(This photo does absolutely nothing to explain Kabalagala to you, but it’s the only picture I could take within respect and reason.)

Last night, I joined a big group of friends in Kabalagala, the borough of Kampala that supposedly never sleeps. As part a new series of “random acts of epic-ness,” these friends were hosting a 24-hour vigil there – just to verify if this neighborhood ever takes a break. (I only lasted from dinner time to one, so I can neither confirm or deny.)

Truth be told, there’s so much along the one major street that I wish I could have photographed for you, but couldn’t due to respect and safety. Kabalagala is full of the young and aspirationally trendy – college girls in far too short skirts avoiding young men with knock off Prada and Dolce&Gabbana logos across their chests. In that way, it’s like any city in the world at any moment.

Along the road, tired vendors rotate whole chickens under the glow of a single lightbulb to attract the peckish passersby. Hole in the wall bars pump American and local dance tracks louder and louder until each overblows its neighbor. Twinkle lights cluster amidst the few trees and balconies along the street. It’s incredible for people-watching and for getting the feel of a very specific slice of Kampala, but you’d never want to stand still for very long.

At the same time, Kabalagala seems to be one of most unsafe neighborhoods I’ve visited. Prostitutes are notoriously pushy. Muggings are frequent. I was always paranoid about my wallet/camera/phone and checked them compulsively. Thankfully, the doormen at the restaurants and bars were thorough and responsible, so I felt fairly safe.

All in all, my night out in Kabalagala – probably only my second there ever – was a ton of fun. I think my nerves will prohibit me from attending on the regular, but every once in a while it’s fun to chase the promise of a sleepless city. Maybe next time I’ll last a little longer.

Our house was brand new when we moved in, ergo no bugs or anything had discovered it yet. Over the first few months, they slowly started encroaching: a spider here, a trail of ants, a few cockroaches there. Little by little becomes a lot. But while most houses here have a few resident lizard friends to tame the insect population, we had none. And I couldn’t wait for the day we’d get one.

I know it’s weird, but it’s a thing.

Finally, over the last week, I’ve been thrilled (legitimately more than I should be) to see this little dude checking out the place. He’s about two inches long and crazy fast. And I love him. I hope he grows big, brings all his friends, and takes care of all the mosquitos and spiders I’ve been slapping for the last few months.

I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.

On Wednesdays, local watering hole Mish Mash erects its giant bed-sheet screen and hosts a film night. Tonight, some new good friends of mine took in the charming Amélie under the stars then talked late into the night. Pretty stellar mid-week escape.

Raymond Dufayel, aka Glass Man: “Ma petite Amélie, vous n’avez pas des os en verre. Vous pouvez vous cogner à la vraie vie. Si vous laissez passer cette chance, alors avec le temps, c’est votre coeur qui va devenir aussi sec et cassant que mon squelette. Alors, allez-y, nom d’un chien!”

“So, my little Amélie, you don’t have bones of glass. You can throw yourself against real life. If you let this chance pass, eventually, your heart will become as dry and brittle as my skeleton. So, go ahead, dammit!”

But one simple little dish has tempted my gag reflex for almost two years now:

This is Samson. He is a fish head and, up until today, I could not eat him. His little face was not the reason for my food fear; I actually find that somewhat amusing. But I’ve witnessed plenty of coworkers chow down on these dudes, those gelatinous eyeballs, frilly gills, and that rough little tongue. It’s the texture that gets me. But today, I faced my fears and ate him, eyeballs and all.

Not to say that wasn’t without lots of encouragement and instruction from my Ugandan coworkers. They maintain that the head is the sweetest meat on the fish, generally reserved for the head of the household, and that it will make me smart and strong. I just wanted to conquer it without passing out. First mistake: never look at the back side.

Whew, buddy. I did manage to eat all the “normal” meat off it before building the courage to pop out the eyeballs and suck them down. On my first attempt, my aversion to texture got the best of me. The crunchy and gooey bits of the eyeball came flying back out of my mouth almost as quickly as they hit my tongue.

