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. 

Conrad Playing With Kids ... Captured by Kids!!

Today was an amazing day so far. I walked around town for a couple hours (without getting lost; but with no map ... just carefully paying attention to the direction of streets). Full of confidence, I decided to wander off the main road a bit and I ended up at a small field, where I saw a little kid kicking a football around. He kicked it pretty far so I ran over to the ball, did a trick or two, and passed it back. I then asked him if I could play ... 30 seconds later, a small group of children which were hiding in the trees came and started playing with us! We passed the ball around for about 15 minutes, before the kid with the ball had to go home. Before he left, I asked if it was okay to take a photo of the group of them! Of course it was! After several poses, the kids started asking how to use my camera, so I handed it over and let them take pictures of us fooling around, and them striking hip-hop poses. They also wanted to see how in shape I was - or so I gathered - because they challenged me to numerous races and a push-up competition (I lost one of the races, but I DESTROYED at push-ups MWAHAHAHAHA!) Here are some of the better photos that were shot:

A Part of This Complete Breakfast & Thanks a Latte!

There is definitely not a shortage of food options in Kampala. If you name the cuisine, you can find it: odds are that it might taste better than you're used to in North America. I have had some of the best Indian food I've ever had here; I have also pizza at the restaurant / cafe downstairs which will probably lead me to never look at pizza the same way again. During lunch at work, I have some of the local fare, served daily for a very reasonable price (I'll take a photo eventually). 

For my fast mornings (stumbling around my apartment, shivering after my cold shower, trying to find my phone and keys), I decided that I will start having breakfast in my apartment. Lo' and behold, after a little bit of searching, I found Kenyan Peanut Butter, Egyptian Jam and some Kenyan fruit juice (pictured above)! Alongside a little yogurt, this is the breakfast of champions. 

On weekends, and evenings when I'm doing some homework, I come down to the Cafe downstairs and enjoy some amazing coffee. I've become friends with the barrista, Moses, who makes one mean latte. Moses is really passionate about the whole coffee-making process (from growing, to roasting, to preparing drinks), and has become a self-taught latte artist, learning from videos on You Tube. Today he walked me through the Latte making process and I took a couple photos of him.

Conrad's Kampala Digs

The view from my building's restaurant (5th floor). 

After living out of a suitcase for a few days - and repacking every single night - it was a huge relief to finally find a place to unpack, put my feet up, and walk around in my underwear. 

My new digs are amazing. It's on the 7th floor of an apartment unit directly situated over a supermarket, money exchange and a place to buy cell-phone minutes. It's directly across from the university, has several interesting shops and restaurants around it, has a restaurant directly below with an amazing staff (who I have become friends with), and perhaps best of all, it is a 15 minute walk from where I'm doing my internship. 

A part of the large Makere University campus; the view from my window. 

I got during the most intense session of haggling (over an hour), led by my security officer, Asaph (my Kampala hero). I stayed silent, as was hinted might be the best route to take, while he got me a really, really good price and made sure I got all the frills as well. Initially, I was going to get a place that is unwalkable and hard to describe where it is outside of drawing a picture on the back of a piece of paper (you probably never would have heard from me again ... as I would have taken a wrong turn on Kampala Road and ended up in Nairobi).   

My boda-boda helmet and one of the football scarves I take
everywhere with me.

The living room and dining area. Two full-length couches and
yes, that is a flat-screen tv. Combine with wi-fi and I am as
happy as a pig in shit in the evenings.  

Now a 15 minute walk which involves three turns - two right turns - should make it impossible for me to get lost right (particularly since I had driven by on a boda... twice!). WRONG?! Haven't you been reading my blog!! My first walk there, I was sauntering - literally sauntering - to work, proud that I was going to make it there on foot ... when I started slowing down, my shoulders slumped a bit ... and then an all-too-familiar feeling swept over me: I was lost. I was in front of the French embassy, when I should have been in front of the Nigerian one. Ugandans - bless their hearts - are really helpful if you ask them for anything ... however, their ability to give directions to a complete idiot (me!) is a skill that the nation really needs to work on. I got a lot of complicated gestures, which proceeded to get me even more lost (or so I thought). One lady after seeing my confused stare, just blurted out: just take a boda. I ended up going for my shortest boda ride ever and stopped a bit away from the gate, so I could saunter in and tell people that I had pretty much made it there. I was then informed that I was late, so I cracked like a witness speaking with Jack Baur and admitted I had taken a "wee wrong turn". The following morning, the security officer called me at an ungodly hour to tell me that he's going to walk the road with me to make sure I don't end up in Dar Es Salaam. 

