This hurts me more than it hurts you

Dear Mark’s Work Wearhouse,

We’ve had some good times, you and me.

Remember that time you sold me my first pair of steel-toed boots? Or that time I didn’t think it was possible to find a flannel plaid shirt that would be considered ‘formal’, until you proved me wrong?

Or how about the first time I bought Carhartt pants from you? I’ll never forget that day.

But Mark’s Work Wearhouse, there’s something I need to tell you.

There’s another store.

No, no, it’s not what you think. I haven’t bought anything from L.L. Bean. Or even Bass Pro Shop. Nothing like that, Mark’s Work Wearhouse.

You see, it’s the markets here in Uganda.

Today I bought a plaid shirt for 60 cents.

I know, I know, I told you I’d never buy plaid from anybody else.

But how can you beat those prices, Mark’s Work Wearhouse?

I had to cross open sewers, walk past fly-infested butcher shops and elbow my way through piles of produce to get to the young guy selling shirts off the top of a pile of clothes in the market.

Sure, your sales people are friendly, and your quality second-to-none. But it’s the atmosphere. Your suburban stylings just can’t compare.

I think it’s time we moved on. Or at least took a break.

Don’t get too upset. There are other 20-something fellas out there with a penchant for plaid.

At least I think there are.

With affection, and a healthy dose of guilt,

Chris

Eye-opening facts…

In today’s paper: A story about how the government is being asked to lower the age at which Ugandans can access their government pensions. Currently, the age is 55. The government is being asked to lower the age to 40 because not enough Ugandans live long enough to access their pension at the current age. The average life expectancy in Uganda? 48.

It all began with “Excuse me”…

I had just said “Excuse me” as I brushed past a fellow reporter late yesterday.

“Don’t you mean ‘excuse moi’,” I heard behind me.

Come again?

I turned to see him sitting with a big grin on his face. He had heard me speaking French to someone earlier, and wanted to show off his skills.

“I took two years of French in school,” he told me, and remembered a few phrases from that time.

We started talking, and quickly got into a debate over the relationship between French and English African countries since they achieved independence from their respective colonial powers.

From there, onto  the integration of French-speaking Rwandans into English Ugandan society since so many have come here since the middle of the 1990s.

All this, stemming from a simple “Excuse me” as I brushed past someone.

I’m slowly getting used to this dynamic– getting used to entering a vigorous political/cultural debate at a moment’s notice. Back home you can usually prepare for these sorts of things. You know they’re coming depending on where you are, who you’re with, etc.

Here, it doesn’t matter when/where/how. You best be ready to debate politics, and good luck to you if you don’t know all the people who have ruled Uganda and their respective relationships to one another.

Last week I was at a party and found myself sitting beside a Ugandan who worked as an accountant. We exchanged pleasantries and within, oh, 30 seconds we launched into an impassioned discussion of relations between the current government and the opposition parties, and about the effect the recent arrival of multi-party politics has had on the country.

About a half hour into our conversation, after we had moved on to exchanging views on IDP camps in northern Uganda, I felt like I’d just woken up from a nap in the backseat of a car on a road trip– confused and disoriented. Where are we? How did this happen?

I hadn’t expected such an intense conversation at all, and yet I thoroughly enjoyed it.

It’s one of the intangible differences here. Nearly everyone is extremely well-versed on politics, and more generally current events. Coming from a country where engagement in current events isn’t exactly ‘de rigueur’, it has taken some getting used to.

In North America, people are warned by their doctors as they get older that when it comes to physical and mental health, they must subscribe to the “use it, or lose it” mentality. Here, that approach applies to current events. In a country where more than one leader has taken liberties with, well, liberties, people value their knowledge of political issues very highly.

Too many leaders here, and elsewhere, have used ignorance to their benefit. So everyone, from the people I work with here, to the accountant sitting beside me at a party, to the boda-boda driver who takes me home, finds self-empowerment in political knowledge.

There is often talk of what African countries can learn from the West. But there are certain things the West would do well to learn from this part of the world.

Full House (not starring Bob Saget, unfortunately)

At times it is difficult to know how many people I live with. Our house has six bedrooms, but three of them have two beds and another has, I believe, four beds. On top of that, there is a cottage in the backyard that four people can live in and they use our kitchen and living rooms, so at any given time 16 people can be using the house.

Needless to say, it’s a busy place. Sometimes this is not so good, like when it comes to keeping food in the kitchen. Food flies off those shelves at a furious pace and the fridge would be considered nothing more than a bar fridge elsewhere, but for us it has to keep 16 peoples’ food cold. Space is at a premium.

The other night I came home late and found all the guys in the house crowded into the living room watching the movie 300. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s the “Guy’s Movie”. There is a plot, but only between war battles. I threw my bag down, squeezed onto the couch and watched movie characters massacre each other for a couple hours. It was fantastic.

With so many people, the house is full of interesting and diverse characters. Most of my roommates are on six-week medical placements and come from the U.S., U.K. and Australia. But every now and then a couple Dutch get thrown into the mix to keep things interesting.

And so it was that I came home last night to find one of the Dutch roommates slicing fresh fruit on the back porch in the light of a kerosene lamp.

We talked for a while— I’ve been writing articles about a terrible car accident that killed over 70 people, and he’s been stitching up many of the survivors in the hospital— and then headed inside to have a late dinner and watch a movie.

I had left the newsroom about 8 p.m. intending to head home and do more work on a few articles, but instead tossed my bag in a corner where it stayed until this morning. A work-free movie night never hurt anybody, right?

What’s that? You’ve got time to kill at work, you say?

