The house on the hill / LGBT in the house!

Saturday was moving day. Had a lie in, a leisurely breakfast, and some time to reflect on the news Brooke had told me the former evening; that she had been offered a job with  another agency, to do the research project I was developing with NACWOLA, but for Marie Stopes. (MSU) So, while I had been away on the field trip, discussing the research ideas that we had presented on the last day of the workshop (to do a situational analysis of the use of community health workers in Uganda, to identify opportunities for collaboration and strengthening of community systems), this agency had been thinking along similar lines. What baffled me was the apparent decison to duplicate this research without officially informing, or discussing this with the NACWOLA team. This was a confusion shared by Brooke. I was unsure whether to take my exclusion from this advancement and the possibility of funding to do the research as a personal slight, as a symptom of some kind of NGO rivalry, as a result of having so clearly aligned myself with NACWOLA through the course of the workshop. I hoped it was the latter.

Talking about the isse later, the CD agreed it made sense to collaborate, but I was unsure of how this collaboration would work if one party were getting paid to do it as a full time job, while the other was doing it on a voluntary basis, and alongside  other projects. I had already considered concedeing defeat and handing over my purpose for being in Ugandas to Brooke, as she had already secured the fubnding to do what I had planned to do. I felt pretty disheartened and confused by the conversation.  However, it later transpired of course, that I had put 2 and 2 together and gotten 20, envisioning that both research projects would evaluate the system nationally. In reality the respective projects, for NACWOLA and for MSU would be a first step towards this, by evaluating each NGO system respectively. Possibilities for collaboration and further research would perhaps arise after this first step. I had lept from stage 1 to stage 10 in my thinking, and so got my wires crossed unecessarily.

We packed up and at around 4, the country director of Marie Stopes came and picked us up. We have the good luck of being able to live there for the next 6 weeks or so as house sitters and dog feeders. On top of this, the CD was good enough to pick us up in the car, and to swing by the supermarket on the way home.  The supermarket was full of local produce that was impossible to find in Ghana and most of West africa-there was fresh milk, cheese, flavoured and plain yoghurt and west nile honey. The vegetables were good, varied and cheap.  The highly inflated costs of imported food like pasta and rice that I was used from Ghana (where you paid at least double what you would in the UK) were non existent here. There was even dairy milk chocolate! I got quite excited that I wasnt going to be reduced to a diet of beans and matooke on my shoestring budget. Brooke and I stocked up and clambered back into the car which chuffed around and up the very steep hill to the house. 

Cranking open the gate we were met by Bobo and daisy, the two guard dogs, who were clearly interested but unsure of us at first. As the CD had described, Bobo is a big baby who jumps at you and wants his tummy rubbed whereas Daisy is smarter but with yellow eyes and with a flash of wolf in her that snarls from time to time. They had a good sniff as we unpacked warily.We met the friendly guy who looks after the compound and does the gardening etc. He was pleasant, but for a marked body odour issue. The house was beautiful-like a bug Scandinavian summer house, but decked with rich teak floors; a veritable colonial palace. Brooke and I had a room each, and adjacent bathroom. Living here would be far from slumming it. and we were both delighted. We deposited our bags, the CD shackled the dogs up to their leads, and with one in each sturdy hand led the way for a walk around the hill.

Canine tryptich, part 1: tension mounts

 

Part 2: Bobo attempts to mount, tension is released

Part 3: all is calm

The path was rough, and the slope from the house down onto it even more precarious, the loose stones on the surface sliding underfoot like on a spree slope. We picked our way down gingerly, relieved that we weren’t the ones holding the dogs. The view was, like from the house, utterly brilliant, and as we walked round we could trace the humped backs of the surrounding hills gently undulating on the leafy horizon. The area was beautiful, serenely quiet, but pretty far from town; the Kampala equivalent of Chislehurst.  Transport, particularly at night, was going to be an issue.

We arrived home a bit sticky. Brooke and I set about making pesto and pasta, with fresh basil from the garden while the CD packed. Over dinner we discussed the logistics of the house, how to deal with inevitable water and power cuts, the location of the key, noisy neighbours, organisational politics and the trials and tribulations of being an expat. Later we headed out to a party I had been invited to nearby, arriving to find the LGBT community letting loose in the safety of the compound belonging to the self names "fag-hag of Kampala." A dapper guy in a tilted flat cap started a conversation with me about vaginal douching while his friend in a skin-tight wastecoat, flared jeans and stacked mules, puffed out his chest and danced /pranced circles around himself to lady gaga. He had been bold enough to leave the house dressed like that despite the homophobia here that recently made the headlines due to Uganda's proposed anti-homosexuality bill. If passed this would have criminalised homosexuality and made it punishable by death. Read more about it here: http://www.gayrightsuganda.org/ The guy finished the conversation with a "toodleoo, must dash dahling..."  , and accompanied jazz hands. Rather than asking for each others numbers (so last year), the question was always "what's your facebook?" Fabulous people, fantastic party.