Street Meat

My pineapple man in Namwongo.

Visiting the travel doctor before leaving for a foreign country can be an unnerving experience. At the top of my doctor’s list of “things not to do” was eating food on the side of the road. Back home, this didn’t seem like it would be a challenge. I’ve never been one for hot dogs sold on the sidewalks of Toronto. 

In Uganda, my regular food consumption standards don’t apply. The food sold on the side of the road is abundant. Turns out its also delicious, although it took me a couple of weeks to catch on to this.

I spent my first week politely avoiding food that I didn’t recognize. As a result, I ate a lot of fruit, bread and Wheatabix. Not a bad combination, but one can only go so long without vegetables or protein. In time, I discovered some restaurants that catered to ex-pats and began to eat grilled tilapia, sandwiches and salads. But these cafes were expensive. At 15,000shs ($8) per meal, I knew I was being gouged. 

I gradually began my descent into a full-blown Ugandan diet at the Monitor, where they serve a midday buffet. For 1,000 shs ($0.60), the lunch was a steal. Especially when you consider the amount of food piled onto the plate. The four servings of starch, two servings of protein and one serving of vegetables (two if you’re lucky) form a heap on the dish. There is always matooke (steamed savory bananas that look like yellow mashed potatoes), rice, posho (maize flour mixed with water and steamed, very little flavor). For protein, beans are a must and often chicken, fish or beef is stewed and served alongside. On special days they serve cow intestines. I have still not mustered the courage to try them. These are too appropriately dubbed offals, pronounced 'awfuls.' Then for vegetables there is green beans or mini-eggplants that look just like the ones back home but have a slight bitter taste.

The meal is cheap, but not the tastiest. Either way, it was enough to carry me though the day and avoid spending money on dinner. That is, until I finally embraced the street food. Hands down, it is the best tasting and the cheapest grub in the city. I am fortunate enough to live in Ntinda neighbourhood, where vendors line the streets to sell dinner to people on their way home from work. Since moving into the area in July, I have come to love my Ntinda menu. Here’s a sampling:

Specials of the Day

Gonja………………………………………………………………………400 shs ($0.30)

Grilled plantain bananas. Served warm – choose crispy or mushy.

Kasooli.…………………………………………………………………....300 shs ($0.20)

Grilled maize. Looks like corn on the cob, but less sweet and heartier. When cooked to a crisp, tastes just like popcorn kernels.

Grilled chicken…………………………………………………………..2,000 shs ($1.20)

Breast or leg. Grilled to perfection.

Liver skewers........................................................................I think they’re 500 shs ($0.30)  

I’ve never been one for liver so I’ve not tried these grilled sticks of meat. Ugandans love them.

Grilled goats meat………………………………………500 – 1,000 shs ($0.30 - $0.60)

Goat is big here. They roam around in residential areas and are on almost every menu. The meat is tender and fatty. 

Samosas…………………………………………………………..Two for 500 shs ($0.30)

Veggie or beef. Wrapped in newspaper and eaten on the go. The best I’ve ever tasted in my life.

Chapati……………………………………………………………………..200 shs ($0.12)

A Ugandan staple. Like a tortilla, but more delicious. Fried in oil and used to slop up beans or meat stews. Also good plain.

Rolex……………………………………………………………………….400 shs ($0.30)

An egg fried in a rolled chapatti and served hot. Delicious.

Popcorn…………………………………………………...500 – 1,000 shs ($0.30 - $0.60)

Freshly popped and sprinkled with salt. Surprisingly filling.

Roasted g-nuts

We call them peanuts back home. Call them whatever you want, they’re wonderful.

Fresh fruit, sliced………………………………......………300 – 500 shs ($0.20 - $0.30)

My favorite. Pineapple, watermelon, mango or papaya. The fruit here will blow your socks off.

Bon appetit!

 

 

The giveaway.

The bashful bride (in pink silk)

Traditionally, African weddings happen in two parts: first the giveaway and then the church wedding. I had the pleasure of attending a giveaway ceremony, where the dowry is negotiated and the bride is handed over to the groom’s family.

First on the agenda is mass, which is observed by the bride’s family before the groom arrives. Because Uganda is a deeply religious society, the service is taken very seriously. It was a mix of scripture reading and song. The song and dance is what appealed to me most. The elders and the aunties hop around and sing feverishly. The younger attendees and myself—the sole muzungu guest—joined in as well, but with a little less enthusiasm. I wasn’t feeling too spiritual.

