Visiting Muammar Gaddafi Mosque

This was my first turn at a more stereotypical tourist venture in Kampala (outside of the traditional craft markets). I had met up with some new Canadian friends and we decided that the slightly overcast day might be a good opportunity to knock off a key item off of the Kampala Bucket List.

The Gaddafi Mosque, also known as the National Mosque, was originally started under Idi Amin, but political corruption, a general bureaucratic lack of interest, and the minority status of Muslims in post-Amin Uganda led the mosque to go untouched into the 21^st century. Libya’s infamous Colonol Muammar Qaddafi – on one of his trademark pan-Africa “unity” tours – saw the unfinished mosque and donated a lot of money to see it completed in 2007. The site is significant, because it sits on a hill, where Kampala originated under its current title of “Kampala”. As the story goes, the British colonial forces had a camp up on the hill, and there were Impalas in the area. To differentiate from other camps in the region, it was known as “Camp Impala” and shortened to Campala. However, the “C” sound has a different meaning, so the present spelling was adopted. From the minaret of the mosque, you can see all of Kampala, and easily identify the seven hills of Kampala which identify the main areas – many of them also contain the other places of worship.

Arriving at the Mosque, the three ladies were instructed to put on more covering clothing, but the staff were

quite accommodating. By default of my gender, I was appointed group leader and had to sign for the group and take responsibility. We got a tour from a Ugandan gentleman named Ashraf who was quite energetic and quite humorous. We got a good history of Islam in the country, the building and a basic overview of some of the pillars of Islam. He was open, encouraging and seemed willing to get into a cross-faith dialogue with anyone interested.

As often happens in Kampala, you sometimes get the contrast of modernity with tradition. Ashraf had just started chanting / reading some passage from the Koran, when the moment was broken by the petulant dinging of his cell phone. Not missing a beat, he reaches into his pocket and rejects the call. Seconds later, the scene is repeated; only shifting his eyes, he reaches down and disconnects the call. Again, and again, it happened, until finally after a few minutes he gives in and answers the phone. Only to discover that the

person had hung up.

        “He’s trying to ‘beep’ me!” he reveals. “He doesn't want to pay for the air-time.”

          He then gets a mischievous grin, “Goodness, Africans eh?! They are something aren’t they? I just don’t understand them.” The timing was perfect and our all Mzungu tour group laughed pretty hard.

Please enjoy some of these photos from the mosque and some aerial photos taken from the minaret. 

And my personal favorite, because it depicts the beautiful game being played in the beautiful city ...

Conrad vs. The Rats

It was roughly two weeks ago when my room was first visited by an intruder. I was staying up late waiting to skype with the parents and not getting through. Blearily tired, my eyes were almost half-shut. Suddenly, my eye caught some movement and I looked towards the door. I thought a small dog was squeezing underneath the crack under the door. The biggest rat I have ever seen - in real life or television - was squeezing his bulge of fat underneath the door. Because of his girth, he entered the room a good three seconds before his belly did, which seemed to snap forward like an elastic propelling the rat underneath my bed. I had NO idea what to think, as I just stared at the empty space where the rat had entered. I cautiously peered behind my bed, hoping that maybe I was hallucinating because of how tired I was. Nope! There was a thick, leathery tail with grandmother-mole-hairs covering it, twitching back and forth like a snake. 

What the hell do I do now?! I thought. My mind went through many scenarios and I admit to looking around the apartment briefly for ways of fashioning a spear, Lord of the Flies style. I figured that my best bet of not getting knifed myself by this chubby bruiser, was to chase it from whence it came, back into the hallway. Now how to do that?

Perhaps inspired by the repetoire of the Ugandan Police Services, my mind wandered to tear gas. I found my aerosol air-freshener in the washroom and sprayed it underneath the bed, in the general direction of Splinter. It took a few minutes, but eventually the hairy tub had enough and came running out of the bed and actually made a running leap at me, with its four claws extended in my direction, before disappearing, first underneath, and finally, inside, my couch, as it discovered a hole on the underside. Once I had blocked off any possibility of backtracking into the bedroom, I became quite confused at first, because the rat had seemingly disappeared from the room. However, I quickly discovered the whole and saw the comical bulge moving underneath the lining. I proceeded to lift the couch onto its end and poke at the bulge with my foot, playing a late-night version of "whack-a-rat," where no player is a winner. 

