Exploring Kampala

I had expected to be helping out at Pastor Paul’s orphanage during my time here, but I am not needed.  This has left me with nothing to do for the whole time I am waiting for my new passport.  The pastor and his wife are too busy to show me the town, so I decided to start looking around by myself.  As far as I know there is no organised tourist route in Kampala, so I had no idea where to begin.  I had been recommended by an American friend to go to a particular shopping mall in town which has an excellent bookshop, called Garden City Mall, so I decided to make that my starting point.  I walked down to the main road and hailed a boda.

Boda drivers waiting for customers

It was quite a long trip and certainly the most hair-raising so far.  To those of you who are thrill-seeking theme park fans, you would love bodas, particularly in Kampala.  We dodged all over the place, within centimetres of other fast moving bodas and other traffic.  I was looking around the whole time, trying to spot landmarks to remember the route and gradually get my bearings.  This is very difficult as the town is built on hills which are very similar in shape and height and with similar buildings for the most part.

We eventually arrived at Garden City, which is right in the centre of town near the government buildings and up-market hotels.  It is a slice of Western life, including Pizza Hut and various other chains.  I saw more westerners than I have seen in my whole time in Uganda or South Sudan so far, all presumably homesick for a bit of western civilisation.  I can’t say I feel the same.  I have no hankerings in that direction at all, which is just as well as the prices are way beyond my means.

The bookshop was very good.  It is similar to Waterstones but with a very large religious section.  I could see why my missionary friends like it.  I spent a long time browsing and then bought a very cheap guide to Kampala and a mathematics text book to take back for my class in Nimule.  As I was not expecting to teach maths when I came, I only brought English books with me, so this will fill a very necessary gap.  Although the shops and restaurants in the shopping mall are too pricey for me, it is a very useful place to know about for the rest of my time here as it has toilets.  Generally, public toilets are very hard to come by and extremely unhygienic, so this is a very important thing to know about.

I sat and looked at the guide and saw that lower down the hill there are cheap eating placesI found a very nice café serving a variety of local dishes and chose a beef pilau.  It came with a delicious but rich sauce in a side bowl.  It was a very good, but heavy meal.  .  I decided to take another boda and visit the Catholic Cathedral after lunch.  

The cathedral was built by French missionaries in the Romanesque style and is the largest church I have seen in Africa so far.  The missionaries were invited to come by the king of the Buganda tribe, the majority tribe of southern Uganda.  Many died on their way here.  A guide took me around.  He told me the terrible story of the UgandanMartyrs whose history is very much linked to the local area.  

Catholic Cathedral

Original Epistle, present from the Pope

I walked around the outside of the Cathedral and found a small handwritten sign pointing to the Cathedral Museum.  I am so glad I spotted it, as it was very easy to miss.  The museum is small but fascinating.  I highly recommend it to anyone visiting Kampala.  It is essential to be guided around as the displays are chaotic and everything needs explanation.  It is the most disorganised museum I have ever visited, more like somebody’s lumber room than anything else.  The items range from complete trivia to really serious treasures.  There are vestments worn by Pope Paul VI on his visit, a half-finished bottle of coke drunk by Pope (now Saint) John Paul II and many, many more things.  To me the prize of the collection was a present from St John Paul II of an original parchment copy of one of St Peter’s epistles.  What a generous gift!  It says a lot about the importance of his visit.  If Popes make a habit of giving away such important treasures, there will be nothing of value left in the Vatican.

The next day I visited the Kasubi Tombs (tombs of the royal family of the Buganda) and the Anglican Cathedral.  This was pot luck, as I had boarded my first Kampala minibus with no idea where I would end up.  My plan to get off when I saw something interesting paid off when I saw the Cathedral looming above the road.  The guide book very misleadingly said that they were close together, but in fact they are a couple of kilometres apart, requiring another boda.  The Anglican Cathedral was closed due to major restoration work in the interior, so I was only able to see the outside.  Like the Catholic Cathedral it is built at the top of a hill with fantastic views.  

