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

Off to Belgrade tonight

I am slowly getting back to normal. Whatever that is - it feels better! The doctors at the Department for Epidimology at the Danish National Hospital have finally granted me permission to leave Denmark, which I celebrated by getting a ticket to Belgrade in Serbia with arrival this evening.

Yesterday the doctors and I finally sort of agreed that I have had malaria. - Well, maybe it was dengue!, the young doctor kept insisting still. For the past 10 days the doctors have insistingly, but in vain, been trying to find malaria parasites and dengue in my blood.

Mistake #1: I took the anti-malarial treatment I always carry with me in case of an emergency without consulting a doctor. To my excuse I´d say that I found myself in the Danish equivalent of the bush (my parents farm at Lolland), and that when you have over 40 degrees fever you give shit about rules, and if you can still read the user guide of an emergency malaria treatment within a hand´s reach you´ll eat it. When I told the doctors so, they flipped, and painted a vivid scenario of me being irresponsible as I could still could be ill from dengue or cerebral malaria.

Fair enough, but maybe a bit too dramatic. I did miss Dr. Stockley for a cynical and down to earth point of view here. Mistake # 2: I realised that the four different young Danish doctors who were part of the consultations all seemed to be extremely sceptical when I happened to state that I´d rather have malaria in Uganda, than Denmark, as the Ugandans seem to have a more relaxed relationship to it. I would have been treated like a normal case at Dr. Stockley´s surgery, not like a guinea pig with a bad reputation.

My insurance company has been the highlight of this week as they promptly granted me compensation for my lost ticket to Belgrade and making it financially possible for me to change my other tickets to actually do some vacation in Serbia.

So - I´m off in some hours...

PS. The best advice I can give to people travelling in and out of Africa, especially if they don´t take any malaria profylaxis - really - is to always carry with you a malaria emergency treatment. You can also get these smart rapid tests, which I´d also recommend - only problem is that they can be a bit too difficult to handle when your hands are shaking too much.

My worst meeting ever.

Yesterday I participated in one of the worst meetings ever. An executive committee meeting at my local partner organisation. The trouble of the organisation has been evident even before my arrival to Uganda, but as people in northern Uganda are extremely hesistant to speak their mind openly, afraid of confrontations and obedient to hierachy and authorities, it takes long before we can deal with the actual point.

People would rather talk in corners, and wrap accusations in polite phrases, so you actually forget for a while what is actually said. People accept bad leadership, lack of communication, and they accept to wait for things to happen by themselves. To be precise, the meeting took around 11 hours. I left it around 6 pm out of frustration. I remember I used the term 'ridiculous!', and tried to bang the door properly to the payot. I have never done that before.

Uganda Doesn't Do It For Me At The Moment

One of the most busy distances in Uganda - the highway from Kampala to Gulu - is now supervised by Nixon, the traffic police officer from Adjumani, where I used to stay.

We became 'friends'  which from a Uganda male police perspective apparently now justifies stopping all vehicles with an MS Uganda logo to check if I am in it. In spite some of my colleagues finally gave in and gave him my telephone number, and I did speak to him about putting a limit to this friendliness, he hasn't stopped yet.

Other people remind me about things I can't even remember I did. Like 'My children/wife/friend saw you some weeks ago with this friend of yours in this and this place'. Maybe it is the lack of proper soap operas, but people love to gossip and invent scenarios which content I can only guess about.

I really need a pause from Uganda. This country is so small and so tight, that whatever you do will be reported sooner or later. It is too overwhelmingly green. There is people everywhere. There are days where you feel that privacy can only be obtained in the shower or in the car. I didn't feel like doing the traditional Danish Christmas party last week, couldn't stand the idea of watching myself dancing around the tree among people with whom I first of all share the common denomination of being a Dane in Uganda.

Uganda doesn't do it for me at the moment. I miss friends and family outside. I need some real big city skylines and to disappear into anonymity for a while. Shopping malls. Wide horizons and bigger, drier landscapes. And I need to see friends who haven't got anything thing to do with MS Uganda or developing stuff, but who still get Africa. And who get me.

