It is Thursday night, I am extremely exhausted and looking forward to a long weekend. This is my favourite weekend of the year, Easter weekend. Apart from celebrating the resurrection of our Saviour, it is a four day weekend.
My thoughts drift to Easter last year and how I spent this. A group of friends decided we would go to the beautiful source of the Nile, Jinja. We opted to stay on a little island called Samuka, famed for its bird species. Some bright spark, suspect it was my good friend Alex , suggested that rather than book rooms, we would go camping. Took some convincing but I finally figured it couldn't be that bad, in fact it may be an exciting experience. See, this was to be my first camping experience.
We left Kampala on Saturday, the road trip was good fun, quite uneventful. We arrived in Jinja, one very short boat ride later, we were in Samuka. We were shown to our respective humble abodes. I was horror stricken when I saw my piddly "cat" tent, I didn't think they made them that small. The other tents were fine. Mine was the smallest because I wasn't sharing. Once I got over the shock, we got changed and went for a swim followed by drinks and dinner. I excused myself early because I had a slight cold and really needed my sleep.
I crawled into my little tent and remember feeling quite forlorn. I lay silent listening to the sounds of the great outdoors. Something we hadn't taken into account when we decided to go camping was the fact that it was the middle of the rainy season. I think you know where we are heading.
The wind had picked up and was howling something chronic. It wasn't long before I heard the sound of rather heavy raindrops hit the tent. Two of my party came to get me, figured we were better off having a nightcap. I wasn't about to argue so we headed back to the bar which was lovely, warm and dry. By now, it was raining very heavily. We eventually retired an hour or so later. The rain continued to pelt down.I crawled into my tent to find the interior was wet, I knew I was going to get a thorough soaking. I attempted to brave this but soon realised I would end up catching pneumonia. That wasn't the plan.
I left the tent lagging my wet belongings with me and headed back to bar informing tne night manager I was setting up home in the now cold and wet bar area. Poor chap took pity on the clearly miserable sorry mess standing before him and advised there was a double room that was unoccupied. This was music to my ears. It was past 3am, I was finally able to check in for a few hours. The room wss lovely and warm, had four solid walls and a nice warm bed, utter bliss.
The next day, Easter Sunday, we checked out. We headed to 2 Friends Guest House for lunch which was delicious despite the fact that I could barely stay awake for longer than a few minutes. See by now, I was fairly drugged up. I had woken up feeling very unwell, relief had come in form of meds.We headed back to Kampala, picked up our cars, I drove straight home to my then cozy little one bedroom apartment. It was raining heavily again. I called the one person that will always lend a sympathetic ear, mother dearest and proceeded to black out for more than ten hours. I felt a bit better come Easter Monday.
Whenever I go on holiday, I opt to stay at hotel, in a room, I like my little comforts. I absolutely love Uganda and what our outdoors has to offer but I am quite happy to shut the door on this come night time. I am not good with being at nature's mercy and I can safely say I will not be camping again anytime soon. The title of this piece is therefore very much tongue in cheek.
This Easter I'm staying put, a friend was thinking of taking his family camping in Jinja, party pooper that I am I pointed out that it is raining almost every night, let's just say I think I managed to put him off. Have a lovely Easter whatever you do folks.
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Thursday, 17 April 2014
Monday, 24 March 2014
Oh the Joys.....
English folk often use the phrase "oh the joys" in reference to something that is perhaps a bit of a pain in the back side, certainly not so joyous. I am sure you have had the term "oh the joys of parenthood" or variations of the same depending on which parent happens to be feeling somewhat hard done by.
One of my sisters and I were talking to our teenage brother this evening. Let's say he is experiencing some growing pains or even teenage angst. We therefore took it upon ourselves to try and talk him off this cliff that he seems so determined to remain precariously perched upon. Well, hopefully something went in and didn't go straight back out the other ear. Anyway took me back to our own childhood days and the madness we put the "Mzees" /parents through. Allow me to take you on a little trip down memory lane.
Looking back now, I will tell you, I was an easy child, I like to think my parents would say the same. I don't recall getting into any serious scrapes, well apart from the occasional one with my elder siblings. I also did not break any bones or have any unsightly scars to serve as constant reminders of my shenanigans. I do however recall Mzee, Dad in this case caning my sister and I till our back sides turned darker than I thought possible. Now let's not go getting our knickers in a twist, we came from a generation were our parents did not subscribe to "spare the rod and spoil the child", and this I am eternally grateful for, it shaped us into fine upstanding specimens if I do say so myself.