Ceremonial Drum store made of reeds

The royal family of the Buganda are still very much alive and a source of great pride to their tribe.  Their Kabaka (king) has his own government and runs a country within a country.  He even has his own police force.  The tombs are listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.  A few years ago there was a catastrophic fire which claimed the most important of the tombs, that of the Kabakas themselves.  Under supervision from UNESCO and with international funds, it is being completely rebuilt.  The other buildings are equally fascinating though.  I entered through the Guard House, which is beautifully made of reeds and thatch.  Next to it is a Drum Hut, where the ceremonial drums are kept.  In the grounds is a cemetery for royal relatives, looking much like any western cemetery.  Traditionally widows of previous Kabakas live here and look after the tombs.  Past generations of Kabakas were polygamous, so there are many widows.  I saw several of these women and their extended families who also live there.  They grow crops in the same compound to support themselves.  My guide showed me an exhibition of traditional pictures, done on paper made from sheets of fig tree bark.  If I were a tourist, they would have made excellent presents.

I ate lunch in the Catholic Cathedral café before relaxing in a shady spot in the grounds.  It was the hottest day since I came to Kampala and I had been fooled by the weather of the past week into expecting cloud cover.  I got badly burnt as I had left my hat and suncream behind.  I won’t make that mistake again.

There are still more places to visit, which I will do over the next few days.  I must definitely visit Lake Victoria and the National Museum.  I am saving the National Museum till last as it is right next to the British High Commission where I will be fetching my passport.

My journey to Uganda and first impressions of Kampala

Due to needing to send my passport back to the UK for replacement, I am visiting Uganda for about a month.  This is because South Sudan is not a safe place to stay without a passport in the current situation.  I am staying with a pastor who runs an orphanage on the outskirts of Kampala called Caring Hearts.

I spent my last day of term in Nimule in school, hurriedly marking the maths paper for a Primary 3 class in the absence of the class teacher, who had decided to start her holiday earlier without bothering to mark her classes’ papers. 

Then, in the early afternoon I took a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) from Cornerstone to the border checkpoint.  I got my visa for Uganda from a particularly friendly official, who gave me a two month visa for the price of one month and asked about life in Nimule.  He declared that we were neighbours because Nimule is so close to Uganda.  Then I ate a very good chicken and chips at a stall before walking to the bus stand for the minibus to Gulu.  Unfortunately a bus had recently left so that I had quite a long wait on an almost empty bus.  Minibuses in this part of the world, whether in Sudan, South Sudan or Uganda never leave until packed full of passengers.  I was seated next to a Ugandan man who was very impatient with the delay.  I have fully adjusted to the expectation that everything takes a long time so just sat quietly like a true local.  My fellow passenger complained and tried to get the driver to leave in a most un-African manner.  Finally another passenger said that complaining was not helpful and to just wait, which quietened him.

The road from the border to Gulu has improved out of all recognition since my last trip two months ago.  The road is much smoother, less dusty and faster so that we arrived while it was still light at about 5pm in spite of the late start. I went to my regular hotel, made full use of their complementary business centre to make sure I had all the necessary paperwork for my passport application and checked my emails, ate a delicious fish stew and went to bed. 

On Saturday morning I ate breakfast and then headed straight for the bus stop for Kampala, buying some samosas for lunch on the way.  Unlike the previous day, the bus was almost ready to go.  We left at 8am, making several stops where people could buy food and drink from vendors who came to the bus windows.  It was a tarmacked road passing through mainly farmed land, villages and towns.  One area had a big sign saying ‘Welcome to Rhino Country’, which was a bit surprising as the land seems so populated and cultivated.  The most impressive part of the journey was when we crossed the Nile on a bridge over a very dramatic gorge.  It looked a good spot for white water sports (assuming people were willing to risk the crocodiles and hippos). 

We arrived in Kampala at about 4.30pm and Pastor Paul fetched me very efficiently following mobile conversations with my neighbouring passenger, who told me where to get off. 

What I didn’t expect is the hills.  The whole of Kampala is built up on quite steep hills, often with important buildings at the top of them.  It is also very green.

How does Kampala compare to Nimule?

I have arrived during the rainy season, which is a great deal rainier than it is in South Sudan.  In South Sudan I have become used to heavy bursts of thunder showers preceded by very dramatic winds.  It is all over very quickly and then the weather is hot and sunny again.  Here in Kampala the rain has a more persistent character, so we go through days and nights of rain.  There is a lot of mud outside in consequence.  It is a lot cooler than South Sudan and I find myself wishing I had warmer clothes with me.  It is wonderful to be able to sleep straight through the night without being covered in sweat and needing a drink.  I even sometimes use a cover. 