13 days to South Africa. I can't wait.

Landlocked in Uganda

Having grown up in a country with a coastal line of 7314 kilometers, I'm used to accessing the sea easily, the view of the horizon where sea meets the sky, and the refreshing breeze from the sea.

Uganda is one of the 43 nations in the world which is landlocked, meaning having absolutely no access to the sea without crossing borders. Not even the River Nile or the Lake Victoria can make up for that.

It is not easy to file complaints on Uganda - except for its excessive lack of good tarmac roads - and being landlocked.

Still Too Many White Spots...

I have visited 37 countries - which means been to 16% of this world. On the other hand, since October 1st more than 82 countries have visited me - here. Test how much of your world you cover here. Click on the map for a bigger version.

When We Where In...

All expats have a place we love the most. Not always the place we grew up, most often it is the place we went abroad the last time. Definitely the place where we matched another culture and people in spite of differences, or maybe because of. A place where we got so much in return that it changed us for good - litterally speaking.

The place rests in our subconscience and keeps sneaking into our conversations with other expats when we compare our experiences, keep the images alive or seek comfort from being away. In some people's cases this urge is so strong that other people labelled them 'when we's', i.e. as in the extreme 'when we were in Rhodesia'. In most cases you excuse the other for talking of their place, as well as they let you do the same. In Uganda people often subconsiously say Dar, Nairobi, Lusaka - and then correct it a bit foolishly to Kampala.

We are talking Serbia - and the Balkans - in my case. A place where I clicked with people, music, art,  turska kafa, politics, rakija and the River Sava. The Luganda language has a similar phonetics to Serbo-Croatia n. It took me a year before I would say Stanbic Bank in English - and stopped calling it [Stanbitsch] with a Serbian prononciation. The letter combinations still make me decode 'SA for Sarajevo' and 'BG for Belgrade'. The same with post codes and area codes. '041' and '039' are not just the area code for Kampala it is also Zagreb's.

I am thrilled when I find other similarities. You get the same asking for 'gandja' in Uganda as in Serbia. People like to wink their eye to greet you. The pit latrines, well believe it or not, Serbia was more of a developing country considering toilet facilities, than Uganda - but it's stil a distinct reminder. Corrupt politicians. Post-communistic leftovers. Helicopters propelling over the capitol city to announce the arrival of big leaders. The Bata shoes. The mad traffic. The drunk driving. The fear of homosexuality. The too many beats per minute. The cigarettes which smell of new tarmac. The smell of diesel. The Ugandan bean stew and the Serbian parsulj. The Ugandan waragi and the Serbian rakija. And even 'Tito' is a man's name here.

The worst part is that I miss Serbia the most, when I know the season is chanching in Europe towards winter. And I don't even like winther. But I love Belgrade at winther time. Or when I realise that Uganda will never be Serbia. In Serbia a woman can use 'fuck' in every other sentence, and not be considered less of. In Serbia being able to drink, dance and drive is celebrating life. Here people prefer going to church. Sta da rade?!

No Reason For You To Believe I'm A Super Natural Development Worker...

The weekend is almost over and now all the loose ends are sort of merging into an ordinary lazy sunshined afternoon. Maybe good so, in order to get back on track of the real world starting Monday morning.

Friday night I found myself on the backseat of a crowded Toyota Corolla - private hire - in a mix of nationalities cruising downtown Kampala. The air was warm, almost electric, when we bathed in the shine of the neon lights from the night life accompanied by the vibrations from the deep base of the amplifiers. It turned out to be one of these hectic nights where I finally lost my head somewhere a little after midnight at the Rouge Night Club in Kampala drinking vodka on the rocks while staring into the eyes of a softspoken Italian male aid worker who amongst others confessed he cuts his own hair. 'Always nice to have something in common, apart from working in northern Uganda', I thought.