On the second attempt – resolved now to be less of a baby – I still squirmed, still sweated a little, but finally chewedchewedswallowed to the shrieking cheers of my workmates. Still probably one of the worst textures ever in my mouth, but I’m pretty proud that I at a stinkin’ fish head.

So there you have it: fish heads, everybody. How does my audition tape look now, Survivor?

And here’s what I got today: a watermelon, a pineapple, two bunches of greens, and some carrots. In total, 9000 shillings, or about $3.83. Not a a bad haul.

My friend Scott, who works for Global Orphan Project, recently adopted two lil puppies named Rolex and Scooby. They showed up weak and flea-ridden, but they’re already back to full, scampering health. Good job, Scott. Dani and I got to play with them for a bit during today’s epic rainstorms.

This adorable twosome was a cuter way to introduce you to the local breed of street dogs we have around Kampala. I realize I’ve started taking for granted how many of these guys I see every day, particularly around my more-suburban neighborhood. Probably 15 or so per day? They’re pretty easy going, I’ve never wanted to get close enough to one to know if they’re friendly. Anyway, here’s how they look all grown up:

Photo via Kampala Dispatch magazine

]]> http://onewhiteguy.com/2012/02/19/foto-feb-12-puppies/feed/ 0 sadams2 Uganda223 street dogs http://onewhiteguy.com/2012/02/19/foto-feb-12-days-end/ http://onewhiteguy.com/2012/02/19/foto-feb-12-days-end/#comments Sun, 19 Feb 2012 14:01:00 +0000 sadams2 http://onewhiteguy.com/?p=2513 ]]>

Here’s me today:

And here’s me, just as eager, around age three (on the left):

It all makes so much sense now! Plus: HOW CUTE WAS I?!

In September last year, Agnes walked the boundaries of her newly-restored land with her family and her IJM team. After generations of being excluded from land ownership, Agnes and the women in her family were at last given their rights. On that day, she felt more hope than she had in a long time. But it was a very different story back at her home.

Agnes is one of three customary wives of the Local Council secretary for security – a man charged with protecting the vulnerable in his community. Despicably, this man is also notoriously violent and greatly feared within his village, especially in his home. He beat his wives regularly and brutally. Once Agnes was established as a landowner, he took special interest in his 25-year-old wife. Last Friday, his rage reached new heights when he beat Agnes mercilessly and left her unconscious.

Agnes’ terrified family called IJM aftercare specialist Lydia, who quickly rallied investigator and drove deep into the village to Agnes’ rescue. When they brought the police to arrest this man, he lashed out and fought against them with all his might before finally being subdued and arrested.

From his jail cell, Agnes’ husband loudly proclaimed his regret and promised never to harm her again. As many battered women do, Agnes defended her husband and asked for his release, believing his lies and empty promises. But through the cell bars, he whispered to her “When I get out of here, I’m going to kill you and your children.”

Over the next week, as Agnes’ husband waited at the jail, Lydia’s phone rang repeatedly with nervous calls from community members begging IJM to let the man go. He was too powerful, they claimed, and would wreak havoc on Agnes’ family when he was released. The other two wives chided Agnes and blamed IJM for tearing apart a happy family, unwilling to see the heinous injustice before their eyes.

But IJM refused to relent to this man’s reputation. On Thursday, he was brought before a judge, read the charges against him, plead guilty, and was convicted. Almost immediately, word spread through the village that even Agnes’ mighty husband was powerless against the law.

Our field office director retold this story at our morning devotions, saying, “He was strong, and then he was humbled, because Lydia was brave and [our investigator] was brave and our God is GOOD.”

We are supremely thankful for God’s provision in this case and for enabling IJM to rescue this woman and help the government authorities to hold her abuser accountable. We pray for Agnes as she deals with this terrifying situation and the uncertainty that may await her future. Please pray that God provides comfort for her during this time and that the community will heed this powerful message that when laws are enforced, the violence will stop.