People are much better off than in South Sudan.  A paunch is not necessarily a sign of a corrupt official.  I have become used to women constantly pumping water at the bore hole and carrying it home on their heads, while carrying a baby on their backs.  This does not happen at all in Kampala.  Babies are carried in people’s arms.  Water is piped.  Women have the time to become educated, even to university level.

Food is a great deal more plentiful, more varied in type and much cheaper than in South Sudan.  I bought a huge avocado for only 500 Ugandan Shillings.  The currency in South Sudan doesn’t have an equivalent that low in value.

Because Uganda has a stable government and has been independent for far longer than South Sudan, things are far more efficiently regulated than in South Sudan.  For example, people are not allowed to hawk their wares in the centre of town.  The roads are kept clean.  The Caring Hearts orphanage is expected to comply with government regulations, so that during the holidays children must go to foster homes to get a taste of family life.  They are also supposed to have proper beds and accommodation rather than mattresses on the floor.

Much as it might be a more comfortable existence in Kampala, I look forward very much to getting back to Nimule.  Comfort is not nearly as satisfying as being needed.  I had a call from the matron at Cornerstone saying the children are missing me.

Looming problems

Several of our teachers bring their small children to school with them each day.  One of these little ones was taken ill suddenly on Tuesday and her mother took her to hospital.  Her mother found that the hospital staff were all on strike because they haven’t been paid and were therefore refusing to treat patients.  The child died in her arms.  I have heard that there were many other deaths too.  The strike is ongoing.

Note: since writing this post I have heard more about the hospital crisis.  Merlin Foundation, a small NGO has been operating Nimule Hospital for years.  They are about to hand over to Save the Children.  Unfortunately there have been administrative hiccups, including transfer of contracts for staff.  This has resulted in a gap in which the staff remain unpaid, neither employed by Merlin or by Save the Children.  The fact that both these charities are supposed to support children makes the death of this child tragically ironic.

The hospital has poor facilities at the best of times, so it is quite possible that the child would have died anyway.  There is no way of knowing what the cause of death was because the mortuary has no electricity and therefore can’t keep bodies for an autopsy.

The day after she died, we attended the funeral.  The funeral was held outside the hut where the family live.  Two pastors read comforting readings and the body, wrapped in a sheet, was lowered into the small hole just next to the hut.  The family were grief-stricken and many were weeping.  The whole occasion was very pathetic. 

Like the hospital staff, the teachers haven’t been paid since the beginning of term earlier this year.  Much as I might complain about their teaching methods, at least they have soldiered on and continue to come and teach.  But what will their families live on in the meantime? 

Further away in Juba a few weeks ago there was a riot at one of the army barracks because of lack of pay.  The results there were far worse because of access to guns.  Two hundred soldiers died in the fighting in their own barracks.  Thankfully the government’s priorities meant that this has not been repeated; soldiers at least get paid now, so bloodbaths elsewhere should be avoided.

I have been told that there is a similar picture of lack of pay at the police station.  People warn each other not to bother with the police because they will not act without a bribe.  The same is now true at the border checkpoint.

Last week a large consignment of wage packets was looted between Juba and Nimule and all the money was taken.  The vehicle was only left because the looters did not know how to drive it.

I read the news from the UN this week.  They are warning of an impending famine due to the conflict.  The reasons given are that it displaced so many people and stopped them from planting or tending their cattle.  The report did not mention the lack of pay, but this seems to me to be part of the same picture.  We will all be tightening our belts and hoping for the best.

Teaching at Cornerstone – a new year begin

All dressed and no lessons: keen
students

The new school year began in late January.  I use the imprecise date advisably.  It has felt like a large steam locomotive gradually gathering steam.  Before the school could open parents trickled in over the course of a fortnight to register their children, even those who had been on roll the previous year.  There was a scuffle between Fulaa, the charity which supports the school, and the teachers and Parent Teacher Association over how many children could be enrolled.  The teachers wanted large classes (60 plus) but Fulaa insisted on 30 – 35 maximum.  Unfortunately by the time this was agreed the nursery classes already had over 60 paid up children in each of the three classes.

