands in my pockets, holding tightly to my phone and wallet, while being swept back and forth as the crowd was thrust in all directions. On numerous occasions, I felt hands in my pocket, grabbing at my stuff. I jabbed as hard as I could with my elbows, but I didn’t yell thief as I didn’t want to be responsible for murder. Eventually I found myself near the two entry points. Police, hanging onto bars above, yelled and kicked at the crowd below. I made my way through and, with a breathe of fresh air, was in the venue.
After the entrance debacle (some of my friends didn’t make it through with all their possessions), we waited a few hours for the show. It started after midnight. Generally, a good performance. At one point, Wylcef yelled “Obama!” This seemed like a very easy and cheap way to get a loud cheer from the crowd. Then Wyclef bizarrely yelled “McCain!” The crowd looked around in confusion. A few politely cheered. (Many people here are mildly ambivalent about John McCain, knowing little about him, and not having strong feelings either way.) As the show neared it’s conclusion, the group I was with wisely decided to make our exit a few songs before the finish. We left the concert grounds around 2am and headed home.
A Surge of Power Surge
I returned to Kampala Sunday evening. Lorin, the Food Security Manager for Nakasongola, had asked me to put together a set of recommendations for a Livelihoods Regional Concept paper due Monday. I powered my laptop up, plugged in my phone charger, and settled down to what I expected would be a long evening, delving into the inner workings of goat husbandry, poultry feeds and ox-plow rentals.
A couple of hours passed. Looking up from my laptop, I noticed the lights in the guesthouse had become unusually bright. Suddenly, the bulbs exploded. My computer screen dimmed. I smelt smoke. Small flames were nipping out of my phone charger. I ripped the charger out of the wall and raced around the house turning everything off. Sitting in the dark, I checked my laptop. It seemed fine, but the battery was almost out. I charged it down went to sleep.
After our Monday morning staff meeting, the seriousness of the problem became very clear once power was restored. Computers rested listlessly in their offices. Phone lines were dead. The server was down. Something our satellite dish was inoperative. I realized that my laptop adapter was fried. The office sat idle, with everybody sitting around reading newspapers while we waited for a technician to come up from Kampala. It took a long time. I texted Lorin and apologetically notified her not to expect my report anytime soon.
When he arrived, the gravity of the situation became clear. He fixed the server, but the satellite remains down (I am uploading from an NGO office on the other end of town that has graciously given us a few minutes to use their connection.) Five computers rendered inoperative. I was planning on traveling down to Kampala to purchase a new laptop adapter when the technician told me that I should expect to spend about 300,000 sh ($200), as these electronic items are not cheap.
I was unsure what to do. I did not have $200 to spend on a new adapter, but without an operative computer I could not work. Thankfully, mere minutes before I boarded a vehicle back to Kampala, the technician said I could borrow his adapter for the short run. This solved the more immediate problem. However, I will soon have to return the technicians adapter and will once again be without a power source for my laptop.
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