Welcome to The Philippines

Ten days ago arrived in The Philippines. I will be working with Medair for much of this year as they continue to respond to the devastation caused by Typhoon Haiyan in November 2013. I will blog more about the project at another time but for now here are some of my first impressions of this country.

It is beautiful. I flew from Manila to Tacloban on an early morning flight and the sun was rising as we came in to land. The ocean, the forests and the mountains in the distance were bathed in the glorious early morning light.

It is scarred. From the moment of leaving the airport and all along the 45 minute drive to Dulag, where the Medair project is based, you can see the impact of the typhoon. There are huge numbers of buildings either partially or totally destroyed. You can see the power of the typhoon in the twisted and crumpled metalwork and collapsed walls of structures that were once functioning as factories, offices, schools and homes. You can see the impact on individuals in the broken down houses, many covered in tarpaulins as their only defense against the elements now.

It is recovering. Amidst the destruction there are newly rebuilt or repaired buildings, standing as a beacon of hope for what is possible.

It is Roman Catholic. A few weeks ago the Pope visited Tacloban and the banners to welcome him are still hanging in the streets. Many of the buildings that have been rebuilt are churches. Our rented office and one of our warehouses both have shelves containing icons and statues of the Virgin Mary.

It is tropical. Although this is now meant to be the dry season it still seems to rain every day in short bursts of heavy rain. In between the rain showers the sun shines and the temperature and humidity levels rise to the point where a fan is an essential piece of equipment in order to keep cool.

It is friendly. People seem very open and always pleased to see you. The adults will say 'Good Morning / Afternoon / Evening' as you pass them in the street and the children will put up their hands for a high five and ask 'What is your name?'

It is noisy. I think we are living on the corner of a particularly noisy street but there is rarely a moment (except maybe in the middle of the night) when you could say it was truly quiet. The roar of motorbike engines, the barking of the multitude of stray dogs that roam the streets, the (mostly) tuneless karaoke singing, the banging and hammering of construction and the chattering and shouting of the neighbours all contribute to a constant cacophony of sound. I am getting used to sleeping with ear plugs!

Over the next few months I am sure I will learn a lot more about the culture and the people of this country that is all a new experience for me.

The Last Time?

Yesterday I drove to the nearest, well-stocked supermarket to where I am currently living (Embassy Supermarket, so called because of its proximity to the US Embassy in Kampala) to buy a few essential items to keep me going during my last week in Uganda.

I looked up at the shop as I was driving away and wondered if this would be the last time I would ever go there. And, with my flight home booked for this coming Friday, that set off a whole train of thought about my experience of living in Kampala over the last 6 months.

Will this be the last time I:

• Buy milk in plastic bags
• Get to disobey all the 'normal' rules of the road because those rules just don't seem to apply here and the only way to get anywhere is to drive like everyone else
• Look out on Lake Victoria, shimmering in the distant heat

• Be woken up at night by random car alarms, barking dogs, loud music from nearby bars and the early morning call to prayer
• Marvel at the spectacular force of an African rain storm

• Have my Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning accompanied by the singing of the local church choir, amplified through a poor quality PA system
• Eat the best avocados I've found anywhere in the world
• Wear shorts and a t-shirt in December
• Discover amazing birds as I walk to work in the morning

• See the people who have, in a short space of time, become my friends
• Spend time in this beautiful country?

I don't know the answer to these questions and leaving is always both hard and exciting. It's hard to leave behind all the people and places that have become so familiar but exciting to be going home to see family and friends again.

In the news

There have been two main topics of conversation around the lunch table at the office this week, both of which have also been the subject of international media attention.

It is unusual for local Ugandan news to be reported further afield but both of these stories involved young children and have highlighted two different aspects of life in Kampala.

The first story was the tragic death of a toddler, run over by a city council vehicle after his mother was arrested and taken to the council offices for illegally selling fruit on the streets. Street-sellers are an everyday part of life here, as they are in many cities across the world. It's not an easy life either sitting by the side of the road or walking up and down between the traffic at busy road junctions trying to sell your wares. For many people though it is the only way to make a living in order to be able to provide for their families. The selection of things for sale is always diverse: newspapers, scratchcards providing phone credit, chewing gum, toilet paper, fruit, nuts, phone chargers, memory sticks, belts, pirated DVDs, posters - the list goes on and on.

But Kampala Capital City Authority are trying to tidy up the city and have been clamping down on these hawkers. Depending on your point of view this child's death is either a consequence of this tough policy or just a tragic accident but it does highlight the difficult lives of many people in this growing city where jobs are hard to come by. The other victim of this story is the driver of the vehicle, who is now in prison and whose life has also been changed forever.