Back to the reason my usually non disciplinarian dad went all militant on his sweet little girls. Well we would have been about all of 9&10 years old at the most.We had a couple of little male friends in the neighbourhood, one of them dared to upset my rather quick tempered sister. My sister proceeded to give him a probably well deserved tongue lashing not realising it was his mother, we'll call her Mrs X on the other end of the line. By the time she caught on, the damage was done. Mrs X told my sister my parents would be brought up to speed on the little exchange, at which stage my sister panicked and turned to me for advice.
Well, me being the younger and apparently more street savvy one, came up with the grand plan for us to run away from home. Well, in my mind it made perfect sense. I mean there was no way we were going home to face the music, because we both knew they would be no dancing. So these little girls that were for the most part sheltered, started on a journey of sorts.
The day played out a little like this, we jumped from one taxi to another, telling fibs about our parents accidentally leaving us at Church. We were on a mission to find a relative and hide out until Mum and Dad begged us to come home. All I can say is the mind of a child is a wonderful place. Our journey took us across Kampala, from Rubaga to Kampala Road in the heart of town then on to Namasuba on Entebbe Road and back. We eventually figured we were better off heading home, the rest, well you know.
Looking back, I've got to say. Parents are amazing. We do really knowingly and sometimes unknowingly drag them to hell and back and yet still they continue to love, hope and worry amongst many emotions. I do not have children yet but I will one day experience the joys of motherhood, so help me God.It may well be what it takes for me to finally lose all my marbles. Important to note that this is purely fictional, because if it were a true story and I dared to share it, my sister might never talk to me again.
One of my sisters and I were talking to our teenage brother this evening. Let's say he is experiencing some growing pains or even teenage angst. We therefore took it upon ourselves to try and talk him off this cliff that he seems so determined to remain precariously perched upon. Well, hopefully something went in and didn't go straight back out the other ear. Anyway took me back to our own childhood days and the madness we put the "Mzees" /parents through. Allow me to take you on a little trip down memory lane.
Looking back now, I will tell you, I was an easy child, I like to think my parents would say the same. I don't recall getting into any serious scrapes, well apart from the occasional one with my elder siblings. I also did not break any bones or have any unsightly scars to serve as constant reminders of my shenanigans. I do however recall Mzee, Dad in this case caning my sister and I till our back sides turned darker than I thought possible. Now let's not go getting our knickers in a twist, we came from a generation were our parents did not subscribe to "spare the rod and spoil the child", and this I am eternally grateful for, it shaped us into fine upstanding specimens if I do say so myself.
Back to the reason my usually non disciplinarian dad went all militant on his sweet little girls. Well we would have been about all of 9&10 years old at the most.We had a couple of little male friends in the neighbourhood, one of them dared to upset my rather quick tempered sister. My sister proceeded to give him a probably well deserved tongue lashing not realising it was his mother, we'll call her Mrs X on the other end of the line. By the time she caught on, the damage was done. Mrs X told my sister my parents would be brought up to speed on the little exchange, at which stage my sister panicked and turned to me for advice.
Well, me being the younger and apparently more street savvy one, came up with the grand plan for us to run away from home. Well, in my mind it made perfect sense. I mean there was no way we were going home to face the music, because we both knew they would be no dancing. So these little girls that were for the most part sheltered, started on a journey of sorts.
The day played out a little like this, we jumped from one taxi to another, telling fibs about our parents accidentally leaving us at Church. We were on a mission to find a relative and hide out until Mum and Dad begged us to come home. All I can say is the mind of a child is a wonderful place. Our journey took us across Kampala, from Rubaga to Kampala Road in the heart of town then on to Namasuba on Entebbe Road and back. We eventually figured we were better off heading home, the rest, well you know.
Looking back, I've got to say. Parents are amazing. We do really knowingly and sometimes unknowingly drag them to hell and back and yet still they continue to love, hope and worry amongst many emotions. I do not have children yet but I will one day experience the joys of motherhood, so help me God.It may well be what it takes for me to finally lose all my marbles. Important to note that this is purely fictional, because if it were a true story and I dared to share it, my sister might never talk to me again.
