Dusk

Jun 21, 2010


It is evening and from my perch on Kololo hill, I watch the fading of the day. Sunset is a diffuse affair in washed-out browns― the sky painted in earthtones by swirling whorls of dust. There are no riotous displays of dazzling pinks, fiery oranges and golds punctuated with brilliant streaks of light―fireworks in defiant protest of the encroaching night―here, the sun disappears with a mild shrug of resignation behind the dusty blanket of dusk.

Thick curls of smoke from numerous fires dot the cityscape. Burning is the principal means of trash disposal—dried leaves, household trash, paper, wood, cardboard, plastics, automobile tires, you name it — all are doused with petrol (gasoline) and set on fire, everyday, with a diligence approaching religious fervor. Nothing is spared, not even the evidently incombustible. If it doesn’t burn, it gets the treatment again…and yet again…until it is eases to exist in any recognizable form. The high population density in the city —translation: more trash, more fires, the smog and automobile exhaust make for a noxious soup that passes for air. There may be some oxygen in it —a faint possibility that cannot be entirely ruled out—I wouldn’t swear by it. Smoke permeates everything, traces of its noxious presence ever evident.

Rain of the tempestuous variety common in the tropics (if only it were commoner here!) that lashes the earth in violent fury and strips the firmament free of its baneful burden, leaving in its wake blessedly clean air and a brilliant blue sky, however transient, is cause for personal celebration – a celebration of the benediction of clean air, an unalloyed appreciation of that most elemental of life’s functions — breathing: I breathe, therefore I am?—and the pleasure of breathing easily and effortlessly—Breathing smog is an effort; breathing clean air, a natural function that requires no conscious exertion.

On the charge of taking clean air for granted, how do you plead? Guilty, Your Honor.

It will rain tonight, I am told by those in the know, and I may expect to awaken to clear skies and a beautiful day.

Photo Synthesis

A Kaleidoscope of Color

Bird of Paradise

Chimpanzees, Ngamba Island Sanctuary

A Stillness of Stork, Nakasero

Crested Cranes, Masaka

Kazinga Canal, Queen Elizabeth National Park

Sulfur Lake, QENP


Uganda Kob, in their Rutting Grounds, QENP

Bush Buck, QENP

Elephants, QENP

Water Birds of Every Feather, QENP

Mountain Gorilla, Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park

Bukedo Basket (Banana Fiber) Woven by women from the Wakiso District

The Rhythm is Going to Get You

Rhythm, Music and Dance come to mind at the mention of Africa. I have been feasting on the very rich offering of all three in Uganda, albeit as spectator, a role that I am consigned to by a singular lack of talent in this area— of which I remain mercifully aware—and which as a rule I am loath to inflict on my fellow men; they know not what they are spared. Indeed, I astonish myself by my civic-mindedness. Should I feel ill-disposed toward anyone, I shall attempt to dance in their presence….being compelled to watch cacophony in motion should be ample punishment for most trespasses. But enough of this digression and on with rhythm, music and dance!! I am convinced that the three are inextricably woven into the very DNA of the continent, and its denizens endowed with an innate sense of rhythm, grace and the ability to dance beautifully; I am yet to meet an African who has not received a generous measure of this bounty, a truly extraordinary one from the vantage point of an outsider.

The history of the peoples of Africa is preserved orally; its repository—stories, drumming, song and dance. I’ve always loved percussion and was I in for a treat! I first had the pleasure of hearing the drums of East Africa – the Ngoma (the generic drum widely held, by Ugandans, to have originated in Uganda; there are several variations of the drum that produce sounds of varying pitch), the Engalabi (long drum), the Mpuunyi (bass drum), the Namunjoloba (lead drum)—at a concert by Percussion Discussion Afrika, a band dedicated expressly to keeping alive the percussion traditions of East Africa.

Drumming has always been an integral element of tribal culture and serves a myriad of purposes—communication, proclamation, celebration and healing, to name a few. It is largely ceremonial now, and many of the instruments that have been played for centuries in tribal ceremonies would be rarely heard today, save for the efforts of troupes such as Percussion Discussion Afrika, and Ndere in reviving these disappearing arts and musical instruments and bringing their beauty for all to enjoy.

The rhythms of the day and the seasons—planting of crops, rains, harvest, cattle being herded back home at the end of the day —stories of the mundane and the momentous—fables of the Baganda, Banyoro, Banyankole, Bagisu and Busoga peoples were brought to life by the drums through which the wild heart of Africa seemed to beat —by music from the lyre, the harp (adungu), the xylophone (amadinda) and the pan pipe (ndere)—by the full throated singing, yodeling, ululation and clapping of hands—by dancers who moved with immense grace at an impossibly fast tempo without missing a beat and by the earth itself, the biggest drum in the ensemble, played by the pounding feet of the dancers, that boomed out its powerful rhythm affirming and celebrating life in all its glorious exuberance.

Art Appreciation

Butterfly and Baboon

A Butterfly, A Baboon,
And a Buffalo to Boot !
Beleagured by a barrage of birds,
Twas a picture I just had to shoot!

