A storm gathers over Port Bell

Much as I spent obscene amounts of time attending meetings and superintending operations, I had an excellent time in Kampala. Uganda is a lovely country and I have the photos to prove it. The hot humidity is irritating, but I’m told you get used to it.

So finally the time to depart came. I’ve never actually held a million shillings in cash in my life, but after settling my hotel bill I can cross that item from my things-to-do-in-this-lifetime list. I checked out of the hotel, attended my last meeting and was driven to Entebbe.

A few minutes after boarding the plane left me in no doubt that in my previous life I must have been Adolf Hitler or Joseph Goebbels, and my Karma was coming around. I got to the airport later than I’d have liked and got neither a window seat nor an aisle seat.

The gentleman who got the window seat proved to be as unpopular as his first impression suggested. He was a large fellow, bald and sweating, and filled most of his seat and spilled into some of mine. Huffing and puffing he settled down and composed himself for slumber.

Aha! He’s going to sleep! I can get some photos of the sky for my nephews and godsons.

M: Excuse me
Shmuck: (Opening one eye) Yes?
M: Would you mind trading seats for a bit? I’d like to take a couple of photos
Schmuck: (Suddenly opening eyes and looking awake) Ah ha ha, actually I was planning on doing some sight seeing myself.
M: Oookay. Then would you mind reclining your seat a bit so I can take a few photos?
Schmuck: Ah ha ha, ordinarily I would but its bad for my back. I hope you understand
M: Right.

Enter a large lady with five or six carry on bags and one paper bug that looks suspiciously like it was full of live chicken. Huffing and puffing she shuffles along looking in the overhead compartments for space. I’m not the least bit surprised when she stuffs everything and lowers her considerably bulk in the seat next to me, filling her own seat and spilling over into mine. I had a good mind to summon a stewardess and get a quarter of my fare back, since it was being used by other people.

She turned to me, treated me to a vision of yellow teeth and left me in no doubt that my flight was not going to be a peaceful one.

Hello! My name is Mukami. Have you flown before? This is my first flight.

That information I digested later. But the most pressing issue at first was her breath. I’ve never actually had a blowtorch in my face, but I have an idea of what it feels like. I debated internally whether or not to find out if my oxygen mask works but decided that it would cause more problems that it would solve.

M: (Desperately) Oh really? Well, I hope you have a pleasant journey (Settles back in seat and gives every impression of preparing to go to sleep).
W: I’ve been visiting my big sister in Uganda
M: (Eyes watering from the breath) That’s great, just great (Faking a yawn)

At this point that safety movie begun playing, and when it got to the point about mobile phones, Schmuck on my left took it as a cue to pull out his phone and make a series of calls.

Mukami on the other hand is anxious to impart information on her and her family tree to me. I hear more about her son in Spain than I would like to. My reluctance to know what her daughters are doing in Nakuru passes her by completely. My disinterest in her husbands farming does not penetrate her veneer of enthusiasm. All this time I’m suffering from a chronic lack of oxygen. That breath would be a hit if it were bottled and sold as paint remover.

The climax of everything came as we were just over Kisumu and the flight assistant’s voice came over the speakers. It is seldom a good thing to hear from the front in the middle of a flight so sharp breaths were drawn. The gist of her statement was:

“Ladies and gentlemen, weather forecasts indicate that there may a bit of rain shortly and some turbulence”

Mukami’s torrent of speech died to an ebb.

“Turbulence?” She asked.

No sooner had this left her lips that the plane began to shake quite alarmingly, in a manner to suggest it was only a matter of time before the wings broke off. That plane shook as if it was Mwai Kibaki being shaken by the First Lady for leaving the toilet seat up. Schmuck on my left suddenly developed Chris Murungaru syndrome and begun to sweat copiously.

Then quite suddenly the plane suddenly dropped, as it lost attitude quicker than NARC spends taxpayer’s money. It felt like it had drooped 40,000 feet. We were expecting to feel solid earth beneath us in a matter of seconds.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it was not the kind of thing I would want to experience a second time. Something I suspected to be my heart crashed into the back of my teeth and then dropped back to its usual residence. I felt like Tom and the Coyote do when they run off a cliff then their body falls while their heads hang in mid air for an agonizingly long time before obeying gravity.