A few stories in today’s paper… Rural homes remain unconnected even as power lines criss-cross

Christopher Mason

Lira IT does not take long for residents here to come up with reasons why they want electricity brought to this tiny trading centre where the mud huts outnumber brick buildings. Whether it is better security, lighting, power to open a mill or a cooler to properly store animals’ medication (A cooler for our food, too, someone else shouts), over 100 people living here were enthusiastic after meeting for several hours under the shade of an olam tree. They had gathered to learn more about the programme established by the Rural Electrification Agency (REA) to bring power to trading centres like Aler. But communities like this one face an uphill battle in getting electricity, mainly because they are expected to bear a portion of the costs that goes well beyond the means of most communities. The REA has focused its resources on bringing power to entire districts. So communities like this one, which are without power but in districts that have electricity, must contribute 30 per cent of the cost of bringing electricity to the community – a large and perhaps impossible, sum given that residents here have had their resources decimated by years of instability caused mainly by rebel attacks. The cost Aler Trading Centre’s leaders said they have not been told how much it will cost to get electricity, so they do not know what their contribution will be. But the goal seems realistic enough to them as they cast their eyes upwards at the power lines connecting Gulu and Lira that run over top of their community. When Ogur sub-County Councilor Bosco Okello was asked how much Aler Trading Centre’s population of 300 people, could reasonably contribute to getting electricity, he stepped away to consult with community members. “We think we could afford a total of Shs500,000,” Mr Okello said after returning. “You have to understand that we don’t have much to give. People here have lost a lot the past few years.” The troubling reality facing communities like Aler Trading Centre is that communities in northern Uganda have so far had to contribute an average of Shs300,000 per person to cover their 30 per cent share of the project cost. Delivering this news to communities eager to get electricity has not been easy. Recently, REA officials visited communities in Amachi sub-county. The three communities were told they would have to contribute an average of Shs7.3 million towards the cost of getting power. Based on the number of residents who signed-up for the programme, each person would have to pay about Shs100,000. Even though that figure is only a third of the average per-person cost of northern communities in the programme, residents had no idea they would have to pay that much, according to Mr Barbara Musoke, the manager of public information at REA, who was on the trip. “They looked at the figure and were shocked,” she said in an interview. Funding She added that the agency reviews the programme each year, but whether the 30 per cent requirement would be lowered depends largely on funding from international donors. The cost-sharing REA programme was established in 2005 as part of a broader effort to bring electricity to more rural Ugandans. Currently, only three per cent of rural Ugandan households have electricity. Mr Musoke said that about 300 communities have applied for electricity under the 70-30 cost-sharing programme. The applicants are split amongst three agencies so she was unsure of how many of those have received electricity, but she said REA has brought power to about two dozen communities in this financial year and the last. “We have a very, very long way to go,” she said. All across the country, small communities are holding meetings, just like Aler Trading Centre, to learn more about how they can connect to the grid. Recently in Erute North, three trading centres were holding such gatherings. All present, between about 60-120 at each, unanimously wanted electricity. But they were also unanimous in their concerns about the overall cost. “There are many trading centres that want power,” said Mr Bosco Ogwang, Chairman of Amuca Trading Centre. “But we all think the 30 per cent is too much. If it were 10 or 15 per cent it would be a bit more fair.” Army crash death toll reahes 72 DAVID MAFABI, CHRISTOPHER MASON & ZURAH NAKABUGO KAPCHORWA/KAMPALA THE death toll from the Sunday evening accident on the Kapchorwa-Sironko road continued to climb yesterday as more victims succumbed to their injuries. Some 72 people have so far died and 33 more are injured as a result of the accident that occurred after the brakes of a military truck failed, said Lt. Alex Nandege. Lt. Nandege is the Kapchorwa District intelligence officer and was involved in removing bodies from the wreckage. The dead include 56 soldiers, 13 women almost all of them wives of the soldiers, and four children. The dead soldiers were attached to the 107 Battalion of 3rd Division in Bukwo District bordering Kenya. The occupants of the truck were soldiers and their families. They were being transported from Bukwo to their new base in Amudat in Nakapiripirit District. The soldiers were due for re-deployment to the 13th and 119th battalions of the same division. The death toll is the highest the Ugandan army has ever suffered in a non-combat situation. It also ranks as one of the worst traffic accidents in recent Ugandan history. “We have never heard of such an accident in the country before,” said Mr Lawrence Nuwabine, the regional traffic officer in Kampala. A recent accident in Masaka claimed 32 lives. Dangerous spot Sunday’s accident occurred along a particularly treacherous stretch between Kapchorwa and Sironko where the road weaves its way through the foothills of Mount Elgon. Speaking at the scene of the accident near Kapchogo Village, Lt. Nandege said the truck’s brakes failed as it went downhill forcing it to swerve from one side of the road to the other and back. It eventually hit a concrete barrier, overturned, and tumbled down a cliff at about 5:30 p.m. “I am likely to lose most of my good soldiers,” Lt. Nandege said. By 7 p.m. on Sunday, 48 soldiers had died but eight more died on their way to Mbale Regional Hospital. The injured were to Kapchorwa and Mbale hospitals. The soldiers had been based along Uganda’s border with Kenya, where the army has recently bolstered its presence following clashes with Kenya’s Pokot cattle rustling pastoralists who often cross the border for livestock causing mayhem as they come and go. Army officials are now investigating the condition of the accident truck, which was pulling a trailer packed with people. One non-army official estimated that there were about 110 people aboard the vehicle. But Army Spokesman Felix Kulayigye said the exact number is not yet known. “Many of [the soldiers aboard] have died but we are still trying to establish the true numbers,” he said. High death tolls on Ugandan roads are often a result of bad driving habits, poor road conditions and vehicles that are in dangerous mechanical condition. The road between Kapchorwa and Sironko, although paved and in good condition, is particularly dangerous because it is winding given the mountainous terrain. So far this year, say police, there have been 4,986 traffic accidents, a figure lower than for the same period last year. However, these accidents have killed 227 people, a number higher than for the comparable period last year. Police estimate as many as 2,000 Ugandans die in traffic accidents each year, a high rate given the small number of vehicles (about 750,000) in a population of 30 million. There was a double-cabin pick-up truck in one of the transport vehicle’s trailers. The same trailer also had passengers. Eyewitnesses said many of the deaths were caused by the pick-up truck as it swerved inside the trailer crashing people on either side. “Most people were killed by the double-cabin pick-up that was atop the same army vehicle,” Lt. Nandege said. “It hit people in all directions and by the time the [main] truck stopped many of the people had died.” Eyewitnesses also said the driver, a soldier, jumped out of the vehicle about 20 metres before the accident happened, after discovering that the brake system had jammed. “The driver could have saved some lives if he had remained in the vehicle but immediately he sensed that the brakes were not working, he jumped off,” said eye-witness Sepiriya Muzungyo. The bodies of those who died have been taken to Mbale’s Bugema Barracks, the 3 Division headquarters, from where they will await transport for burial. The driver of the vehicle remains at large. Rwamirama for surgery Meanwhile, Maj. Bright Rwamirama, the minister of state for animal husbandry who suffered multiple leg fractures in a separate accident on Saturday, is to undergo surgery at Mulago Hospital today. Maj. Rwamirama was injured when his official car, a Nissan Patrol, collided head-on with a Corona car near Mbarara town. The accident also left the minister’s driver Abel Monday, escort Sgt. Caesar Arwata, and a co-passenger, Hajji Juma Kaweesa, injured. They are being treated at Mbarara Referral Hospital. The Corona driver, Rahmad Nyiramusha, is admitted at Mulago. Mbarara District Police Commander Ivan Nkwatsibwe blamed the accident on speeding by the minister’s driver. ADDITIONAL REPORTING BY RISDEL KASASIRA IN KAMPALA Lira schools reopen as hope for peace increases CHRISTOPHER MASON & AGNESS NANDUTU LIRA THE classrooms of Coorom Primary School in Barlonyo are again filled with the laughter of children. The school was closed in 2003 when rebel fighting in the area escalated, but it reopened last August amidst promise of renewed peace in northern Uganda. This is the situation in many other areas in the north. It symbolizes much of the newfound hope in Lango sub-region that schools can re-open, families can return to their homes and farmers can plant crops again for the first time in five years. On a recent afternoon visit, Daily Monitor saw hundreds of children playing in the yard, lying in the grass or conversing under the shade of one of the three large trees on the school grounds. On the surface, Coorom Primary School is a success story – peace returning, residents trying to put back their lives and children picking up their education where many left off when the fighting was at its worst. But the reality of the resettlement effort is much more complicated. Schools are open, but many lack materials, clean drinking water, few teachers among a litany of other challenges. At Coorom, 14 teachers oversee the 981 pupils, while classes rarely start before 10am and end around 3pm because the teachers have to ride bicycles to the school from their homes in Lira. “Most of us stay in town because of lack of accommodation at the school,” said Mr Gilbert Ogwal, a teacher. But the challenges of resettlement go far beyond reopening schools. About 92 per cent of IDPs in Lango sub-region have left their camps, either for home or for transition camps that take them one step closer to returning to their original settlements. Although many IDPs are returning home to areas that are safe, most of those interviewed who remained at the IDP camps said they come from areas that remain unstable, such as those bordering Karamoja, and said they were being told to go home before they are ready. “The government is forcing people to leave before they know it is safe at home,” said Mr David Ogwang, a resident of the Erute IDP Camp. On providing services to those who have remained in the camps, the Relief and Disaster Preparedness Minister, Prof. Tarsis Kabwegyere said, “We shall not encourage people to stay in camps. We want them to return to their villages.” In another part of the region, many spoke of the difficulties they face in rebuilding their lives. “I am at zero,” said Mr Victor Opio, a resident in Aromo Sub-county who made mud bricks in anticipation of iron sheet roofing that never materialised. “I don’t know where to start from.” The sub-county chief, Mr Terence Okullo, said people who come from the borders of Gulu and Pader cannot go back because the places are still insecure and yet, he said those who have stayed behind at the camps receive no support because the government wants them to go back to their villages. The Aromo IDP Camp leader, Mr David Elich, said the population in the camp was 45,424 but has now reduced to 1,889. Government programmes and NGOs have struggled with the sudden shift in only 12 months of some 138,000 people in Lango from large camps where support could be concentrated, to servicing that population dispersed widely through a vast region. Those 12 months have seen the number of camps in the north increase from 241 to 789, with most of the new camps acting as transition points for those on their way home. “In such a short period of time the number of camps we need to support nearly quadrupled,” said Shannon Strother, the Unicef chief of field offices in northern Uganda. Asked whether Unicef and other aid agencies are able to meet the demands that come with those increased number of camps, Ms Strother said they could not. Prof Kabwegyere said the resettlement of so many people so quickly has also stretched government resources, including the distribution of iron sheets. “This is the largest movement of people and we could not cover everybody in a single financial year,” he said, referring to the iron sheets. “We still need donor support but we shall reach our target. We want people to move from grass thatched to iron roofed houses and this would be done in three years.” During visits to the seven IDP camps still occupied in Lira District, Daily Monitor saw no evidence that those still living in the camps received food rations of any kind. “There was not even enough food when the aid groups were here,” said Mr Ogwang. He said most of the 1,100 residents in the Erute camp work in area farms in return for food. “The situation is even worse now because those who cannot do the labour, like the elderly men and women, have to go to [Lira] town to beg.” The government has promoted Lango sub-region as a success story and a tangible sign of peace and stability returning to the north. Although many say they are reassured by the promise of peace following the Juba peace process, most observers are skeptical the resettlement process underway in Lango will eventually spread to other regions in the northern. “Anyone who says the Lira region is a model of resettlement is joking,” said Mr Moses Okello, head of research and advocacy at the Refugee Law Project in Kampala. “The question of the vulnerable population remains very problematic.”