Seven Hundred Beautiful Cousins and One Beautiful Garden

April 11, 2010

I went to the Bwindi (Impenetrable) National Forest over the Easter holiday weekend to see the mountain gorilla......seeing this magnificent animal was exhilarating.

Bwindi in southwestern Uganda, is one of Africa’s most ancient forests from the last ice age -- over 25000 years ago. It is one of two places that is home to the mountain gorilla, the other being the Virunga Volcano. There are approximately seven hundred of these animals alive today, thanks to a successful conservation effort.

Tracking a gorilla family of five involved a climb in damp clay up a steep mountain slope. Bwindi is a rainforest and this is the rainy season; the steady drizzle and the clay morphing into a gooey gel underfoot made for treacherous walking terrain. We held on to branches and vines for gaining a foothold each step up the steep incline. This ranks among the most challenging treks I've taken; the Annapurna trek in Nepal seems like a walk in the park in comparison!

Fortunately for us, the gorilla family we were tracking came halfway down the mountain to meet us, so to speak, and saved us three hours of strenuous climbing. They are used to humans beings from the habituation program that the Uganda wildlife authority has undertaken; the silverback, --the alpha male who is the head of family--parked himself five meters from where I stood, immobile in awe and delighted wonder at this encounter; he had casually lumbered past the walker ahead of me, who nearly fainted when she realized what it was that had brushed against her.... (It felt like a dog! Oh my god! It was a GORILLA? OH! MY GOD! Gasp! Gulp!! Hyperventilate!!)

I tried to move back from him to maintain the twelve-meter distance that had been drummed into me in the pre-trek brief....but the silverback moved in and settled close by and seemed to be fine with my proximity.....he estimated that any animal that couldn’t move two paces without stumbling and did not show any interest in his food source was no threat at all……...the rangers and trackers signaled to me to stay where I was, a wise decision considering the consequences of any move on the precarious position of the rest of the group, many of whom were crouching on their knees by this time, and trying very hard not to look down the slope that we’d just ascended.

The silverback diligently applied himself to the task at hand—eating—pausing every once in while to give us—gawking misfits in his environment— a pitying look, as we struggled to maintain our balance while aiming our cameras and incoherently exclaiming in delight and delirium! He didn't seem to find eye contact objectionable—we had been instructed to look away if an animal looked like he /she were going to charge—Gorillas have brown gold eyes— it was poignant to see these gentle giants with arms as thick as tree trunks tearing away at the foliage at arm’s length. What truly beautiful cousins we have!

An impartial observer seeing the grace and agility of these animals on the mountainside and our clumsy attempts to hang on (on all fours) and not roll down the mountain.....at least not too far down at any one time....could be forgiven for thinking evolution over-rated. I did....I was scratched by every thorn, and bitten viciously by ants with wicked pincers...our trek took us over nests of ants and the residents were understandably infuriated at the invasion and set out to make their displeasure evident—yours truly had the honor of being singled out for their attention—we slid down the mountainside, neither gracefully nor voluntarily, much of the way, on all fours—the force was definitely not with us—and along the way, adding our bit to soil erosion by simply transferring substantial amounts of clay from the slope onto ourselves.

It was all worth it and I would do it again…..with the possible exception of the ten-hour spine rattling ride that getting to Bwindi entailed. Locals refer to the roads (loosely defined) as the African massage….your body gets stretched and pulled apart in ways that nature never intended and therefore never planned for in its design ...I was made acutely aware of just how many different muscles and ligaments there were in my back by the discrete points of soreness the following day.

In getting to Bwindi from Kampala by road one traverses the breadth of the country; I saw vast areas of cultivated land with huge tracts of banana and sugarcane fields yielding to rolling hills with tea plantations, that in turn give way to shrubs and grassland where the Ankole people rear cattle with immense curved horns—iconic symbols of the land—and Bwindi with its steep fissured mountainsides, dark mysterious ravines and ancient forests, —home to several species of monkey and the large primates, the gorilla and the chimpanzee—where experts agree that some acts of the great drama of evolution were enacted.

I also saw the appalling conditions in which many of the local communities live, pools of stagnant water that accumulate with every rain, pot-hole pocked roads that turn into clayey morasses at the slightest hint of rain, poor drainage of water, lack of sanitary facilities… conditions that could have been made to order for proliferation of mosquitoes…and the widespread prevalence of malaria that takes a deadly toll of lives each year, especially young lives. (~ Eighty out a thousand children under the age of five dying of malaria is a truly horrifying statistic).

I saw poorly equipped and poorly staffed clinics and hospitals that had little beyond acetaminophen and cold -cough remedies of questionable rationale in stock, and no physician or qualified medical staff in attendance.

I saw children walking barefoot to school; I saw children who should have been in school, herding cattle, chopping sugarcane or digging up root vegetables instead.