I have to confess that in between I need to detach from this whole sphere of work, political correctness, and the obligation of driving a car with a logo constantly reminding me that I'm implementing this Action With An Attitude. Sometimes I check out, I let my hair down, say things which don't match the vision of the NGO I work for, am ideologically incorrect, do things which in some countries are considered illegal, am myself. I would actually go as far as stating it is the only way to eliminate the frustrations which accumulate living and working where I do. I wouldn't be able to do without it, and judging from favorite topics of discusssions among colleagues I am not alone.

Miss Uganda

For obvious reasons the Ugandans mix up 'MS Uganda' with everything else which slips into their minds.

When I walk into the Indian shop in Arua the Indian shop keeper with the heavy acne and greasy moustache sees the logo on my car and greets me with a; 'How are you doing, Miss Uganda?'. I love that, and I go; 'We are fine, and Koboko, Moyo, Kampala - or wherever I have just been - is fine!'

I become a bit more embarrased when others take me for being MSF (Medicin Sans Frontieres) - somehow they are just a little cooler doing what ever they do inside Congo or Sudan. I mean, they go there, perform surgery or bring people back to life or what they do, when we stay.

And it is a real challenge when someone asks me to explain why we call it MS - as it's a hard core Danish abbreviation for 'Mellemfolkeligt Samvirke' which we brought all along to all the places we work outside DK, and which cannot be translated into something meaningfull in English or Spanish for that sake (co-operation/being together in between/across people) - and which we call 'the Danish Association for International Co-operation (got that?). Still haven't figured out why this 'Danish' is so important.

I go for the Miss Uganda.

In Between Continents

I arrived in CPH about a week ago, after 11 months in Africa. Spent a few days in the capital and then went off to the country side for a family function. Now back again in Copenhagen. I had to quit the web log here for a bit, as I realized that no matter what I was going to say in the following, it would turn out in favor of Africa. And I don’t want to sound like one of these idiots rambling on how much better Africa is. I mean, I don’t really think I have the real material to argue profoundly for why Africa is better. Not yet.

However, thinking twice - it is not about Africa or Denmark – I think it all boils down to me. Finally being in Europe didn’t make me realize how much I have missed Denmark, in stead it made me long instantly for a trip to the Balkans. After a few days I found myself searching for prizes on the net – to see if I could make it round Belgrade. Too expensive, though I would have absolutely loved the idea of hanging out with friends for a few days in the African part of Europe.

As the case is with the Balkans, the same it is with Africa – it might be the unavoidable illusiveness of Africa – and the Balkans - which makes me believe it is easier being me there than here. I mean a lot of people there want to be somewhere else – so it is a bit of an embarrassing luxury problem. The same misleading thing goes for the concept of time – there have been times in Northern Uganda where things seemed endlessly, and now 11 months feel like the most speedy year I ever ran through. Obviously because things were exciting and as I have learned a lot. Obviously because I thrive on challenges. Makes me feel thankful that I made the decision to go.

Nevertheless the contrasts between the continents are overwhelming and it strikes me how remarkbly Denmark presents itself as a well-preserved bubble which gives the feeling that things are the same as 11 months ago. Didn’t they let any one in while I was out? Turn on the TV and you will be caught by the exact same episode of an American sitcom which was on before you left DK…Or the news will hit you with the standard nonsense from the Danish People’s Party. Besides that it is raining constantly, divided in heavy and light showers over the day and night. And I have caught a terrible cold to match the whole scenario.

Maybe I should add that I am going back to Uganda again - just realized it sounded as if I was in DK for good... ;-)

Nevertheless, it has been a pleasure to meet the people, especially the ones who miss the Balkans or

Africa as much as I do, or who at least know the feeling of being in between continents. Also knowing how thin-skinned we all are to that feeling and how easily it can change...

Among Black....

It doesn't really bother me much most of the time to be the only white among black. However, in between it creates too much un-wanted attention, children or men shouting/greeting (I am not quite sure of the distinction) 'muzungu' - white, strange woman.

And I can't go anywhere without the whole town of Adjumani observing me and my where-abouts. Absolutely not the place to hide. There are the days, I simply feel like staying inside. Other times, I really try to get what is going on, and it is fun being sort of the only one...