When one problem begets another…

Problem: Noise from area bars and early-morning church services wakes me up, on average, 37 times a night

Solution: Buy ear plugs

Result: Hey, the noise doesn’t wake me up any more!

New problem: Can’t hear my alarm go off in the morning (try explaining that one when you’re late to work…)

Solution: Do they sell wristwatches with a vibrating alarm setting?

Busting a Move, or Not

Setting: It’s Saturday night and a group of us are on the sand dance floor of an outdoor nightclub.

Plot development: A Ugandan friend beside me eyes my dancing. He leans over and shouts, “Chris, when was the last time you went dancing?”

Conclusion: Ouch.

Lesson learned: Criteria used to measure good dancing and bad does, in fact, transcend borders.

Karamoja

I’m learning now that a trip north means an early start to the day.

Once again, I was up before dawn, watching the sun climb over the city as I took a boda over to our arranged meeting place.

We were to gather at 7 a.m. to take a plane to Karamoja, a region in the northeast that remains arguably the least stable area in Uganda. What’s interesting is its problems are not directly tied to the Lords Resistance Army (LRA), the rebel group that has been fighting a 20-year civil war in the North against the government. Instead, the violence in the area is internal. The Karamojong are pastoralists— they mainly work with cattle. They’re also violent, and so cattle raids are common practice.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The plane was small, but stable-looking. About 12 of us piled in before take-off. I listened to music while watching out the window as the number of houses grew smaller and smaller the further north we went. Slowly the red-tiled roofs gave way to grass-thatched roofs, interrupted every now and then by the glimmer of an iron sheet roof.

