Finding my feet so I can land on them

Kampala is a massive contrast to Khartoum. Instantly and most obviously it's shown in the people who are free, open, vibrant and colourful. I'm seeing knees and elbows and hair in all sorts of weird and wonderful variations (considering getting braids myself).

The next striking difference is the land. I never thought that I would look back at Khartoum and think of it as clean, but comparatively it is. In Khartoum they dispose of rubbish by dumping it in a vacant lot and burning it each now and then. The methods are the same here, the difference is that in dry Khartoum there is not a huge chance for bacteria to breed. Here on the other hand, the wet air, warm climate and regular rainfall are ideal conditions for creating a festering stench of flies, mould, rodent habitats and general filth. I have begun a neurotic habit of using hand antibacterial gel constantly.

When I arrived I was feeling washed up and failed from fleeing the tough bits of South Sudan, sick of being on my own and tired of always saying goodbye to awesome and awe-inspiring people. So I was feeling right sorry for my pitiful self. Thoughts of what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-with-my-life, where-is-this-all-leading and where's-my-place-in-the-world all started to settle in my head. For the very first time in 8 years I seriously considered going back to New Zealand... to do what? Art school post grad. Yet another year of self indulgent procrastination from achieving anything of substance. An easy escape.



My guest house was scummy for even my exceedingly low African standards. Although it was in the bubbly centre of town it wasn't cool. I shared a room with 3 men: a loud Kenyan who farted in his sleep, a sleazy Congolese who snored and a Japanese guy who I can't really complain about. Below the guest house the shop played their one CD loud and proud 24-7, I mean I really like Dolly Parton, but there is only so much 'Islands in the sun' any person can take. The deal breaker was the toilet, no seat, pitiful flush, vile smell and a constant puddle, right next to the shower that had the same smell so I never felt clean.

I found a wad of Sudanese currency I had hidden in a secret pocket (so had more money than I thought in Sudan but the exchange rate to Ugandan shillings is weak) . But my bank card has expired so I'm eating into the last of my hard currency... It's getting really low. shit.

I'm a bit more sorted out now. I made contact with the father of a lovely lass I met in Egypt, I was expecting a polite-but-dismissive chat and maybe a cup of tea if I was lucky. I got sorted out with a SIM card (phone number of my choice) , dinner, night out a a club, introduction to some cool locals, and a job interview. Wow.

I have also moved guest houses to a place full of blankies who know how to play shit-head. It has clean toilets and hot showers.

My mother arrives in a couple of days, and my fantastic friend David has posted me my mail. There is a chance my new bank card will not be amongst that (my bank mail is being sent to my old flat that was inhabited by a particually messy bloke) , but the mail will contain all my bank details so I might be able to get a new card sent here. I hate UK banks... they are so much effort.