Dancing aunties

After about an hour and a half of worship, the groom arrived with his entourage. The bride was tucked away in her room with her cousins and aunties. One person from the groom’s party has to converse with the bride’s uncle. The dialogue is semi-scripted and quite humorous, which I gathered from the crowd’s laughter. Unfortunately most of it wasn't in English, but rather in the bride’s local dialect. My friend did her best to translate for me, and this is what I picked up:

Bride’s uncle: Hello ssebo (sir). What have you come here for today?

Groom’s spokesman: Thank you for welcoming me into your home. We have come here today because there is something in the house that we have our eye on. But first, let me offer you some gifts.

Members of the grooms party shuffle in with a dozen cases of sodas and beers.

Bride’s uncle: What is it that you’ve come here for?

Groom’s spokesman: We have an eye on one of your women

Bride’s uncle: You want to take our women!?

(Laughter)

Groom’s spokesman: Not all of them, just one of them.

Bride’s uncle: Well, if its one of our women that you’re after you will have to talk to the aunties in he family.

Here, the music starts up and the aunties come out of the house. They dance toward the centre of the garden and sit on mats on the ground.

The bride's cousins

Groom’s spokesman: Hello madams. We have come here today in search of one of your women.

Auntie: Which woman? What language does he speak.

Groom’s spokesman: uhh….

He doesn’t know the bride’s dialect, so the MC steps in and offers to help, but for a fee of course. Spokesman hands over an envelope of cash. Eventually, the spokesman gets the answer right.

After the exchange with the aunties, the young women emerge from the house. Among them is the bride, whose head is covered with the scarf. The spokesman identifies that one of these women is in fact who they came for. Then, the bride rises and moves toward her husband, head still covered. She pins a broach on his jacket to identify him. Applause erupts from the crowd.

Take your pick: the bride chooses her man.

That’s all I could really gather from the back and forth between the groom’s party and the bride’s family. After this, the uncle and several men from the groom’s crowd go inside to negotiate the brideprice. Traditionally, goats and cows are exchanged. But today, people in the city have little use for such gifts so instead cash is given along with furniture and, in wealthier families, cars.

After the dowry is agreed upon, a ribbon is cut which the man’s family has to walk through. This signifies that they have been welcomed into the clan. This is followed by mealtime. Because they are not officially in-laws yet, the man’s party is not permitted to dine with the bride’s family. So the groom eats outside and the bride’s family remains outdoors.

After the meal, it’s time for speeches. I only stuck around for one, since I had already been sitting for eight hours and had to leave. I heard the brother’s kind words to his sister:

“Sister, now you are leaving our house to be with your husband. I hope you know that you cannot return once you have left. You now belong to your husband’s home. This means you obey him and respect his rules. A relationship between man and wife is not completely equal, it’s not 50/50. He holds about 51% of the power, keep this in mind. But husband, this does not mean you can treat her disrespectfully. If she comes running back to us, it better be for a good reason and you should know we will always be here to defend her.”

The crowd was laughing as he spoke, so I could not tell whether he was joking or not. At any rate, it was a fun experience for a clueless muzungu.

Source of the Nile

Sunset on the Nile. 

Every mzungu that come to Uganda has to see Jinja, the source of the Nile River. Yes, it’s cliché and yes, there are a million tourists around. But it really is amazing.

I snuck out of the office on a busy Thursday afternoon to meet my friend downtown to catch the bus. We spent a bumpy two hours passing small towns and snaking though Uganda’s countryside, dense with trees and spotted with people transporting bananas, eggs and other parcels on their heads and bicycles. We got hungry and bought grilled chicken and roasted gonjas (plantains) from vendors who stretch their arms through the bus' windows pushing their goods on you.

Our adventure really began when the bus reached a gas station somewhere outside of Jinja town. We had no idea where we were so we hopped on a boda who ensured us he knew where our resort was. In fact, he did not know where we were going. So he dropped us at the closest town and of course he still pocketed our 20,000 shs ($12) after driving for 30 minutes in the wrong direction. We ditched him and boarded a second boda who told us he could take us to our hotel in an hour or an hour and a half.

After a shaky 30 minutes on the road, our bike broke down. We stopped in Namagera to repair it and we were immediately surrounded by young kids screaming “mzungu!” As we said our hellos we noticed a crowd of about 80 people gathered across the street and went over to check it out.