We crossed the Nile— impressive even from this far up— and here I was able to get some perspective on why the North is so difficult to govern. It was a clear day, so you could see for miles. Small clusters of huts pockmarked the landscape. But in many areas you could not see a road crossing any of the land in view—which could have been a hundred miles or more for all I know. So many of these areas are so hard to get in and out of. Even the roads that did pop into view were completely devoid of traffic, save for the odd ant-like feature of a person walking.

Flying to Karamoja, I thought of conversations I had had with Ugandans in Kampala about this region. “When you go to Karamoja, you leave civilization behind,” one told me. “Going to Karamoja is like going back to the Stone Age,” another said. I was surprised to hear a Ugandan talking about his own country like that, but I soon found out that, indeed, Karamoja does feel like a whole other world.

Before long, we began our descent. I watched out the window as the ground drew nearer and nearer. When we were only a few feet away from the scrub and grass I began to wonder. C’mon, runway, I know you’re there somewhere… No sooner did the red gravel appear than our wheels hit the ground—hard— and we bumped our way to a stop, disembarking to find ourselves in a valley ringed by mountains and not a single person in sight.

Here is our plane. In front of it is the edge of the gravel airstrip we landed on:

We waited for our ride to show up—the drivers thought we were landing at a different airstrip so they had to drive to where we were— and talked amongst ourselves. There were a few people from the World Food Program, a few people from the German embassy, including the ambassador, and five of us journalists.

After about 30 minutes dust appeared in the distance and we could soon see three Land Rovers and two trucks coming our way. The Land Rovers were for us. The trucks, one in front and one at the back, were filled with armed soldiers and they escorted us everywhere the rest of the day. They take the threat of road ambushes very seriously in this part of the country. Everyone travels in convoys with armed escorts and there is a we-don’t-stop-for-anything policy once we start driving. It was too bad, since we passed so many interesting landscapes, people and villages that would have made for great photos. But stopping wasn’t an option, so myself and the other print reporter snapped photos through the windows, hoping some would turn out.

We arrived at the St. Kizito Hospital after about 40 kms of driving from the airstrip. The ambassador had come to announce $1.7 million in funding from the German government towards the WFP’s work in Karamoja. The WFP people were happy because earlier this year they had to stop their food program in much of the area due to a lack of funds, and school attendance immediately dropped some 40 per cent. Nineteen schools closed entirely because students stopped coming altogether. (Most parents in Karamoja do not want their kids going to school because they’d rather have them working, so the WFP gives food to those who attend school. As soon as the food disappeared, the kids did too).

Because the area is so dangerous, the WFP has for decades been the only international aid organization working in Karamoja. In recent months several other organizations have opened offices in Karamoja, due in large part to the increased security in other parts of the north that allowed organizations to redistribute their resources. “We’ve been here for 40 years wondering where the hell everyone else was,” one of the workers told me.

Here is our convoy, with two other Land Rovers in front of us and the truck full of soldiers escorting us. Behind us was another truck:

I have almost no sense of smell, but even I took a moment to get used to the musk that filled the hospital we visited. It was a very clean facility, but it was jammed with people with TB, AIDS, measles, meningitis and other serious conditions. Remember all the fuss a few months back about the American who knowingly traveled with TB and all the worries that TB would make a comeback? Well, TB is alive and well and living in northern Uganda. There were dozens of people in just this one hospital with it. About a quarter of them also have AIDS.

We toured the maternity ward, the children’s ward, the TB ward and then we walked into a building full of mostly men, lying in bed with various parts of their bodies bandaged or in casts.

“What ward is this?” I asked the doctor.

“This is our gunshot ward.”

Seriously. They have an entire ward for victims of gun violence. It had 54 people in it when we were there, though they said often there are more. The day before, eight people had been admitted to the hospital with gunshot wounds. Some days they admit 20 in one day.

Most are shot by cattle raiders. They ambush someone working on their farm, shoot them in the legs or arms (sometimes both) and steal all their cattle. We met one man lying on a gurney in a hallway, waiting to get an x-ray (the region has two ancient x-ray machines serving 235,200 people).

Through an interpreter, he told us that the previous day he had been working in his garden when cattle raiders ambushed him. They shot him in both legs and he lay on the ground, watching them steal his cattle. Beyond being a source of food, and therefore a source of wealth, cattle are the main currency for marriage dowries. Dowries in the region are so large that few, if any, men actually have the number of cows required to get a wife. So for many, cattle raids are the only way they can “afford” a wife.

At one point, I pulled one of the local politicians there aside to ask him some questions. This is an impressive facility, I said, but it obviously cannot handle complicated cases requiring surgery or sophisticated treatment. So where do those people go?

“They don’t go anywhere,” he said. “They die.” He explained how cases that go beyond what the hospital can handle are referred to the main hospital in Kampala, Mulago Hospital— hundreds of kilometers away— but no one here in Karamoja can afford that trip.

“It’s the beginning of the end once you’re referred to Mulago,” he said.

We were only supposed to be at this hospital for a short time. But the head doctor kept on going, showing us ward after ward, explaining in great detail the problems the facility was facing. Our last stop was an airy room where speeches were to be made by local officials, the WFP and the German ambassador. By this time we were so far behind schedule that the MC for the speeches asked everyone to keep their talks under five minutes.

Everyone did, more or less, except for the doctor. He must have gone on for 25 minutes. The desperation was palpable. Here he had a receptive audience of outsiders and he was not going to let them leave until we understood just how much help this hospital needed.

But eventually the speeches wrapped-up. We walked out of the building and through the groups of dancers that greeted us regularly as we toured the hospital. All of the dancing I have seen so far has been beautiful. It’s rarely complicated, and yet it’s mesmerizing. The singing, too, is incredible. I’ve never heard anything like it. For weeks I was unable to figure out what it was that made the singing here so incredible. At one point on this trip, as we watched the dancers and listened to their singing, I thought to myself, It’s so pure, so uninhibited, that even only a few people singing have a better sound than any choir I have heard back home.

Later, we walked towards the small building that houses the hospital offices (the hospital is a series of small buildings instead of one large institution). As we approached, the staff there, about eight women and one man, came out and broke into impromptu song with one of the women banging a drum.

Welcome, new visitor, welcome. We have been waiting for a long, long time. Please enjoy your stay, we are sure everything is going to be fine, they sang. We stood and listened to their singing, all of them smiling brilliantly, before entering the building.

Eventually we left the hospital, having lunch nearby, before driving to the foot of Mount Moroto where we were to visit a health centre.

