::::I've Left Copenhagen for Uganda::::

Ha ha, I do look like as if I am trying to save Africa, don't I?!

I have followed the debate pushed by the Nigerian writer Iweala Uzodinma's article 'Stop Trying to Save Africa. It has been commented on various blogs and even the Danish Sunday paper Politiken translated it and put in on page 2.

The article and the writer pissed me off big time, and in between whatever I have to do in a country where I have been put off a plane with no luggage, I have been trying to formulate a comment.

The man is right. Who wants to be patronised by young American students, or others with a conscience which needs to be cleared? Who wants to be felt sorry for when what you really need is support which treats you as an equal? Who wants to adopt another way of living in return for funds? Who wants to see his tribe, nation and continent displayed as powerless and fucked-up (when you know you make the exception?)

I know I don't!

But come on! - Iweala's argumentation is threadbare and his arrogance makes him speak on behalf of all Africans. Categorising them all in one go, as well as he does with the whole group of ex-pats trying to save Africa. No doubt that a change of the Western way of saving Africa is necessary. No doubt that a lot of ex-pats, whatever reason they are in Africa for, can be a pain in the ass (I know some). But I also know a few Ugandans who would never put their feet in West Nile and Kampala youth who would never date a 'Northener' because of tradition and the history - and the image! The stereotypes and lack of information thrive within Uganda, Africa and among Africans. It is only the Africans who are well off who can afford rejecting support to Africa. They cannot speak for the rest.

I have given up the project for today. It makes me too angry. In stead I went through my photo albums and stumbled on the one photo above and realised; Ha ha, I do look like as if I am trying to save Africa, don't I?!

Here I am captured with Michael 'Dunno' Dume, a Sudanese Kuku, refugee from Kajo Keji. Michael got lost as a child from his family during the war in Sudan. A Swedish humanitarian worker found him, helped him and gave him the additional name 'Dunno', because that is what he apparently kept answering when asked for his name.  Michael was later united with his family in Uganda where I met him in August 2005 in Oliji Refugee Settlement where he is still working as a operational manager for Mungula Resource Centre.

Everything you need to know to have fun in Kampala

Check out this blog - the Kampala bloggers have joined forces. Cool! Really interesting information about how to access wireless Internet in Kampala, cheap or free. Suppose that is what counts in a bloggers universe as fun.

Am thinking about how challengingly fun it could be to do the same up-country; Everything you need to know to have fun in upcountry Uganda ( - or how to avoid isolation, Kony, malaria!)

Reminds me that I have received quite a few emails (which I never got around to answer due to the malaria and subsequent, momental apatia) with questions regarding life in the upcountry sphere. I believe there is an unutilised potential here for promoting upcountry Uganda.

Leave a comment if interested one way or the other...

About killing a goat, a million degrees and a little bit crazy Argentinians.

Tonight we are having goat for dinner. The two Argentinians around, at the Danish Refugee Council's compound where I stay (and btw have a feast enjoying the wireless Internet connection, the excellent company, and the real showers - no bucket showers or pit latrines!) have finally got around to find someone else to dig the hole in the ground where the goast is to be roasted.

They also managed to find someone else to go to Yei Town and buy it: Me. I allways seem to come in handy in situations like this. I think these guys will do anything to avoid the market in town. With good reason. It was a million degrees, flies all over, the air ranting of dried fish, and a lot of bargaining had to be done, before we could tie the goat, charcoal and matoke leaves on the back of the car.

We bought the goat from these guys above. Young lads, all with impressive tribal scars in the foreheads, and an interesting approach to bargaining; 'You buy all the goats!', they told me. Whereas I tried to get out of it with as few as possible and to the least embarrasing khawadiya price.

Then I watched the goat being killed. F...! With a slow knife. The goat cried. Didn't seem to bother any, so I thought nothing more of it, but felt a little happy that I grew up on a farm. But as one of the guys said; 'It is very fresh in this way!'.

Inshal'allah!

Welcome to Yei

Yei is a dynamic mixture of optimism and pessimism. Walking through the town I find myself changing from one approach to another, several times.

A lot depends on who you meet and how they greet you. Only very few times I have felt intimidated footing around a Ugandan town, village, refugee settlement or IDP camp. But Yei is different. I do have the occasional sneaky paranoid feeling that any minute someone will approach me in a way I can't handle. But I have to try it. It is the only way to see what is what, and to figure out a few things about this place.

Nowhere I have been before beats this feeling of getting a shaky eye contact with a two meter tall, pitch black soldier with tribal scars and thousand-meter-stare. The white in the eyes having turned reddish. The way they are handling their big guns - similar to how the women handle their babies. Casually swung on the back, going with them everywhere.

This year's male shoe fashion in Yei

has a remarkably strong resemblance to that one of West Nile in Uganda (and to when we tried to dress up like Robert Smith, The Cure's front singer, in the 1980ties in Europe).

Ugandan fast food - can you stomach it?!

If you are on the move and feel hungry, an easy snack is to buy a hardboiled egg and add some salt. These eggs are - on line with meat sticks, fried grashoppers and white ants (when in season), deep fried cassava and sweet potatoes, roasted mealies, samosa, the cake-like mandazis and fruit (for dessert?) - the most frequent snacks all through Uganda.

Some wazungu see it as a problem that the food comes without any valuable information of how long ago it was produced and then kept in 30 degrees heat. Some question the fact that a lot of merchants stick to the rule that if the food is not sold today, why not try to sell it the day or the day after? You would hear me say that it is up to you and your stomach. People also get severe stomach infections from eating in expensive restaurants in Kampala.

I have always travelled the Balkans and Africa with the slightly naïve approach that occasional roadside food might toughen me up, harden my immune system, and make me blend in. I have even confused my menthal health with the one of my stomach, having an idea that if my brain could cope wiht the harshness of Africa, so could my stomach. But after having suffered from various infections, and the subsequent yeast infections caused by the antibiotics, I began using both parts of my brain, slowly admitting that maybe I shouldn't take it as a test of how good I am at making it in Africa...

I am longing for dansk smørrebrød!