In the centre of the group was a clown (a man in a choppy black wig) who was spinning a bicycle wheel on his head and in his behind as the crowd cheered him on. It was quite the spectacle. Aside form the kids gathered around us, most people in the small town were there to see him perform. I asked the kids who couldn’t peel their off the mzungus why they weren’t watching the show. “We are the show,” my friend remarked.

With a new spark plug, our bike and boda driver were as good as new and we headed off. It was the perfect hour to ride through the countryside. The sun was setting and there were no cars around. Scores of uniformed kids heading home lined the road. Our thin red dirt path was bordered by maize plants, avocado and banana trees, and upside down-looking trees. Every so often we’d spot a hut buried in the bushes and little kids would run to the road to see the attraction motor by.

We reached the end of the ride, where we boarded the first of two boats to our resort. I was covered in red sand from head to toe. The dirt was caked onto my face, beneath my toenails and fingernails and in every crevice of my clothing. I quickly forgot about this once we got onto the water. There were no rapids near so the water was completely still. In the setting sun it looked like molten metal. I reminded myself I was at the source of the Nile and got shivers. I couldn’t help but imagine what I’d be doing if I stayed in Toronto this summer.

Boat ride to the resort

The next day it poured rain (I’ve never seen rain pound so hard). It was the perfect excuse to lounge in the hammock and read all day. We took it easy because the next day was going to be exhausting. We were waking at 7 to go rafting on the Nile.

I woke up feeling okay, but an hour into our drive we had to pull over. I was green in the face on the side of the road (and those of you who know me can attest to the fact that I am very rarely sick to my stomach). Not a good way to start an eight-hour long day of rafting. It didn’t look like I was going to make it, but with a bit of time and about four slices of white bread I was on top of my game. By 11 am I was on the water.

There is no way to describe the experience. First, you hear the rapids as you approach. Then suddenly, you see a wall of fast-moving water rushing at you at an alarming pace. Then, suddenly you’re in the water stuck under the boat. Then, suddenly you’re above water and you realized you’ve swallowed about a gallon of river water (hello, bilharzia).

No major injuries except for a killer sunburn, aching arms and a split lip from smacking into a guy’s helmet when we rushed down a four meter waterfall.  

So yes, it’s terribly cliché. But it’s also impossibly beautiful and fun. Overlooking the rapids from a cliff as the sun set at the end of the day easily made up for the busted lip, the burnt legs and pulled muscles.

Pressed trousers and starched collars.

I caught this young fellow on his way to school in my neighbourhood. 

It’s quite possible that I am the worst dressed person in Kampala. People in this city know how to dress. And it’s not just professionals. It’s the merchants, the boda drivers, the students, and just about everybody else. Even beggars wear trousers, dirty ones, but trousers nonetheless.

Walking into the newsroom at the Monitor makes me feel like a pauper. I don’t iron my pants and all my shirts are soiled with the red dirt that covers this city. Back home, journalists are not known for their fashion sense, but the ones in Kampala would fit right in on Bay Street.

The temperature hits 30 C every day, and the sun is almost always shining. But the men still wear blazers, shirts and ties. It’s not uncommon to see women in skirts to their knees and long sleeves. Sweater vests are also popular among men and women alike. 

In Kampala, flip-flops are meant to be worn in the house. It’s generally a sign of poverty if they’re worn in public. Well don’t I feel stupid; I only brought open-toed shoes. Sometimes people catch a glance of my exposed feet and look at me like I’m a leper. A 7-year old boy caught sight of them at a party recently and couldn’t wipe the expression of contempt of his face.

Most students are very smartly dressed. School uniforms are taken very seriously here. One young woman confessed to me that she applied to a particular secondary school because they had a cute uniform. Pressed dress pants for the men and A-line skirts for the girls. Both wear crisp collared shirts and V-neck sweaters. At about 5 p.m. every night, kids of all ages leave school and flood the streets of Kampala (the little ones are adorable in their formal attire, of course). It’s a fashion feast for a poorly-dressed muzungu’s eyes.

From point A to B.

Driving a car in Kampala can be hell. So people in the city have to find other ways of transporting goods. Bodaboda are popular options, and you’d be amazed at what people can pack on these little motorbikes. I recently saw one carrying about 60 pairs of shoes. He had tied each individual shoe to the bike to create a bouquet of construction boots, dress shoes, sandals and runners.

Transporting furniture on the bodas is also popular. Yesterday I saw a young man load up a coffin-sized closet stuffed with a garbage bag of goods. It was enormous. Two of me could have easily fit into it. The driver didn’t look the fazed, though, as he skillfully maneuvered through Kampala traffic.