On the way, we passed a truck full of armed gunmen. No markings on the truck, no uniforms on the men—nothing to explain why a dozen men were jammed into the back of a truck carrying machine guns. We journalists in the back of the Land Rover looked at each other and shrugged.

We also passed lots of herds of cattle and goats. Most of the herds were being led by young boys. Many wore few clothes and others were completely naked. After about 45 minutes of driving we turned down a narrow, bumpy dirt road (they’re all dirt roads) that led to the health centre.

It was quiet as we got out of the three Land Rovers. The soldiers escorting us sat in the shade of a tree, watching. The nun who runs this health centre came out and said, apologetically, that they had the nearby villagers here to greet us but we were so late that they had eventually given up and gone home.

But she spoke for a few minutes about the health centre and the challenges it faces. I walked around behind the health centre to get a good look at Mount Moroto and the storm clouds that were gathering in the distance.

When I turned the corner to return to the group I saw dust beyond them, coming from the road we had driven down. Soon we could hear singing too, and then people from the nearby village came into view, dancing and singing in a unified group. They heard we had finally showed up so they had regrouped and walked back to the health centre. They formed a circle, singing and taking turns dancing and jumping up and down in the middle. Soon the elderly women amongst them, they looked to be 90 but it’s hard to measure age here, came forward and danced and sang in front of us.

As the dancing continued I spied a man standing off to the side whose picture I wanted to take. When I was in Lira district a couple weeks ago and wanted to take pictures of people in the villages and IDP camps I would use gestures to show that I wanted to take their picture. Most times they’d smile and nod that it was okay. It made me feel a little less intrusive to at least give them a chance to say no if they didn’t want their picture taken.

I did the same thing with this man, but his expression became one of complete bafflement. He had no idea what I was expressing, and I soon realized he also had no idea what I was holding in my hands. He stared at me as I took his picture and then afterwards leaned forward to look curiously at my camera. The words of those Ugandan friends in Kampala came back to me. This is, indeed, a whole other world.

Here is the man:

After this visit it was time to return to the airstrip for our flight. Mount Moroto was on our left as we drove, and a few minutes into the trip one of the journalists said “Look!” and pointed towards the mountain. We all looked out the window to see a rainbow unlike any I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t an arc, so much as a large formation emanating from the valley floor.

The convoy slowed down, but didn’t stop, as people in each of the cars leaned to one side of the Land Rovers to snap pictures. We eventually got moving again, but we all watched as the rainbow slowly grew the further we drove. By the time we got to the airstrip it was nearly a full arc crossing in front of the mountain. Quite something to witness.

The plane landed on the airstrip just as we were approaching, so the timing was perfect. We piled out of the Land Rover, said good-bye to our hosts and got on the plane for the trip home.

The atmosphere on the plane was much more lively on the return. We were all charged with energy by what we’d seen in such a short time.

But before long, the effects of a long day of travel set in and many of us dozed off, myself included. I didn’t nap for long though, as the Ugandan journalist to my right and the one across the aisle from me on the left kept tapping me on the leg to point out landmarks we were flying over. Their mood was infectious and before long, I too, was looking out the window at the land passing under us.

Return to Kampala

We drove back into the city from the Entebbe Airport, arriving in Kampala a bit past 7 p.m. Friends were having a party that I had hoped to get to, but first I needed to shower and clean up after a long day in Karamoja.

Walking down to the main road where I was going to get a boda-boda home, I realized I was standing across the road from the Garden City mall.

I’m so tired that if I go home, I’m just going to fall asleep, I thought.

Clearly, then, it would be silly of me to go home.

So I went into the mall, had a shower at the gym, used the internet café to send a few I-made-it-back-safely e-mails and bought a sandwich and then drinks for the party before heading off on a boda-boda in the opposite direction from home for a fun night with friends.

