Trip to the Uganda Martyrs Shrine

Uganda Martyrs Day, 3^rd June, is a public holiday in Uganda.  It is also very important across the African continent.  Even the kindergarten where I am working is called St Kizito’s, the name of the youngest martyr.  Each year many people come on foot from countries such as Rwanda, Berundi and the Democratic Republic of Congo.  Some come from even further afield.

Model showing the method of burning the martyrs to death

The Uganda Martyrs were among the first converts to Christianity in Uganda.  The Kabaka (king) of that time was the son of the Kabaka who had invited the missionaries to come from Europe.  He strongly disapproved of the fact that the new Christians placed God before their service to the Kabaka.  When he found that twenty-two of his own pages had converted he decided to execute them.  The youngest was only fourteen years old.  They were given the option to give up their faith, but they all decided to die for their religion.  These were not the only people to die during that time, but are the ones that had most attention as they were killed en-masse and with plenty of publicity, so there is plenty of documentation.  Extraordinarily there is even a photograph in the Cathedral Museum of all the martyrs together at the time of their religious instruction.

The martyrs were killed in various places around the kingdom and in various gruesome manners, but many were burnt to death at a place called Namugongo (link) on the present-day outskirts of Kampala on 3^rd June 1886.  Namugongo was the traditional execution ground for the Buganda kingdom.  There are two shrines, one Catholic and the other Anglican, about two kilometres apart.  The larger number of martyrs were Anglican, but as Catholics tend to venerate their martyrs more than the Protestant churches, the Catholic shrine is the larger one.  I am glad to say that both denominations celebrate all the martyrs regardless.

Very early in the morning I went with Prisca, a member of the Grail community, to Namugongo to attend Mass there.  The minibus dropped us at some distance from the shrine.  The crowds were vast but (at first) well organised so that we gradually made progress towards the shrine.  It took over three hours to walk about half a mile.  As we got towards the entrance the crowd became frighteningly dense so that we were packed together so tightly that we had trouble breathing.  There was a small girl in front of me with her mother.  Due to the sudden crush, her mother had no warning to pick her up.  She was stuck among a sea of legs and was crying with fear.  Thankfully her mother managed to pick her up, but she could easily have died.  We later heard that there had been more than one million people.  Two people died in the crush, trampled underfoot.

 

When we were close to the gates, security guards spotted my white face among so many Africans and plucked us both out and through a security gate, so we were more fortunate than most.  Many of the crowd outside were unable to come in at all due to lack of space.  

The actual spot where the martyrs were killed is beneath the altar inside the basilica, which only holds 1,000 people and was therefore closed.  Mass was conducted from an island in a small artificial lake at the bottom of the hill.  Once inside we saw a sea of people sitting and standing on the hillsides surrounding the lake.  We were lucky to find a small shady spot where we could sit, but we were too far away to hear much of the Mass.  As a result it was more of a tourist experience than a religious one.

At the end of Mass Prisca was keen to go down to the altar at the lake-side.  It took a very long time before it was possible to do so due to the crowds making their way out.  When we eventually moved forward, we caught the end of a speech.  It turned out to be the President of Uganda, Museveni, speaking about the desirability of pan-African unity and the importance of religion in achieving that unity.  It was a good speech, but given the situation between Muslims and Christians in so many African countries, not very convincing.  It was still impossible to get near to the altar, so Prisca and I sat down and ate our picnic before leaving.  My bean and tomato sandwiches had been reduced to a pulp in the crowds and greatly resembled ‘bush’ (an unappetising hash of bread, beans and salad eaten in Sudan).

On the way back on the mini-bus I discovered that my purse was missing.  It is possible it was stolen but more likely it had fallen out of my bag at some point.  Fortunately most of my money was in my room at the Grail, and as credit cards are barely used in Uganda I didn’t have one with me.

I decided that I would go back to Namugongo by myself the next day to experience the place without the crowds and also see if my purse had been handed in.  I found my way back easily and was pointed towards a police post.  The police had large sacks of very pathetic belongings which had been stolen but retrieved by the police.  They made a report on my missing purse and its contents and took my phone number.

Then I noticed a guide taking a small group around the shrine so I rushed to join them.  Unlike the day before, we were able to go into the basilica and saw the actual site of the martyrdom.  The guide told us about the huge impact of the martyrdoms on the spread of Christianity in Uganda.  The Uganda Martyrs went to their deaths with such calm conviction that it made a deep impression on all witnesses.  Even the Kabaka and the chief executioner were filled with remorse and converted.  We walked down to the artificial lake.  This was originally a swamp where the executioners and torturers ritually washed after executions to absolve themselves from blood-guilt.