The other issue Fulaa has been strong about is corporal punishment.  The teachers were made to agree, highly reluctantly, to stop caning the children.  They also promised not to carry canes (a promise they have not kept).  They blame me and are still very angry.  This is not justified as Fulaa had instructed them to stop caning long before I arrived.  I and other visitors have simply reported that corporal punishment was still taking place, even for very trivial reasons or lack of understanding of English.

Once the registration was complete, the teaching was officially due to start.  Teachers rolled up slowly.  Children came in very small numbers the first week and drifted around the compound with no lessons to attend.  Most teachers did not teach, although I got started at once.  It was lovely to teach small classes of the keenest children for a change.

We filled in a skeleton timetable with our agreed classes and preferred teaching times.  Based on last year’s experience of teaching an early morning class with low attendance because late comers were punished by hoeing the grass in lesson time, I made sure I put my teaching periods later in the morning and in the early afternoon.  I had been told I was to teach English to Primary 4 and Maths and Music to Primary 5.  I tried to get extra classes, but was firmly told that no one was allowed to teach more than two core subjects and one non-core subject.  The result is that I spend many hours each day sitting unoccupied like the rest of the teachers.

Two weeks into term time the ‘serious’ teaching began.  Each day the teachers and students arrived marginally earlier than the previous day.  Fortunately I had immediately diarised my teaching timetable, because the official version has only just been written up, three weeks into term time.  Even now, two months into term time, it is still not on the wall.

I have become much more knowledgeable about strategies to get into the classroom than last year.  Let me explain.  Last year I often found my classes busy with an exercise from another teacher at the timetabled period and got annoyed with the other teachers for using my period for their lessons.  I now know that the best approach is to watch for one of my classes to be unoccupied regardless of whether it is my official time to teach and then pounce. It is not possible to go in straight after another teacher, because they invariably set an exercise for the students to do.  The exercises are written on the blackboard as there are not enough textbooks.  The students do these exercises immediately, not as homework.  As their English writing skills are very poor, they take ages to copy from the board.  As you have by now realised, the timetable might as well not exist. 

The students have many periods when they are sitting in their classrooms unsupervised.  This leads to a lot of noise which disrupts the other classes.  There are many incidents of fighting and bad behaviour as a result.  When this issue was highlighted by Fulaa, teachers were outraged that they should be considered as supervisors as well as teachers.  This has not changed.

The corporal punishment issue has not gone away.  There is no more caning in the staff room and playground, however, class monitors are given canes to beat their fellow students.  At the weekly (farcical) debating session, the teacher uses a cane.  I talked recently to a Korean missionary who worked for many years as headmistress at a school in Uganda.  She found that it took 18 years to achieve a corporal punishment-free school.  Let us hope we can speed up the process here.  I strongly believe that in a country so beset by violence, this is one aspect that could produce change in the next generation to a more peaceful country which thinks of more thoughtful methods of resolving issues.

I have been reading Gordon Brown’s excellent report on Education in South Sudan.  Many of his concerns are evident in this school, for example, teachers with only primary level education, lack of text books, poverty of students leading to absenteeism, over-age students, very large classes, very limited (average 10 hours a week) teaching time.  This is therefore a fairly typical school in this country.  Fulaa tries to change things, but the resistance is huge.  

The visa experience

Since I arrived in South Sudan my passport has been filling up with large visa stamps, all of which have cost me dearly in US dollars.  My initial single entry visa, purchased in London, was the cheapest but only valid for a month. 

After one month I had to make a trip to the border to renew it.  I was hoping to get a longer term visa.  Alas no.  At the border I could also only get a visa for one month.  They told me that for longer term visas I had to go to Juba with a letter confirming that I was working as a long term volunteer at Cornerstone.  When I discussed this with Pastor Samuel over the phone he said that Pastor Juma should go with me as he had contacts in the Ministry which would make it easier to get a long term visa. 

So, as the expiry date for my visa approached, I reminded Pastor Juma.  He agreed and said that I should be the one to write the confirmation letter.  This seemed odd to me, but he was adamant that he had been told this on good authority by friends in the visa office.  Then, on the actual expiry date, he asked one of the teenage boys living at the home to go with me instead.  I ended up paying for the whole outing for both of us.  Tombe was able to get me to the Ministry, but was far too young to be taken seriously there.  It was a very difficult day involving queuing at every room in the Ministry.  The Ministry staff were extremely rude to both of us, him as a child, me as an ‘old woman’ as they called me.  However persistence got me a three month multiple entry visa. 

