And Now For Something Serious

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/7514966.stm

 

Two ACF humanitarian staff were abducted from their compound last night in central Afghanistan.

Alghough I believe and hope that the days of murdering foreigners are behind us and this is just another attempt to ransom foreigners, I hope they will be freed unharmed and in short order.

The first thing I thought about when I heard was that I am truly glad my mother is on some ridiculous island in Greece (the patrika edafi) happily engaged in whatever it is islanders do when they are not complaining about the lack of CT scans or neurosurgical theaters in their (Population: 35 34) volcanic farts of an island.

Anyway.  I digress.  So it got me thinking about Uganda.  As an unstable, undeveloped, war-ravaged country, Uganda is slowly waking up to the 20th century (easy tiger, let it wake up first… and THEN it will look for the 21st century).  But it’s bordering Rwanda, South Sudan, Kenya, and Tanzania.   East Africa, in my eyes, has got one thing going for it which West Africa doesn’t.  English.  And that, not in every country either.

No money, no governance, no leadership, no education.  It is truly an amazing thing that I have now found another country (besides Greece) where 70% is in the dictionary as being interchangeable with ‘perfect.’  At least in other unforunate countries people KNOW that they have problems.

I went to a cultural show (drums, dancing, tribal beatZ, blah blah) and the MC spent one hour explaining in what he thought was a hugely comedic effort, one is sure, that the IMF pardoned Uganda’s debt because Uganda knows how to ‘relax.’  That’s good, Joe.  Now tell the one about the island of the lotus-eaters. (Population: Who Cares?)

AIDS is under-reported in Uganda.  Everyone has guns.  The police are beating members of parliament in the street.  But the main thing on people’s minds, is whether the queen had a good time at CHOGM (the Conference of countries that USED to kiss the queen’s ring, but now just the ass please, since we want the developmental funding… oh, and Cyprus.  But Cyprus can’t talk right now because their mouth is stretched to the limit, wrapped snugly around the UK’s balls.  Pardon the digression again…)

Recently someone asked me if I like to go out.  Kampala is like Athens.  It’s a stopping point for people who want to see the real Uganda, which I believe is the real heart of Africa (with apologies to those who piss in bottles).  If Sudan is the heart of Africa, then that means New Zealand is the heart of Asia.  Anyway, yes…  where were we Pinky?  Ah, Kampala.  The city where Korean cars are sent to die; but not before they themselves shove their diesel fumes so far down your throat you feel the water you just drank being filtered out of your tear glands like so much pus.  Now that’s an image.

And everyone has their own little agenda out here.  Naturally, most people of a lighter hue, are out to bed as many locals as they can, hoping to beat each other in ‘International Stereotype Validation Marathon.’  I was driving around the second day I came, with the logistics coordinator, who was giving me the tour of Kampala in our work vehicle, and gauging if I could drive a large car, on the Imperial (huzzah!) side of the street, in a city full of pedestrians and shitty drivers.  Suddenly, a chode (that’s Ugandan for ‘white’) pops out of his lane and into mine, and I swerve to avoid him, and our cars almost hit each other.  I was driving a Toyota Hilux, complete with all the NGO paraphernalia (CODAN, bull bar, step plates for grannies, stickers, hanging CDs, spinning grims, 22 inchers BIATCH, and some guys with tec-9’s and bad teeth in the back (natch…).  So this was the dialogue that followed:

Chode: Get a smaller car!

George: Go fuck your mother!

Now.  Those of you who are in the field, are probably thinking ‘FOR SHAME George… How could you insult someone while DRIVING A VEHICLE WITH YOUR NGO NAME ON IT?  What about the children?  The rest of you, who still maintain a semblance of sanity are probably thinking, correctly may I add, ‘what the hell did chode MEAN?’  Since it was working hours, and the vehicle was a clearly marked NGO (hence, WORK) vehicle, banged up and shitty, one of the most abused vehicles of our operation, shouldn’t he have seen this?  It’s not like I was in a tricked out Range… so what was it?  Perhaps our fearless chode (with the mullet and the Arsenal shirt, good one there, trailerboy…) merely wanted to vent his frustration that the Fair Trade program wasn’t really catching on.  Or maybe his wife doesn’t do oral?  Or she does.  But he doesn’t participate?  No one will ever know.  There was too much traffic for me to shove my bullbar in his bunghole, but since then I go to ALL the UN meetings, hoping chode will show up…

I’ve got a smaller car RIGHT HERE buddy.

Have a good weekend.  And spare a thought for the kidnapped French people.  And Panos.  Who has to piss in a bottle.

~ by gcpetrop79 on July 19, 2008.