Which was nothing compared to my two travel mates. Quicker than Njeru Ndwiga on a tax waiver, twenty fingers dug into my arms (ten on each side). Mukami wailed to her God and Schmuck’s vocabulary came forth in a torrent of four letter words.

Saint Peter, as God’s official handler of the Heavenly switchboard must have been overwhelmed by the sudden flurry of communication from that flight.

Fortunately that bit of turbulence was the only one, and Mukami had some revelation about the Desiderata, especially the bits about going placidly and the value of silence. Not one word escaped her lips.

The relief when that plane hit the ground — er touched down — at JKIA was almost palpable. The ridiculous slow queues at the immigration section of the airport left me in no doubt that I was at home.

MUSICAL CHAIRS

Aaron Ringera, Anti-Corruption Chief: It is very difficult to pin documentary evidence on cabinet ministers because they don’t sign documents

David Mwiraria, Finance Minister: Yes. I signed the documents.

Seal – Love Divine

When it comes to never missing an opportunity to miss an opportunity, Mwai Kibaki is impossible to top. This man makes deliberate efforts to miss opportunities whenever once arises.

I left Uganda on Friday afternoon, and the entire morning was in a meeting, so I never got to watch Pope John Paul IIs funeral. However I watched the odd clips once I got home, and my amazement grew by the scene.

George Bush and his wife were there. Bill Clinton was there. Tony Blair and his wife were there. Prince Charles was there.

But no Mwai Kibaki.

Jacques Chirac and his wife were there. Koffi Anan was there.

But no Mwai Kibaki.

Olesegun Obasanjo was there. Robert Mugabe was there.

But no Mwai Kibaki.

The President of Israel was there. The President of Syria was there.

But no Mwai Kibaki.

The Orthodox Church was represented. The Protestant Church was represented. The Muslims were represented.

Kings, queens, princes, princesses, heads of state, prime ministers, all the way down to the ordinary man and woman were there.

But no Mwai Kibaki.

I asked around. Perhaps he got there late and was steated on a fence at the back? No cigar. Mwai Kibaki remained in Kenya.

What for? I asked. Some crisis? Illness in the family? Crucial meeting?

Nope. He just stuck around.

All right, then who did we send? Moody Awori?

Actually no, Moody stuck around too.

At this point I was flabbergasted. Then who, cried I, did we send?

Ali Mwakwere and Musikari Kombo, I was told.

I didnt know whether to laugh or cry as I tried to marshal my thoughts.

Mwai Kibaki had every reason to attend that funeral
- He is a Catholic
- Kenya has a sizable Catholic community
- The Pope contributed enormously to the wellbeing and development of the world
- The Pope was also a head of state
- It was an opportunity to show Kenyas solidarity with the mourning Catholics around the world
- It would cost him nothing and benefit him greatly
-There was nothing of substance to keep him behind

But he did not. Neither did he send his Vice President.

So every leader there who had the misfortune to meet Ali Mwakere came away with the impression that we are a most unfortunate country governed by a rather lazy leadership who’d rather sleep in than show solidarity with a grieving community of billions.

Like I said, I did not watch the funeral but I know for a fact that the last thing I want to see is Ali Mwakwere’s goofy face smiling his goofy smile at the camera, purportedly representing me. It just says this government simply does not take itself or its foreign affairs policies seriously. Sending a man who freed hosteges on the strength of a SMS from a 0722 number, and his latest coup of declaring a band of jungle warriors ‘innocent boys’ speaks volumes of the sending authority.

Mwai Kibaki has yet again statched defeat from the jaws of victory.

Ushindwe wewe!!

Nas – Get Down

It is refreshing to be away from loud mouthed sweating buffoons, fence sitting amnesiacs, selectively un-waivering little men, arrogant foot and mouth sufferers and hopelessly inept local chapters of the Mafiosi.