The visa expired on 6^th February, coinciding with the time for me to visit Uganda to remove my plaster.  I got an entry visa without any hassle as I came back into South Sudan, courtesy of a confirmation letter from Pastor Samuel, who was visiting at the time.  I gave assurances that I would go to Juba the following week to get a long term visa.

The next week, Pastor Abdullah was delegated to take me to Juba to look into getting me a longer term visa and a work permit, which would allow me to stay long term without the visa procedure taking up so much time and money.  Again, I found myself paying for both our meals and transport.  Juba is famous for expensive accommodation.  There is also the ‘situation’ to consider as there have been night-time shootings and lootings happening ever since the December coup attempt in Juba.  Fortunately Abdullah has a brother who lives in a spacious house in the suburbs of Juba, so we were able to stay with his family.  I thought it was a peaceful night until I was asked (next morning) if I’d heard the gun shots.  I am so glad that I am deaf and always sleep on my good ear and also that they didn’t tell me about it till the next day.  It is impossible to know if the gun was fired into the air or into somebody.  Let us hope it was the former. 

During the daytime, Juba shows no sign of its night-time horrors.  Everything is calm.  Everyone goes about their daily business.  The shops are open.  The streets are crowded with shoppers and public transport.  There is plenty of food in the markets.  I commented to Pastor Abdullah about the normality and how everyone kept going.  He told me that most foreigners have left, whether westerners or other Africans, but South Sudan has had conflict for so many years that people do just carry on.

In the morning we went to the Ministry for Internal Affairs to sort out my visa.  Since I had been there last, the place had changed much for the better.  There were no queues.  The staff seemed genuinely pleased that I still wanted to stay in South Sudan.  However, they were no longer able to issue more than one month visas without a work permit.  They were polite but adamant.  I suggested we start the work permit process that same day.  I was told that the application must come from Cornerstone together with their legal documentation.  We were given very detailed instructions on what was entailed to get a work permit so that Pastor Abdullah could put things in motion as soon as we returned to Nimule.

The next week Pastor Abdullah wrote the application letter to the Ministry of Labour. Taking advantage of two days of unexpected public holiday due to state mourning I made the trip back to Juba to get things moving.  Pastor Abdullah was unwilling to go with me, so I made the journey by myself for the first time.  I find it much easier being independent so this was no hardship. 

When I arrived in Juba I went straight to the Ministry of Labour, only to be told that my documentation was incomplete.  The Certificate of Registration from Cornerstone had expired and they also wanted copies of my qualifications. 

I then went to the British Embassy, which was difficult to find as they have moved to the European Union compound along with other European embassies.  I wanted to get additional pages for my passport because of the large number of visas I need.  I met the consul, who told me the bad news that it is no longer possible to get extra pages.  Instead I will need a new passport.  Embassies are no longer able to issue passports, so I will have to send my passport back to the UK for processing.  I asked if it was a good idea to be without my passport in South Sudan.  He agreed it was not a good idea.  I asked how to post it in South Sudan, and he agreed it was difficult although there is a DHL office in Juba.  I pointed out that there isn’t one in Nimule and I pass a checkpoint where I always have to show my passport on the road to Juba.

I had organised overnight accommodation with East Africa Ministries, who I already had contact with as they have recently established a secondary school in Nimule.  Their South Sudan headquarters are a long way out of town but safer for that reason.  No night-time shootings there!  I was made very welcome by the people who live there. EAM is very luxurious compared to my home at Cornerstone, so it felt like a real holiday.  First world features abounded.  WIFI was available.  The gardens have concrete paths to keep out of the dust.  My room had air conditioning and an en suite washroom. We ate a lovely Italian risotto for supper, cooked by the Italian wife of one of the Americans.  In the morning we ate a breakfast of eggs and bacon with American pancakes.  It was great to eat something other than posho and beans and to be able to turn a tap to get water.