Wednesday, 8 January 2014
Celebration of Love
December is typically considered to be "party" season with all sorts of festivities taking place, new bars cropping up all over the city (Kampala) and an influx of Ugandans living in the diaspora returning to spend the holidays with their loved ones.
Many will also choose to say “I do” during this season. Typically, I will receive at least 3 wedding invitations and a number of invitations to traditional wedding ceremonies. I do try my very best to honor these invitations however there are only so many speeches and long wedding receptions one can sit through so I will occasionally choose not to go to one
This December was no exception. I was invited to and actually attended 3 weddings. Wedding number one was a colleague’s. I did not make it to Church , the most important part of a wedding because here we witness the presumably happy couple exchange vows and promise to honor these till do them apart. I attended the reception at which I gave a speech on behalf of the bride’s employers. I of course said all good things about the bride and imparted words of wisdom seeing as I know quite a bit about marriage, ahem. The bride was stunning as one would expect and she seemed over the moon. After my colleagues and I collected the customary cake that is given to workmates, we left. We had eaten and saw no other reason to stay, the couple are born again so no chance of evening sniffing vino, beer or any other choice of poison.
Wedding number two, now this was something. A prominent Kampala businessman was finally making an “honest” woman of his partner of 12 years. Let us just say, no expense was spared here. All the glitz, glamour and splendor that you could possibly imagine was laid on for this wedding. Once again, I did not attend the Church service, slaps self on wrist. I pitched up to the reception where preferred dress code was black and white, I wore pink, looked pretty hot I must say. Now this was no alcohol free wedding. It was a very hot day, before I proceeded to the huge elaborately decorated marquee, I was offered a drink and accepted a couple of sips of ice cold beer. Once seated inside the marquee, snacks were served, drinks of all sorts were flowing. Kampala’s notables were either already seated or in many cases milling around perhaps to ensure that the MCs spotted them , the expectation is that the MC would then mention/acknowledge them at some stage. The couple eventually pitched up or rather arrived in style. Their convoy comprised of no less than 10 (I kid you not) top of the range SUVs, mainly Mercedes Benz MLs. I caught myself whistling, how rude. There was no shortage of entertainment with a number of popular local artists performing. I left at around 11pm, I understand the party continued well into the next day.
Now the third, and most enjoyable wedding for me, the one that actually inspired me to write this. This was unusual in many ways. For a start, there were no invitation cards, we all got Facebook messages giving us details. A photo of a black and a white puppy were incorporated, the intention was not lost on me, the bride, a dear friend of mine is a “Muzungu”, her Prince Charming is an all round sports man from the West Nile. There was no church service, instead the couple exchanged vows they had penned at an outdoor venue that sits atop one of Kampala’s 7 hills. The view was amazing, the vows were short and we got to raise a glass of champers to the newlyweds straight after, perfect. Lunch was served indoors, 3 speeches were given by the groom, his bestman and the bride’s mother who also wrote and read a very witty poem.
Once speeches were done, food was finished and quite a bit of wine was consumed, we were given instructions to proceed to the after party venue, a beautiful, perhaps somewhat little known spot by the water less than a 10 minute drive away. I was asked by the bestman to ferry unconsumed alcohol as well as water to the after party venue, happily obliged for more reasons than one. The bride and groom joined us at the after party venue, they did not travel in a convoy, they did not have one. The rest of the day was about fun, frolics and guests getting to know each other. Games including the tag of war and sack race were laid on. In addition to the DJ, a group from the West Nile kept guests entertained. Just as we were starting to get peckish, muchomo was served. I left at around 11pm, seems to be my threshold, again celebrations carried on into the next day.
What struck me about this wedding was the focus on the bride, groom and their close friends and family. The guest list was somewhere between 100-150people. It gave us all a wonderful opportunity to really witness the couple’s joy and to have a sneak peek into their life together. We all walked away having made at least 2 new friends and to me this really felt like a celebration of love.
So whichever way you choose to do it, I think your big day should be very much about you and the love I do hope you share. How many you wish to celebrate with is of no consequence. It should be a day that should always conjure up fond memories shared with your loved ones.
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