Crisis Over Chogm Preparations

Came back from Karamoja to find this splashed on the Monitor’s front page…

CHRISTOPHER MASON & GRACE NATABAALO KAMPALAALL around Kampala, billboards bear the faces of well-known Ugandans announcing that they are ready for the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (Chogm) in November. But a closer look shows that although these celebrities may be prepared for the conference to be hosted in Kampala, much of the city’s infrastructure is nowhere near being able to boast the same claim of readiness. Less than three months ahead of Chogm, preparations are far over budget, beautification projects are behind schedule, and some Chogm roads are unpaved, uneven or unsafe for those using them, offering commuters daily reminders that work may not be finished in time. Coupled with the massive amount of work that needs to be completed before November, it emerged last week that Finance Minister Ezra Suruma was short of money and wanted Parliament to give him an additional Shs62.8 billion. But after three days of debate within the NRM Caucus, that amount has now been revised downwards to Shs57.3 billion. Initially, the government budgeted Shs55 billion this financial year for the conference preparations, which may now be completed at the end of October instead of September as had been planned. Some 53 heads of government and the queen of England and thousands of other delegates are expected to descend on Uganda for the summit late in November. The Chogm organisers also need another Shs45 billion for road repairs and Shs14 billion for the redevelopment of State House Entebbe. This brings the total amount of money required this financial year for a successful Chogm to a whopping Shs171 billion of which Shs18 billion is already available. This means that Parliament as a whole will vote to make available Shs153 billion. The money for the road works and State House redevelopment had been budgeted for and is only awaiting approval from Parliament. What is necessary is the speedy approval of the money. “The shortfall [of Shs57.34 billion) will materialise,” said Chogm taskforce spokesman Kagole Kivumbi, adding that many of the contracts were not put in place when the Shs55 billion figure was arrived at. Already, Shs80 billion which was budgeted for in the last financial year has been spent on the various Chogm activities. MPs initially delayed a decision on Dr Suruma’s request for more money. They demanded accountability for money spent so far before approving any new requests. That accountability is yet to be produced by the Chogm organising task force. But now with the NRM Caucus in agreement with the minister, the money will be passed because the ruling party has an overwhelming majority. Finding the extra money means cutting by 4.8 per cent the budgets of other government activities, Dr Suruma said. The minister’s revised Chogm budget includes a near top-to-bottom increase in conference costs. Much of the proposed spending for the 2007/08 financial year is doubled, tripled or more in the updated budget when compared to expense listings published in a Chogm progress report that was released in March. According to the revised figures, for example, the Chogm task force requires a security budget of Shs16.3 billion. The last progress report listed security spending at Shs6.4 billion. Expenses under the ‘Immigration’ category were listed as Shs172.89 million in the last report. The MPs were told that Chogm organisers instead require Shs599 million for immigration-related expenses. In addition, the minister has asked MPs for a Shs45 billion increase for road repair costs. In the last report, infrastructure expenses (including road repairs and beautification projects) were listed as Shs23 billion. Altogether, the minister’s document shows infrastructure expenses totalling Shs74 billion. The financing issue is crucial to how the government manages the home-stretch preparations for the conference. As projects expand in the rush to complete them on time, more money will be needed. In mid-May, Mr Kivumbi said much of the necessary work would be completed by August. However, in mid-August Mr Kivumbi placed a newspaper advert reassuring Ugandans that Chogm preparations, namely hotel and road projects, would be completed, or inspected, in September. “By the time our colleagues at the Commonwealth Secretariat [in London] come in the last week of August to inspect preparations, we want them to have a clear picture of the facilities,” Mr Kivumbi said. “It’s understandable that beyond that there will be road work and other work that still needs to be completed.” Besides budget issues that affect every aspect of the preparations, two major public infrastructure categories are central to pre-Chogm work: road reconstruction and a revamp of the Entebbe International Airport. Kampala drivers have for months borne the burden of navigating ripped-up roads, partially-paved surfaces and the dust rising off gravel roads that await final surfacing. The slow pace in completing road works in around the city and major highways has also affected pedestrians and it could cost the country millions of shillings in tourism revenues. The cost of public transport has shot up due to the sorry state of the country’s public road network. During rush hour on Kampala’s Yusuf Lule Road one recent morning, dozens of people were forced to walk on the busy road because much of the pavement is ripped-up and blocked by piles of debris running from the roundabout close to Fairway Hotel along the golf course to Garden City Mall. “Every day I walk along here and worry that I will be hit by a car or boda-boda,” one woman walking on the road said. She preferred anonymity because she said she did not want to be seen criticising Chogm. ”It has been like this for so long, why can’t they make it safe?” For much of the route, the sidewalk has been replaced with piles of soil dug up from the road. At other spots the pavement is in place, but holes have been dug about every 15 feet in line with the drainage ditches. With no streetlights along the road, a night-time walker could easily fall into the holes. This week workers began laying a new pavement along the route. The 2.6-kilometre stretch of Yusuf Lule Road under construction remains scheduled to be completed by the end of August, but much work is still needed if workers are to meet that deadline. Among the other projects, the Akii Bua Road reconstruction, which began on June 8, is only 10 per cent complete, while the maintenance works to be done on Kibuye-Zzana section of Entebbe Road are only 20 per cent complete, according to the most recent report. Several of Kampala’s main roads have, however, been resurfaced in the last week or two, making life more manageable for drivers and giving hope that other remaining works can be completed on time. “We are committed to deliver our projects on time, and the end of September is the target,” said Mr Samson Bagonza, the engineer-in-chief of the Ministry of Works and Transport. “Some of the projects may spill over, but we are working on a tight programme.” But already some Chogm roads paved earlier have developed potholes, leading to concerns that those fixed more recently will also soon be rattling the teeth of those who drive on them. As well, the newspaper advert produced by Mr Kivumbi said the 32km of roadwork being done between Entebbe Airport and Kampala will be completed by September 30. Another progress report by Mr Bagonza on the status of roads, marinas and street lighting projects, said the route to Kampala from Entebbe was 20 per cent completed. One waits to see if the end-of September deadline for completing this road will be met. The report found the first attempt at resealing was unacceptable and workers have begun re-doing the work. In the meantime, signs along the road warn drivers of loose stones that have chipped off from the first attempt at paving the road. The company working on the road, Energo Projekt, will re-do the road at its own expense, the Ministry of Works said last month. The State Minister for Works, Mr John Byabagambi, blamed the bad results on a “technical fault”, and added that the quality of the bitumen used on the road was substandard. Beautification work along the route is less than half done, according to officials. Before visiting dignitaries lay eyes on the road to Kampala, the airport will be their very first impression of Uganda. Renovations to the facility include an expansion of the arrivals hall, refurbishing of the departures area, installation of passenger boarding bridges, construction of a Very, Very Important Person (VVIP) lounge and domestic passenger terminal, installation of parking for more airplanes and the building of an air traffic and air space management radar. Like many other projects, the airport work was supposed to be finished in August, but officials now say the projects will be completed by the end of September. “The works are going slowly mainly because of finances,” said Mr Richard Okulo, the director of Entebbe International Airport. ”If they were available, work would go much faster.” To address that issue, the Civil Aviation Authority recently signed a loan agreement with a syndicate of banks for $40 million. Meanwhile, some projects like the construction of improved facilities for customs and baggage claim are about three-quarters completed. But other works are less than half-done, for instance construction of a larger parking space for VIP jets.

Telegram From Me to You

Dear All, *stop*

Back from Karamoja in one piece *stop*

Mind-blowing experience *stop*

More later *stop

Chris

Off to Karamoja

Chris is minding his own business, listening to a CBC Radio 3 podcast while typing a story on cross-generational sex, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he sees one of the editors standing beside him.

Chris: Oh hey.

Editor: Do you want to go to Karamoja tomorrow?

Chris: Hell yeah!

Editor: Great (as he turns to walk way)

*Pregnant Pause*

Chris’s inner monologue: Wait, what did I just agree to??

So I’m off for Karamoja tomorrow at 7 a.m. and supposed to be back tomorrow night (we’re flying).

Do me a favour, don’t Google “Karamoja” until AFTER I get back.

It’s Raining Strikes

Of all the things I thought I would do in Uganda, bowling was not one of them.

Yesterday a friend asked me what my plans were for the night. Nothing really, beyond a trip to the gym.

“Wanna go bowling?”

….. Bowling?….

I can count the number of times I have gone bowling on one hand, and still have a surplus finger or two.

But hey, why not? So off we went. It was a great night, that introduced me to a few new things:

-Namely, bowling barefoot.

-The increased precision of bowling from between your legs when trying to knock down a single pin

-How hard it is to concentrate on bowling when an office party is singing karaoke “We are the world” all together on stage (what corporate team-builders’ dreams are made of).

The group of us split into two teams of three and played against each other. Our team was behind until, all of a sudden we started rolling strikes and spares like it was our job. We pulled off the come-from-behind victory. As we celebrated, I leaned over to one of my teammates. “Does it bother you at all that we mounted our comeback just as someone began singing ‘It’s Raining Men’ on karaoke??”