Such abundance of rich soil, rain and sunshine, and the bounty of the Nile in the abundant harvests of fruits and vegetables of every sort.... and the great natural beauty of the place with its spectacular flora and fauna (rare primates, over a thousand species of birds and butterflies, I’m informed)…and all the international aid pouring in should have made this a truly prosperous place....

As Winston Churchill wrote in his My African Journey (1908):

Nowhere else in Africa will a little money go so far. Nowhere else will the results be more brilliant, more substantial or more rapidly realized. Uganda is from end to end, one beautiful garden where the staple food of the people grows almost without labor. Does it not sound like paradise on Earth?

It is tragic that it has not....for reasons that have to do with just one species –homo sapiens! There is much that needs to be done to realize the promise of this paradise.

10 days in Kampala

Sunday, March 14, 2010

10 days in Kampala; a week into my assignment.  My office is in the Makerere University campus. Makerere is the oldest center of higher learning in East Africa, the heart of its academe, and I am deeply appreciative of the history of the place and the opportunity to work here. The week was mostly taken up in introductions, orientation, meeting faculty members including the clinical pharmacy faculty at the Mulago hospital campus and a visit to a local pharmaceutical manufacturing facility with final year undergraduate students. I’ll consign work-related posts to the monthly journals that are posted on the GHF website…you know where to look for them if you’re interested. This blog is a log of my rambles in this city that will be home for the next six months.

I find Ugandans in general to be friendly, curious, intelligent and easy-going. I like them. I met other HVO volunteers —mainly doctors, medical students and nurses from Canada on their community practice rotations—at a dinner at the home of my NGO host, Josephine, last evening. Every volunteer I’ve met has been impressed by the resourcefulness of local doctors and health care workers in accomplishing as much as they do with the sparse resources at their disposal.

In addition to knowing just about everyone in Kampala, Josephine is a superb chef and gracious host. The evening was a feast of reason and flow of soul...It was also a feast for the taste buds--the eggplant and spinach-kale were to die for. I must get Josephine to teach me how to cook.  Dream on, Swaminathan!

The Makerere university campus is about an hour’s walk from where I live..in traffic…….it’s a 15-minute cab ride when there’s no traffic (i.e., 6 AM on Sunday mornings). I walked to my digs last Friday afternoon from Makerere and was reduced to an adrenaline-suffused mass of seared protoplasm from negotiating the numerous obstacle courses in traffic in the scorching heat. Did I say Ugandans were an easy-going, relaxed people? The exception is when behind the wheel of an automobile. My conjecture is that each driver takes a solemn vow to dispose off as many pedestrians as he (or she) possibly could while fully indulging his fantasy of racing in the Indy 500. All drivers in Kampala are good drivers –surely the bad ones have all been killed!

Traffic jams, clouds of exhaust fumes and the heart-stopping proximity of half a dozen trucks, matatus (mini buses that are the mainstay of public transport) and boda-bodas (motorcycles /public transport) jostling for the same space in a roundabout at any given time is a daily occurrence that still takes some getting used to.

My cabbie, Jingo James remains unmoved by all the pandemonium…..he has attained the ultimate state of Nirvana….he gives me lessons in Luganda while attempting impossible feats of navigation in getting the taxi around potholes that could hold their own against any crater, and through trenches that have ambitions of becoming roads….all in heavy traffic.

Thanks to Jingo James’ tutelage, I can muddle my way through greetings in Luganda, much to the amusement of my co-workers, although they politely insist it is pleased surprise! Everyone I’ve met speaks English very well; I have no difficulty understanding them or being understood.

I wake Sunday mornings to the soul-stirring harmony of beautiful voices in the local church choir raised in glorious song.

This place is unlike any other I have visited: desert cacti grow beside tropical palms… here, the opposites do not merely co-exist; they thrive. It is a botanist’s paradise. And an ornithologist’s- with over a thousand species of birds. Marabou stork (kaloli) dominate the Makerere landscape….these scavenging birds with their bald heads and necks, and angry red gular sacs , look like pre-historic relics --
throwbacks to the age of the dinosaurs. They fear nothing and seem completely unfazed by the proximity of humans. When they are around, instinct tells me to wave my arms or keep moving…anything to let them know I’m alive and thus be spared their attention. (Wikipedia has a good photograph of this monstrosity of a bird @ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marabou_Stork). In their defense, they help keep the place clean……..it does take all sorts to do the world’s work.

Visited the Baha’i temple last weekend; it is an oasis of tranquility amid the chaotic bustle of the city and its immediate environs. It is the only temple of its kind in Africa and dates back to 1962. The grounds of the temple are immaculately maintained; fruit trees (I recognized jackfruit and mango), palms, flowering shrubs and orchids abound; they are home to several species of bird, notably, eagles. Kaloli were conspicuous by their absence here …No rotting organic matter in this well-tended landscape! Five of the seven hills of Kampala were visible from the hilltop on which the temple is located. This is a place I must visit again…and linger awhile, perhaps with a good book, one weekend. This time around, I filled my lungs with as much clean air as they could hold before heading back to town.