The final round occurred when it ran behind my fridge and buried itself deep inside the wiring. The fridge was conveniently the same width as the door, so I had a brain-storm: why don't I drag the fridge to the door and force the rat back into the hallway. Carefull lifting the fridge, I did just that ... and after drumming out a pattern on the fridge, Splinter took off down the hallway. I plugged up the door-jam with a towel and went to bed. 

It took a week for Splinter to send his friends, but eventually a little flash of movement out of the corner of my eye became something I got used to. I went from seeing every several days, to constantly either seeing them, or their signature poop. Despite always plugging up the hole in the evening, they would sneak in during the day, or if I had plugged the hole during the day, the towel was removed by a well-intention-ed cleaning staff. I also suspected that they were parachuting in, or climbing down the drapes. 

I was going rat-shit crazy! Every sound of movement - such as the wind moving the drapes - would make me bolt upright. One time, my heartbeat being reflected back through the mattress made me think that I had more little nemeses jumping up into my mattress the way Splinter I had done so on that first evening battle. 

My final straw was after I had a few friends over and we left a slight mess on the counter. During the night, I sounded sounds of excitement as furry little ninjas gamboled throughout the room, depositing excrement everywhere. I also noticed that I started speaking about the rats on a more personal basis, and was starting to give them nick-names, personality traits, and was - seriously - considering naming them after my trio of Canadian nursing friends (if they met certain personality traits or tendencies). I did not want to be the Rat-Man! Enough was enough!

I lodged another complaint with the building, but decided to take matters into my hand. Staring around my apartment at various instruments which I might turn into a way of keeping the rats out, I noticed the roll of duct-tape I had packed along in my luggage. Finally, the solution appeared before me as a big Canadian light bulb appeared over my head. While the rats had demonstrated the adaptability to push the towel from underneath the door (earlier that evening, I had watched this happen) they would not be able to do push something firmly attached with Duct-Tape. I was quite giddy taping up the contraption to the bottom of the door, letting out the occasional cheerful expletive, chuckle and small monologue on how Canadian Farmers will always reign supreme in the war on Kampala rats. It probably wasn't one of my most endearing moments. 

However, my sanity somewhat returned, I am pleased to say that I have not sighted a rat for five days now. Let us hope they are not circling the wagons for a more brilliant attack...

Mzungus On the Town!

I made a really good Mzungu ("white-ie") friend yesterday at the apartment / hotel I am staying at. Alexis, a medical student, has spent several months in Zambia, Malawi and Northern Uganda and is on her way home to Chicago. She has never had the chance to explore Kampala yet, so we decided to join Mzungu forces and be tourists together. I am proud to say that I never got us lost - although deep down I was convinced I had - despite going into some of the biggest crowds I have experienced in Kampala. I cannot even begin to describe the shopping district. Building after building, floor after floor, salesmen after salesmen hawking their wares calling out "Mzungu look at this! It is your size!" (Ugandans apparently think I am pudgy ...) Alexis was looking for some football jerseys to bring home for family, so luckily this is my No. 1 skill, so I made sure she went home with top quality at top quality price (I LOVE TO HAGGLE, OH MY GOD). We took a couple boda rides (and even felt adventuresome and doubled up). Sidenote: before I leave, I want to do a "Boda cam" where I attempt to film a portion of the ride from the passenger's perspective. My lord is it exhilarating. We made some amazing purchases. Ironically, one of my proudest finds was a Toronto Blue Jays jersey and a Drake shirt. Again, the inside joke (with myself) that sometimes I forget that I've left Toronto ...

Enjoy these photos!

The shopping area. That is a lot of people. Now multiply by a 1000. And you still won't be close to how many people we saw shopping and selling. I must have spoken with 150 shop keepers at conservative estimate today.

Again, that is a lot of people!

I enjoy this candid photo that Alexis snuck of explaining how to take the following picture with the hustle and bustle in the background. 

"Two Canadians". Alexis told everyone that she was Canadian who asked. I had to field all the Canada questions. 

T-Dot, T-Bizzle! Rep-resent. There is a whole series of these, some featuring my Drake shirt. I manage to look like a douche in all but this one, where I was mid-joke. 

I took some pretty terrible photos of a soccer field here. The more interesting story was that after I looked at this photo I noticed that under the soldier's arm there was a barrel of a gun pointed at me. The soldiers were there because the Minister of Sport was showing up later to open / rename the field. We heard about the politician showing up and calmly, quietly took off at a fast walk.