Barlonyo Victims Try to Rebuild Shattered Lives

CHRISTOPHER MASON & AGNESS NANDUTU

BARLONYO IDP CAMP IT is mid-day and the hot sun rays beam intensely on the two-dozen Barlonyo IDP Camp residents who laze about in the camp’s largest clearing. Some stand in the shade of a mango tree, while others sit on the edge of concrete slabs that line the perimeter of the area. Despite the serenity of their surroundings, the atmosphere is tense. Those sitting on the concrete slabs stare into the middle of the clearing, where a memorial stands to the many who died on February 21, 2004 when Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) rebels attacked this camp, killing over 300, abducting others and burning every home to the ground. The concrete slabs they sit on are the tombs of at least 121 of the victims buried there. Over three years have passed since the Barlonyo attack. But the reminders of that day are as easy to come across as pointing to the tree that became a shield from rebel fire, or the dirt road where a brother was executed by the LRA, or walking to the spot where the family home used to be, before it was burned to the ground. Terrible tales “I didn’t know what to think when I first came back,” said Bosco Okello 16, who was abducted by the LRA during the attack. He says he helplessly saw the rebels kill his brother. Okello escaped after four weeks in LRA captivity, and now tries to find work on construction projects to support his parents, neither of whom can walk because they were shot in the legs, and his younger brother and sister. A few feet away from where Okello’s brother was killed, 12 men sat on one of the concrete tombs with their backs to the memorial. One of the men, Mzee Peter Owili, 75, said he has never felt at home since the attack. His wife and nine children were killed that day. He survived because he had left to attend a relative’s burial in another village. Mr Owili recounted the agonizing pain he feels sitting in the same clearing where he found dogs feeding on the bodies of the dead. But like many others at Barlonyo, Mr Owili said he has nowhere else to go. “I wish I died together with my family,” he said. “Without my family, [this] life full of poverty is meaningless to me.” Like many of the IDP camps in the area that have been largely evacuated since the start of the Juba peace talks between the Ugandan government and the LRA, there are few, if any, signs of aid in the camp. There is clean water, but no medical facilities and no church. The closest school is about two kilometers away, but very few of the residents can afford school fees, having spent the last three or more years in IDP camps. Mr Tom Omara was also standing in the clearing where the memorial stands. He says he was the first person to see the approaching rebels. He was walking down a path to harvest honey in a village when he saw them up ahead. When he ran back to the camp, he told the guards what he saw and they run down the path to meet the rebels before they could make it to the camp. In the meantime, Mr Omara said, the rebels had shifted positions and instead came into Barlonyo in three groups from another side, so many of the camp’s guards were not there when the rebels stormed it. Mr Omara was shot as he yelled at residents to run in the other direction. He was soon caught behind a tree in the middle of a gunfight between the two sides, but eventually managed to scramble to safety. “I came back to Barlonyo the next morning and there were dead bodies everywhere and all the huts were burned,” he said. Mr Owili, who lost his whole family in the attack, expressed anger with the government for spending millions of shillings on annual memorial services to recognize the massacre, but almost nothing to support the victims who survived. “Hundreds of vehicles from Kampala come here to remember the killing. Lots of money is used to cook food for one day,” he said. “Why doesn’t the government use that to look after the many orphans in the camp?”

On Bodas

Last Saturday I was hanging out with some friends when two of us left to meet up with others at a Kampala bar. We walked to the nearest main road, knowing there would be boda-bodas (the motorcycle taxis) there that we could hop onto for the trip.

We got to the main road, and, much to our chagrin, there was only one boda. A long look to the right, and a long look to the left did not produce any sign of a second taxi.

Now, it’s not uncommon for two people to squeeze on a boda with the driver.

But it’s a little more rare for two fully-grown men to do it.

“You think we can do it?” my friend, an American, asked.

“I think we have to,” I answered, trying to figure out the logistics of how this would work.

My friend is over six feet tall. I’m not, but I take up my share of real estate all the same (sort of the sprawling Texas ranch to his Manhattan skyscraper).

He volunteered to sit in the middle. “I’ve never been in the middle before,” he said. And I squeezed on the back, with his feet on top of mine on the small pegs that act as footrests.

And off we went. Even from the back I could sense the bemused grin on the boda-boda driver’s face.

My friend was leaning to one side so he could see the road ahead, while I leaned the other– enjoying the breeze like two puppies who discovered for the first time the joys of an open window in a moving car.

We made it just fine. Though upon arrival we jokingly shared glances of the “Let’s-never-speak-of-this-again” variety.

Boda-bodas have become such a central part of life in this city. You can’t get anywhere without them. The only other option, besides over-priced special hire taxi cars, is matatus. But those over-crowded mini vans can sit in traffic forever, as you watch forlornly at the boda-bodas that fly by you.

So instead, I’m the one on those boda-bodas. Criss-crossing the city from interview to interview, haggling for prices and, sometimes, helping the boda-boda I jumped on get pushed to the nearest gas station since they have an alarming tendency to run out of gas within 10 seconds of hopping on.

Today I was late for an interview and riding a boda whose driver had a sense of direction that left something to be desired. As we flew down the street I heard the engine skip a beat. A sure sign of diminishing gas.

We coasted to a stop and I contemplated looking for another boda-boda since there was no gas station in sight. But calmly, the driver got off, tipped the motorcycle on its side so that whatever fumes were left in the tank would enter the fuel line, set the machine back upright, started it up and said “Okay, we go.”

And so we did, somehow getting to my destination on whatever was left in the tank.

I’ll trade you one of my verbs for two of your pronouns

One of the goals I had coming here was to learn as much of the local language(s) as I could. I hadn’t managed that though during my first few weeks in Kampala. There was nothing really pushing me to learn Luganda (the most dominant tribal language in the south) because English is so prevalent in Kampala.

But the trip North was a good kick-in-the-pants. There was some English there, but especially in the IDP camps very few people knew more than a couple of words. (One man introduced himself to me as “Irish Potatoes” because it was the only two words of English he could think of and had no idea what they meant). So in the four days we were up there I tried to pick up a few basic greetings, etc. in the most prevalent Northern tribal language (there are more than 30 local languages) to help interviewing people. And it also reminded me that I need to make more of an effort here in Kampala even if it is so easy to get by only on English.