The second story was the horrific abuse of a small child by her nanny, which was filmed with hidden cameras and has shocked and shaken the country. This story involves a family whose lives are as far removed from those of the street-sellers as mine. They are part of the growing Ugandan middle-classes, who have received a good education and now have well-paid jobs and spend their leisure time at the modern shopping malls and restaurants that are springing up all over the city. They choose to continue with their careers after having children and can afford to pay for childcare, either in a day care centre or one-to-one in their own home. Unfortunately the demand for childcare is growing faster than the training and vetting of such staff. This story has highlighted the inadequacies and failings of the current system and has acted as a wake-up call to many parents and to the authorities.

These stories have mainly just left me feeling sad. I am sad for the people involved: for the parents whose child was killed, for the driver, for the little girl so badly beaten, for her parents who have to live with the consequences of their decisions and for the nanny who, although her actions cannot be condoned, is probably also a victim herself. I am also sad for this country: Uganda has so much about it and its people that is good and positive which never gets reported.

Unfortunately stories like these only serve to reinforce the stereo-typed view of the African continent that needs saving from itself rather than of an Africa that is diverse and vibrant and beautiful and is increasingly able to work through its problems and find its own solutions. 

My daily commute

Every morning from Monday to Friday I walk the 1 km from where I am currently living to the office where I work. Every evening I walk the same route back home again. It’s a part of the day I really enjoy. In the morning the air feels relatively clean and fresh before the sun gains its full strength and the pollution of the Kampala traffic tightens its grip on the city once again. In the evening, after a day spent sitting at a desk, I relish the opportunity to get the blood pumping through my legs again.

It’s not a quiet road by any means. There are always other people walking the same route as me; walking along the side of the road trying to dodge our way between the traffic – the bicycles, the boda-boda, the mini-bus taxis, the cars and the lorries. Kampala traffic is unpredictable and you can never be sure what a driver is going to do. Despite having to concentrate quite hard on what other road users are doing I enjoy the opportunity to just observe the sights and sounds of life being lived on one small stretch of road. 

• There is inevitably a man struggling to push a heavily laden bicycle. The things being transported may change – one day it could be crates of soda or beer stacked three or four high on the saddle, another day it might be enormous bags of charcoal, on a different day it could be several large bunches of matoke – and it will be a different man on a different day but it is always an effort and I marvel at how he manages it.
• There are numerous small kiosks, painted in the distinctive colours of the different mobile phone networks, offering ‘Mobile Money’. Sending money to family and friends through your mobile phone and paying utility bills in the same way has made life so much easier for people across Africa. Supporting your extended family financially is an accepted part of life and that money can now be sent easily to those living on the other side of the country. My favourite kiosk is the one that also sells pens, paper and envelopes. They advertise their wares with three words painted on the wall. It reads: ‘Stationary Mobile Money’. Surely a contradiction in terms!
• One kiosk I pass informs everyone in big black letters that it is NOT FOUR SALE.
• In the morning I walk past a lady setting up a small stall from which she sells fruit and vegetables. It’s a limited selection of tomatoes, onions, potatoes (called Irish here), sweet potatoes and matoke. She is still there in the evening and it always seems to me that she has hardly sold anything all day.
• In contrast, and a bit further up the street, there is a cage that in the morning is crammed full of scrawny and rather noisy chickens. Perhaps they know their fate and are taking a last opportunity to be heard as by evening the cage is inevitably empty – someone, somewhere not too far away, will be having ‘Chicken Tonight’!
• There are also chickens running free – either scratching around in the dirt or playing their own version of chicken as they weave in and out of the traffic. I had to do a double take this week when I saw a group of chicks all with bright purple feathers chasing after their mother.
• There’s no mistaking the line of business of ‘Unique Sounds – Music For Your Function’, as they blast loud music through the large speakers outside their shop. There is a certain irony to the fact that directly opposite their premises is ‘Peace Nursery School’.

Writing this makes me look forward to what I might see next week as I make my way to and from work. Two things I know already – it will not be predictable and it will not be dull.

A Cacophony of Sound

Sunday morning. The day of rest. The one day of the week when you can take things a bit easier. Don’t set the alarm. Take time to wake up. Enjoy a slower start. If only it worked like that here.

This is a big city, bustling with people all living in close proximity to one another and every day seems to start as soon as the sun rises over the horizon, bringing with it the first rays of light.

The call to prayer wakes me each morning between 5.30 and 6.00 a.m. This is not as early as in some places I have lived but I seem to be staying very close to a mosque so it is by far the loudest I have experienced. Fortunately this Imam is mercifully brief in his cry although once he has finished it is followed by the distant chorus of other Imams also calling their congregations to pray.

Within minutes Christian worship songs fill the air. A choir at a nearby church practised for several hours on Saturday afternoon but as I desperately try to cling to the last moments of sleepiness I cannot tell whether this is the choir singing or just a neighbour playing their favourite music.