The bush

As well as the lovely stay at East Africa Ministries, the other positive thing about travel to Juba is the actual journey.  The journey takes around four hours, on a good tarmacked road.  It is very scenic, passing through a dramatic mountain pass, through the Nimule National Park (I have yet to see any wild animals there), through the bush, which is like an African version of Dartmoor and past numerous small villages of round thatched huts.  The road is usually empty of traffic apart from the occasional lorry, jeep or bus.  I do the journey by minibus.  The minibuses only travel when at full capacity, so we are always crammed together like sardines.  The drivers are careful, particularly when compared with those in Nimule.  However there are many accidents and the remains of vehicles litter the edge of the road. Comfortingly, I have yet to see a minibus among the debris.

The road to Juba

One of the many villages next to the road to Juba

I am working on potential solutions to my passport quandary.  The best bet at the moment seems to be to go to Uganda and stay there for the period when I am passport-less.  This solution is good because Uganda is more stable than South Sudan and therefore safer without a passport.  Also, I am told that the South Sudanese Embassy in Kampala happily produces six month multiple entry visas, which I can take advantage of once my passport is returned.  There is the possibility of staying at an orphanage or mission and making myself useful in return for bed and board.  If I stay at an orphanage it will give me the opportunity to compare and look at ideas to help Cornerstone.  I am looking into this now.

It’s so hot!

In my posts so far I have been most un-British.  There is a complete absence of comment on the weather.  Today I’ll put that right.

View of the home during the rainy season.

When I first arrived it was the rainy season.  During the rainy season it is hot, but not unbearable.  The nights are cool enough to sometimes need a light cover.  Rain is not continuous, just very heavy showers. It came as a surprise to me that it doesn’t rain every day.  It is easy to know when it is about to rain because first there is always a strong wind blowing the clouds towards us.  Minutes later the rain pelts down.  The rain pours off the roof of the home and the younger children rush to shower under the eaves fully dressed.  Their clothes are dry within minutes of the rain stopping.  There are several large water butts at Cornerstone.  When they contain rainwater they are very popular for clothes washing.  Grass grows quickly and everywhere is green.  Mosquitoes are a real hazard in the rainy season.  Malaria is rife.  To balance the negative insects, at night beautiful fire flies hover around the ceiling of my room.

We are fortunate that the children’s home is on a mountainside so the rain drains down towards the town which is on lower ground.  I have been told that people’s mud built homes are frequently destroyed by flood water.  I have also heard that when there is flooding the road on the Uganda side of the border becomes impassable and the views from our compound are of flooded land.  This can create food shortages as most produce comes from Uganda.

View of the mountainside during the dry season.

In December the rain stopped very suddenly.  The grass died very quickly although trees are still beacons of green.  Cattle and goats are noticeably thinner.  I have found that as soon as the dry season started I ceased to suffer from mosquito bites.  It has become progressively hotter.  I find that the plastic seats which are used here are to be avoided because I sweat so profusely that the sweat puddles in the seat, making it look as though I’ve had an ‘accident’. 

One of my fears coming to Nimule was what would happen to the water supply during the dry season.  We are fortunate to have a really good bore hole (a type of water pump) in the compound.  The water is good enough to drink.  The bore hole is fully functioning at all times of year, regardless of rainfall.  This in spite of the fact that it is in constant use every day by the wider community as well as ourselves.

How do I cope?  Bear in mind that there is only limited electricity here and no modern conveniences.  I have to resist the urge to swim in the Nile as it is full of crocodiles and hippos.  I can’t just switch on a fan or air-conditioning.  So I have had to find other ways to cope with the swelteringly hot nights.  Before my arm was in plaster I took to drenching my nightdress before sleeping.  This is no longer possible because the plaster must be kept dry.  Instead I soak my hair and lay my head on a towel.  This is very effective.  It also creates a use for my towel!  Even during the rainy season I developed a strategy of dressing straight after bathing, while still wet, to keep cooler for longer, making my towel redundant.  Whatever the season, applying factor 50 sunblock is a regular routine.  Going out I use either a hat or umbrella for shade.

Today there was a brief shower.  I have been told that it will soon be the rainy season again.  I can’t wait.