At the Anglican shrine

After the tour, I talked to a British woman and her Ugandan friend who had also been looking at the site.  It turned out that she is a member of the British Council, in Uganda to promote e-learning and also to support a charity which wants to stop local tribes losing their languages and cultures.  Her friend is the headteacher of a very prestigious local secondary school.  I told them about the standards of teaching and lack of resources in Nimule.  They are both keen to help and we exchanged contact details.  I think that the loss of my purse was an act of God to ensure that I would meet these very useful contacts.

I stand in front of the tree where the martyrs were tortured at the Anglican shrine.

Afterwards they invited me to go with them by car to visit the Anglican shrine.  As mentioned earlier the Anglican shrine is much lower-key, but still very interesting.  There are full scale models representing the events of the martyrdom.  Somewhat foolishly, they are in the process of major building works in the shrine itself which made it hard to access.  A very bad piece of timing.

A small slice of the First World.

Before dropping me off at a mini-bus stand, my new friends took me to see the Mandela Stadium, a huge stadium which is used for national sporting events.  It was built in 1999 in time for the Millenium.  

All in all, it was a very interesting and useful two days.  Never have I experienced such crowds, even for the Papal Mass when I was in Singapore in 1986.  I hope not to have that particular experience again!  Given that the attendance on Ugandan Martyrs Day gets bigger each year, I think I will not go to Namugongo on the 3^rd June again.

At the Grail

I have moved from Pastor Paul’s house to the Grail, very close to the Lubaga (also called Rubaga) Cathedral.  The convent is surrounded by lovely gardens with fruit trees such as banana and pawpaw.  When I asked if I could stay I was warned that I might find their accommodation too uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable?  I have a lovely room looking out on a lush hillside garden.  I have my own toilet and shower right next door to my room.  The meals are basic by European standards, but luxurious by South Sudanese.  There is delicious fruit to accompany every meal.  The Grail community is very welcoming and congenial.  I am free to come and go as I please.  What more could I ask for?

I asked to be allowed to work while staying with them.  They suggested that I could help in the kindergarten in the Lubaga Hospital grounds, which is run by the Grail.  Each morning I take a 5 minute walk to assist in the kindergarten.  The kindergarten is a world away from the nursery and school in Nimule.  There are around 70 children.  Although the area is small, it has been well planned so that there is an outdoor area with play equipment and a proper indoor classroom with displays on the walls.  There are seats for all the children.  As at Cornerstone, the children practise drawing and writing on slates to avoid wasting precious paper.

Although the child/teacher ratio would not meet western requirements the teachers cope very well.  The children get individual teacher time to practise writing numbers and letters in exercise books.  I am helping with this task each morning.  I had forgotten how difficult it is for small children to hold a pencil and form letters correctly.  It is very time-consuming work.  While the individual sessions are going on the other children have free play; otherwise it would be impossible with so many children.  

Apart from helping with the individual writing sessions I have also introduced some counting songs.  ‘Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed’ is a hit.

The kindergarten is divided into three classes.  I have been amazed by the level of English in the top class’s English lesson.  The teachers are clearly very well trained.  There is lots of repetition to help the children absorb new concepts.  Towards the end of each morning some of the younger children start to collapse and are put on mattresses to sleep.

On my first day, the Grail sister who introduced me was embraced around the knees by a very tearful two year old girl.  The child’s mother died during the holidays and this was only her second day back at school.  She is a very pitiful sight, very solitary and unsmiling.  At her young age she has no understanding of death and keeps asking for her mother.  She is clearly feeling very fragile.  Every small thing is enough to set her weeping.  Her father is a doctor in the hospital.  He works long hours, so each day she is looked after by kindly staff and Grail sisters until her father has finished work.  The little girl often shares our supper at the Grail.  

Late last week she smiled at me for the first time.  It was like seeing a glimmer of sunlight through very dark clouds.  Then the poor little thing fell down and hurt her arm and was in the depths of despair for the rest of the day.  

The next day I found her lying on a mattress weeping.  I picked her up and sat her on my lap, rocking and singing to her.  She calmed down and snuggled into me for a large part of the morning.  I noticed that she was scratching at her arm, which had a bandage on it from the previous day’s accident.  (The bandage was only put on as a placebo.)  When I unwrapped the bandage I saw a large insect bite.  I nipped back to the Grail to get my tea tree lotion which I use for my own insect bites and find very effective to relieve itching.  A short while after putting the tea tree lotion on she suddenly perked up and joined the other children who were playing outside.  Two slightly older girls adopted her.  Today (Monday) she seems to be completely her own self, playing with the other children and not needing adult attention. What a relief it was to see her  getting back to normal at such a fast rate.  I

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.