When we were up North we ran into a crew of French-Canadian documentary-makers. I talked with them for a while in French, which sparked the interest of the reporter I was up there with.

“You have to teach me French,” she said.

“Okay,” I said. “But only if you’ll teach me Luganda.”

Deal.

So now we teach each other two phrases a day. First I teach them to her in French and then she teaches me the same phrases in Luganda. The end result is a Ugandan walking around the newsroom asking “Est-ce que tu veut de l’eau?” and “Comment ca va?” and a Canadian walking around the newsroom asking “Oli otya?” and trying to remember that the answer to that question is “mulungi”.

A lesson in self-pampering

When the 10 of us being sent to places all over Africa got together for a week of pre-departure training in Toronto one of the things we were told over and over was to not be afraid to pamper ourselves every now and then. That, and to recognize what creature comforts are important to us and seek them out if it will make the other, more challenging, aspects of life here a bit easier to manage.

I’m trying to chalk up what I did yesterday under that category.

Since arriving here I’ve been walking to and from work most days. It’s about 75 minutes each way, so it keeps me active. But I’ve really missed having a gym to go to like I did in Toronto. So I started keeping an eye out for something that would work. I found a few that were quite cheap, but not very good.

Then I found the club at Garden City. Garden City is a mall here that is straight out of North America. It has pizza, a movie theatre (currently playing The Simpsons movie, among other new releases) and, of course, karaoke glow-in-the-dark bowling. Walking through the mall, at least two-thirds of the people you see are Westerners. It’s jarring, considering there are times walking the streets here when you spot another Westerner and stare at each other with a baffled expression that says “What are you doing here?”

I popped into the club to see what their fitness area was like…. Wow. The cardio and weight rooms are completely open to the outdoors and look out over an 18-hole golf course. The rooftop outdoor pool also looks out over the golf course. They also have sauna and steam rooms, tennis and squash courts.

But my god was it ever expensive– more than twice what I paid for a gym membership in Toronto. Keep in mind that it’s not uncommon for things here to be a tenth of the price you’d expect to pay in North America.

As I stared at the cost of membership (“That’s a whole lot of zeros…”), that reminder we all heard during the pre-departure training kept running through my head. “Maybe this will be my little oasis to come to each day,” I thought.

So I bit the bullet, signed the sheet and went down to the bank machine to take out a wheelbarrow-load of shillings to pay the membership fee. And then I went in, worked-out while watching the golfers down below, went for a swim in the pool, had an hour-long massage and took a shower that had both good water pressure and hot water– the first time I’ve had both since I got here over a month ago. Feelings of guilt aside, it was glorious.

Think there would be room for one more in that room with a thousand monkeys working on a thousand typewriters?

Words written in the last 24 hours: 16,500

As a result, status of fingers: Sore

Number of Google hits for search term “‘Kampala’ and ‘places to get a hand massage’”: Zero

A note about today’s posts…

I’ve posted an account of the four-day trip into Lira district in reverse order so that reading from here on down will take you through the trip from start to finish. Hope it all makes sense…

Day One:

The sun rose as we were about 40 minutes north of Kampala on Saturday. I, along with another reporter from the Monitor, was headed into Northern Uganda to check on the conditions in Internally Displaced Peoples (IDP) camps. They were set up in the ongoing war with the LRA as a way to round people up in large communities and post soldiers to protect them instead of having them scattered across the country where they were often raided, kidnapped and killed by rebels.

The fighting has almost entirely stopped in the region we were visiting. The government was holding up that region as evidence that peace was returning to the North, since about 92% of the IDPs had left the camps. We had gone to check on that claim, and see how the resettlement process is going.

We met in Kampala at 6 a.m. to get out of the city before traffic thickened. The trip north included several stops, including one stop at a trading centre about half-way between Kampala and Lira, for breakfast.

I was feeling a little queasy from food I had eaten the night before, but managed to get a bit of food down when we stopped. The roads leading out of Kampala are terrible. We rarely drove past 30 km/hour for the first half of the trip. Besides massive potholes, speed bumps have been put in place that are so steep you can get the middle of the car caught up on the peak if you don’t approach it on an angle. If only this country used the materials from the speed bumps to fill in some of the potholes the roads might actually be passable.

As we drove North from Kampala, the brick and concrete buildings slowly gave way to mud-brick huts with grass thatched roofs.

Late in the morning, the Nile River appeared ahead. It caught me by surprise. Here was rushing water on its way through Africa and on to Egypt beyond that. It’s just water, but all the same it is a pretty impressive sight to behold. The Nile at this point cascades through several waterfalls and rapids, though the government wants to build a hydroelectric dam here.

The river has become caught between a movement to protect a picturesque landscape and those who desperately want Uganda to come even close to meeting this country’s energy demands.

The bridge crossing the Nile was a favourite of Idi Amin in 1970s. He used that bridge to execute people by tossing them into the Nile. “We lost a lot of good people to that bridge,” the Opposition MP we were traveling with said as we crossed the bridge.

The bridge also marks the border into Northern Uganda— such a loaded geographical reference given the 20-year civil war that plagued the North for 20 years.

“Christopher, welcome to Northern Uganda,” the MP said with an ear-to-ear grin.

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than five armored military vehicles with guns that belonged on tanks passed us by.

Welcome to Northern Uganda, indeed.

We drove about two hours north of Lira, to a meeting of people trying to rebuild their lives after returning to their land after as many as five years of living in IDP camps. We spent about three hours speaking with people there.

About half-way into it, the sky turned black and the rain began falling. Soon after the thunder and lightning arrived. The sound of the rain falling on the tin roof of the building we were in was so loud we could barely hear each other speaking.

We left this place just before dusk, with two hours of driving on terrible roads still ahead of us. We got stuck a couple times. The first time was just trying to get out of the IDP camp. As we got out to push, nine men, three wearing rubber boots and the rest barefoot, materialized from the huts and waved us over to shelter while they pushed us out. We were soon on our way again but about a half hour later we got bogged down in more mud. This one was a little less fun. We were in the middle of an isolated dirt road in farm fields, miles from any other settlement, with darkness descending on us. As we sunk deeper and deeper into the mud, I looked beside me and there was the reporter I was with, bent over praying that we wouldn’t be stranded in what was, until about six months ago, rebel territory.

We eventually got ourselves out and skidded our way through the last part of the trip, getting into Lira to find a guest house to sleep for the night.