Bicycles are often loaded up too. They get so weighed down sometimes that they cannot be ridden. Instead men sluggishly push the bikes along the road, advancing at snail’s pace. This man was struggling in the morning heat to push his bike up a hill.

A bicycle bursting with shoes

The most common things you see on the back of the bikes are loads of charcoal (about two garbage bags worth), dozens of empty water jugs, huge bushels of plantains and raw sugar cane. If you’ve ever seen sugar cane raw you’ll know it’s about five feet long. They stretch horizontally on the back on the bodas or the bicycles and ride around the city selling cuts of cane to chew on. If you get stuck behind one of these guys, they are really tough to pass because the sugar cane is so long.

"Please let me pass, ssebo (sir)!"

Sometimes the things being transported on the boda or the bicycles aren’t particularly large—just odd. Other items I’ve witnessed include a windshield, brooms, about 30 plastic baskets, over 100 eggs, 20 or so wooden stools.

Up-country.

Mechanic's shop in Zigot. Needless to say, he didn't have the part we needed.

I met some guys from an American NGO who invited me to drive up-country with them. They were visiting schools in rural districts to pay school fees for kids they sponsored. Without hesitation, I agreed. I really wanted to see what life was like outside of Kampala.

We sped along the red dirt roads passing and vegetable stands every couple of minutes. Jackfruit, mangoes, tomatoes, green bananas, papayas, green beans and cassava lined the stalls. The colors were bursting. We stopped at one stall to take photos and a young man shouted something at me in Lugandan, prompting the girls at the stall to burst out laughing. The Ugandan I was with translated for me. "Muzungu, have you brought me some bread?" he was playfully shouting at me.

About an hour into our journey, our ancient Toyota van slowed to a pathetic crawl and we had to stop to check her out. Zigot was the closest village, and fortunately there was a working mechanic in town (see picture). Unfortunately, he didn’t have a spare compressor belt to replace our dead one.

So we puttered along at about 10 k/hour to the next city, Mityana. I spent two hours touring the city (essentially a series of little shops), chatting to the owner of the local bookshop and politely avoiding the fried meat that was being served for lunch. I considered ordering the "Sand Witches" from the menu, but decided against it in the end.

After ol’ Toyota was brought back to life we hit the road again and in about an hour we reached Kassanda, where we visited Nkoba primary school. The kids were out in hoards. They don’t often see white people, so they gather around you in a state of shock and confusion. They loved having their photo taken and got a real kick looking at the image on the screen. That occupied almost a full hour of my time at the school.

We stopped next at a secondary school, where I found two little boys hanging around the entrance. They were the children of a staff member, I was told. “Muzungu!” they screamed when they were nearly blinded by the sight of my pasty-white skin. I happened to have two toy racecars in my pocket, which I handed over to them. They screamed with excitement and we raced the cars around on the red dirt roads for a while before I was dragged away by our driver. Back to Kampala, he told me.

Grasshoppers for sale.

In the mood to have your weight read?

Kampala is a mobile shopping mall. Everywhere you go in this city, you encounter someone selling a newspaper, airtime for your mobile, cellphone chargers or sugar cane to gnaw on as you patiently wait for another jam to clear. Many young men slink through unmoving traffic showcasing their goods. Others, usually women, will sit on the side of the road with their goods laid out on a sheet for display. Their mats are packed with shoes, loose candies, magazines, key chains, toys, jewellery and cigarettes.

Every once and a while, you see something for sale that catches your eye. Grasshoppers, for instance. For the first couple of days in the city I couldn’t figure out what men on the streets were peddling in large Tupperware containers. Then a friend told me.

“Oh, grasshoppers,” I responded, pretending to know why someone would want to buy a handful of grasshoppers on the side of the road. Apparently, they make for a delicious snack when fried.

If you’ve eaten too many grasshoppers and you’re worried about getting fat, you can always stop to have your weight read. On the streets of downtown Kampala, you'll find a young boy who sits patiently with his portable scale, beckoning passers-by to step on. He sits unnoticed, baking in the sun as the crowds speed past him.

You want ‘em? I got ‘em! Other items for sale on the streets of Kampala:

- Inflatable Teletubbies dolls

- Manicure on the go (sit on the side of the road and have your toes done for $5!)

- Kenyan pears

- Plastic rattle for infant

- Single pair of pink suede shoes

- Dry-erase placemat

- Meat on a stick. Any meat will do

- Grilled corn on the cob

- Sliced pineapple