By and large this country is a beautiful country. There’s something to be said about having a capital city festooned with lush greenery, surrounded by hills and crowing it off with a beach and a courtside seat view of Lake Victoria wind rippled surface.

Some of the observations I’ve made about this country however, make me unsure of whether to be amused or annoyed..
- When you’re in some establishments, like my hotel, try not to be black. Otherwise waiters will ignore you by default and when you forcefully grab one and make an order, you will be required to pay in advance
- At the establishment where I’m rolling out some new infrastructure, there are expatriates for pretty much everything. And I do mean everything. There is as much sense in this as there is singing talent in Jennifer Lopez. I refuse for one second to believe that there are no Ugandans that can do some of those jobs. The costs of all these expats are close to astronomical
- Some of said expats tried (and failed) to hide their amazement upon meeting you, and realizing that what you’re there to do is not to bring them tea, drive them around or sweep. (Note to said expats: don’t bother with those plastic smiles. They don’t fool anyone)

AOB
My dad came over in the same flight as myself. We discovered this unexpected coincidence the night before we both left Nairobi. Sat in the same row too, but with a very morose and very bitter gentleman between us.

He’s working as a consultant for some construction work at one of, if not, Uganda’s biggest hotels. Went to visit the patriarch this morning and he showed me around the place, and what he’s up to.

Fact: Sewerage pipes pass just under the ceiling of the main kitchen, and have been doing so for the lifetime of the hotel. That’s right, food from the kitchen at that establishment sooner or later passes by the very same room en route to other destinations. No, they were not leaking and they looked sealed and all, but I do not see myself partaking of a meal at that establishment for love or for money. Pops’ amused comment of a leak contributing to an altogether different flavour to the fine cuisine sealed the fate of that establishment.

Managed to secure a camera (but no batteries). Hopefully this will be sorted tomorrow

QUOTE OF THE DAY
“We want the Karamojong to stop walking naked. We want them to go to school”

Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni, commenting on a particularly rebellious Ugandan community

I’ve received a lot of correspondence from those who know me well wondering if I am alive, seeing that April Fool’s day passed without me doing something suitable for the occasion. It is an opportunity I almost never pass up, and (toot toot) generally rise to the occasion.

So my silence was met with amazement and concern.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I am very much alive and in excellent health, enjoying the sunny disposition of the Ugandan climate. I’m doing my thing from an office with a lovely view of Lake Victoria and Port Bell. Murphy has been unusually good to me and things are working excellently.

The pilot managed to hit the airstrip on the first attempt and I went straight to site (luggage and all).

The overzealous nonsense so prevalent in Kenya of confiscating identification documents so as to allow you entry seems to have been picked up there. I was forced to surrender by passport and imagine the unChrisitan language I had to choke back when on being driven out, the reception had merrily locked my passport in and gone home for the day.

Convincing hotels, at least those of any repute, to allow you to register without identification documents of any kind is an experience I highly recommend for those willing to prove they can talk themselves out of trouble. After a careful cocktail of honey and threats, they let me in.

As rooms go, it’s not too bad. After establishing the most crucual aspect (in Uganda – ice cold air conditioning), and then lesser things like the presence of a bed) i was satisfied. It even has a little living room and those nice cane seats. The flowers, i discovered after a night, are fake. The person who was there before gratefully locked the safe and went off with the combination so I have to look for a manager to unlock the thing. I hope the previous occupant did not leave a grenade or something in there, or i shall have some explaining to do!

I’m also realizing just how much i inject Kiswahili, Sheng and bits and pieces of other languages in my off the cuff conversation. However i’m making a conscious efforts and the blank looks and ‘excuse me?’s when i drop a stinging ‘fokojembe’ and ‘bollocks’ seem to be reducuing.

AOB
I was very amused at the forex bureau when i gave the good lady behind the counter a smile and 10,000 Kenyan shillings and she gave me back an even bigger one and 226,000 Ugandan shillings. The currency here takes some getting used to – a soda is 500 bob. A litre of super is 1,770 bob

Haydn – Symphony No.46 in B