A difficult week

As mentioned in my last post, I had an accident to my wrist.  After several days in which it remained swollen and painful, the pastors suggested I get an x-ray done in a local private clinic to check for a fracture.  To my surprise there was an actual fracture.  It was decided that my colleague Christine would take me to a town in Uganda called Gulu which has better facilities than Nimule can offer.  By this stage I had developed a secondary infection in my mouth for which the nurse gave me anti-fungal medication.  I was struggling to eat or drink because of the pain.  In short, I was in a terrible state.

Christine has been a tower of strength, first getting me washed and dressed, which I am finding difficult, more or less force feeding me mashed food, and supporting me through the very difficult journey to Gulu.  She comes from Gulu so she able to mobilise family members to help us there too. 

The road from the Ugandan border to Gulu is a rutted, dusty track, heavily used by lorries going to and from South Sudan. The journey took about four hours.  We were fortunate that Pastor Juma had paid for a private taxi with air-conditioning.  Even so it was agonising as it had poor suspension.  We went direct to the hospital called St Mary’s, locally known as Lachoa.  It is a mission-run hospital which boasts specialist doctors and x-ray equipment, unlike the Nimule counterpart.

After a short wait in A and E a doctor looked at my x-ray and said he could see nothing wrong!  Words can’t describe how I felt.  We went to pay.  The cashier looked at the referral and doctor’s opinion and immediately left her desk to ask the doctor to request a second x-ray.  He agreed so we went to the x-ray department where we were seen immediately.  It turned out that there was a fracture after all, so we were asked to come back the next day to see the orthopaedic surgeon.

Christine called one of her sisters who booked us into a small hotel for the night.  Getting there entailed a bumpy bus ride on more unpaved roads.  We shared a twin bedded room.  I had yet another broken night due to pain.  In the morning we found a currency exchange for me to get some money to pay for the hotel and other expenses.  Then we tried to find something I could eat and finally found a store selling yogurt.  Then we went back to the hospital. 

We saw the orthopaedic surgeon who decided my wrist should be plastered and I should return in six weeks’ time for its removal.  As it was being done I queried the fact that there was no attempt to manipulate the bones back into position (the wrist is askew).  I was told that the breakage is typical of wrist injuries to post-menopausal women.  The hospital lacks the facilities to operate and pin the bone and believes the result would be purely cosmetic anyway.  I was assured that my wrist will be fully functional. 

The ultimate in quiet anonymous hotels

Christine’s sister found us another, cheaper and quieter hotel where I could stay and recuperate ready for the journey back.  During this time Christine worked so hard to find food to build me up.  However my mouth was not improving and I felt very weak.  On the evening before we left Christine’s family invited us to eat.  I was so sorry to be such a bad guest.  They had clearly pulled out all the stops to make a lovely meal which I was completely unable to eat. 

We took a bus back to Nimule on 2^nd January.  Thankfully with my wrist stabilised the journey was less painful.  There was no air-con so we all got the full benefit of the dust.  I was completely yellow by the time we arrived at the border.  Christine hailed a taxi.  When we arrived back at Cornerstone the taxi-driver refused our money.  I must have been a pathetic sight!

Bus back to Nimule

Family leaves for Gulu

I decided to take my American missionary friends up on their long-standing invitation to stay with them, so I could get a bit of help to recover with nutritious, mashed food.  As soon as I arrived Eddie took a photo of my open mouth which he sent to a doctor friend.  I got an immediate diagnosis of a viral infection.  Eddie was told the correct medicine and went straight into town in search of it.  To my amazement he found it. 

I stayed several nights, feeling better each day.  The first night after I arrived, they had a late night phone call telling them about the worsening political crisis and advising them to leave.  They spent most of the night packing.  The poor things not only had me to care for, but their three little children, who are too young to be exposed to the worries of the increasing crisis.  In the end they left for Gulu (with great reluctance but at the insistence of their home church in the US) on Sunday.  Eddie is keeping an eye on the situation and will be back, minus family, after looking at the situation.

I owe that family a huge debt of thanks for their help, first with the correct diagnosis and treatment of my mouth infection.  Then nursing me back to relative health.  Suitable food is an issue at Cornerstone, but after a couple of days shopping and cooking for myself I am now fully recovered, at least orally.  

Cornerstone is planning to evacuate to Uganda in the next few days, but is dependent on agreement of finances from their supporting charity in the US.  My next post may be from Adjumani, a town in Uganda, close to the border going south-westwards.