No, this isn't the bed chamber of the princess from Aladdin.
This is my sleeping quarters, complete with moss-keeter net.
Take - faint - note of my Manchester United pennent
keeping watch over my head. 

The whole thing was made more amusing upon discovering the TBayNewswatch article which was written about me:

For those who haven't read it, it starts:

Conrad Koczorowski has a reputation for getting lost in his own hometown.

But that didn’t stop the 28-year-old Lakehead University political science graduate from trying his hand at a six-month internship in a foreign country.

To your right are some photos of my apartment - so nice, I just might never want to leave!

For a link to the article about my trip down here, please go to:  http://www.tbnewswatch.com/entertainment/286254/Uganda-bound 

*Note: I actually did finish my MA, and was doing my PhD in Toronto, which I interrupted. Also, I am the only intern in Uganda. The rest are spread out over Ethiopia (3), Tanzania (2) and Kenya (4). 

Boda-Boda!

(I will do a more in-depth look at my new apartment when I take some good shots of the interior during daylight hours).

I took this photo off of Google. 

Today I went on the increasingly most popular form of transport in Kampala, the Boda-Boda. The Boda-Boda is a nickname for the motorcycle taxis – everywhere you turn you see these young men zipping in and out of traffic with passengers on the back (sometimes up to three). They are one of the most interesting things about Kampala. Many have slogans and stickers on their bikes (often football logos or biblical quotes) and they range in appearance from button-up shirts (almost a Bay St. figure out on a bit of a mid-day spin) to quirky (picture any hip-hop video really).

Interjection: the most amusing driver I saw so far was wearing a Justin Bieber “Never Say Never” tee.

Whenever you are walking down the street, at about 30 second intervals, they will come up and ask if you “need a lift” or in my case, I seem to get shouts of “boss! Boss! Ride?!” If you are a muzengo – white person – it is generally assumed that you're lost and could use a ride.While it can be distracting getting asked for a ride every thirty seconds, I always give a “no thank you, but thanks for asking!” After all, how often do you get service like that? When I appeared in the late afternoon with my helmet outside the plaza, about twelve people waved at me at once ... haha, it felt like I had set off a flare seen in a three block radius that I needed a ride. 

Their reputation is - of course - mixed, with some people warning you away from them with every fibre of their being, while others scoff and say that the warnings are overrated. A few nurses I met told me that about 80% of injuries in the ER are from Boda-Boda incidents and there are daily reported fatalities.

Needless to say, the fear of the Bodas was a beast I needed to slay for the simple sake of convenience, and today it was unavoidable. I needed a ride to a bank to pay my rent; luckily, Asaph, the AMREF security officer had swung by to visit me, so he flagged down a guy he recognized and told him exactly where I needed to go and I was off on my first ride.

I was a little tense at first as we weaved through the traffic, with many times cars being an inch away from my elbow. We weren’t going fast, but we definitely weren’t going as the crow flies (rather, more like an inebriated bee). While the Kampala fashion seems to be to look disinterested and sit with your hands at your sides - with talking on your cell, gesticulating wildly being the alternative - I clung onto his waist for dear life, and at one point put my fingers through his belt loops (this got an awkward glance in the mirror which I pretended not to notice).

However, since then (earlier today) I have been on three additional rides and I felt safe on all of them. Largely this might be because I definitely have the largest helmet in all of Kampala (the majority of helmets used here probably wouldn't pass a DOT inspection ... but they sure look cool!). On one of my rides, when I pulled up to one of the largest intersections in Kampala and I was surrounded by about thirty drivers and their passengers and they ALL turned and looked at me … at the helmet … and quite a few smirked. Yup – muzengos can be buttercups boys, deal with it. 

As a final – cute – anecdote: I had just gotten off my final ride of the evening and was enjoying a cigarette (which was a small adventure to purchase by the way) by the boda platform, sitting beside my oversized helmet, and the cutest little kid came up to me, smiled a huge grin and held out his fist to pound it! I burst out laughing and obliged him.