The man-made sounds are replaced with birdsong. A beautiful and varied chorus which has the effect of relaxing me again and I start to fall back to sleep. And then the ibis joins in with its loud, shrill, monotonous call and I am wide awake once more.

The ibis - one of the noisiest birds I've ever heard.

My desire for sleep has been defeated by this auditory assault. Never has the saying ‘if you can’t beat them join them’ felt more applicable. Time to get up, make a cup of tea and start my day just like the rest of the inhabitants of this lively city.

Ebola

I returned to Uganda last Monday having spent five weeks in the UK. During those five weeks the world has finally woken up to the seriousness of the Ebola crisis affecting West Africa and the reality that contagious diseases are not held back by international borders.

Whilst the British media has a tendency to give more attention to the handful of cases in Europe and the USA than it gives to the thousands of cases in Africa this coverage does at least raise people’s level of awareness of the disease. Almost without exception everyone who heard that I am working in Uganda asked if it was safe and you could see that what many were really thinking was ‘am I going to get sick and die from talking to you?’. One person visibly recoiled at the very mention of Africa…

The reality is I am probably as safe from Ebola in Kampala as I was in Carlisle. Although I am slightly closer to the epicentre of the outbreak I am still over 3,000 miles away from the Liberian capital Monrovia.

Entebbe airport has been conducting health checks on all arriving passengers for several months now - something I experienced on Monday evening. As I arrived in the immigration hall a lady wearing a surgical mask and gloves was spraying disinfectant on everyone’s hands. Then we all had to complete a health declaration form. As well as our personal details there were questions about which countries you had visited in the last 21 days (the known incubation period for Ebola), whether you currently had any of the symptoms of the disease (headache, fever, vomiting, diarrhoea, uncontrolled bleeding, etc.) and whether you have had any contact with a person known to have contracted or died of Ebola within the last 21 days. All passengers then had to line up to be seen by a health worker (also wearing surgical mask and gloves) who checked the form and took your temperature before stamping your immigration form and allowing you to proceed to the visa counters.

There was a newly erected room in the corner of the immigration hall marked as the ‘Health Centre’, where presumably passengers were directed if they answered ‘Yes’ to any of the questions on the form or showed signs of a fever.

I am not sure how robust these checks are and although it is not possible to hide a raised body temperature you cannot stop people giving false answers on a form. Despite that I did feel somewhat reassured that the Ugandan authorities are trying hard to stop this outbreak of the disease from entering their country.

Wedding Day

Helen works in the Finance department and today she married Frank. This morning I heard that several of the team were going to the church service so, at the last minute, I decided to go too.

We were all to meet at the office at 12.00 noon in order to give ourselves time to get through the Kampala traffic to the church for the service, which was due to start at 1.00p.m. As with all good plans in Africa things didn't quite work out as originally intended - one person didn't arrive until nearly 12.30 p.m., the traffic was gridlocked in places and we realised we didn't know exactly where the church was. When we were in the general vicinity and after having gone round in a circle once we called someone to ask for directions. Modern technology is a wonderful thing and the person on the other end of the phone logged on to Google maps and directed us to where we needed to be.

It was gone one o'clock when we eventually arrived but we were still 'on time' as there was another wedding taking place inside the church and our bride was sitting patiently at the back along with her father and the bridesmaids. Apparently there are not many churches in the city that are licensed to perform the civil part of the marriage service and so it is not uncommon to have four or five weddings in a church on the same day. It did feel a little like a conveyor belt as one wedding finished and we were allowed to file into the church to take our places in preparation for Helen and Frank's ceremony.

It was a very simple service: very similar in format to a church wedding in the UK and with the same vows and commitments. The biggest difference was that each milestone in the service was greeted with enthusiastic clapping from the congregation and after the signing of the register we were all invited up to the front to greet the newly weds and to bring our monetary gifts. I don't know if this was a collection for the church or the happy couple but I went along with the crowd, as you so often do in these circumstances... The whole service was accompanied by music blasted from a PA system, which seemed to be entertaining a nearby kid's club. In the UK someone would have gone to ask them to turn the music down, whereas here no-one really seemed to notice...

The service lasted about an hour and at the end there were noticeably more people in the church then there had been at the beginning. I don't know if they were late-comers for this wedding or early arrivals for the next one - the next bride was already sitting waiting so it was probably a combination of both.

There was no shortage of photographers at the wedding. I counted at least five people who all had the air of being the 'official' photographer as they took pictures from every angle, not wanting to miss a moment of this special day. I managed to capture two shots before the battery on my camera died that will remind me of the day:

Frank and Helen.
Now husband and wife.

The bridesmaid's shoes.
Ugandan women love their shoes!