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15 July 2001

Sunday afternoon, we're sitting in Askan's office in downtown Kampala. I didn't find a Kodak moment this week, so just ran outside with my camera to take some pics of the downtown architecture. (Askan's office is located in the building in the first picture.) There's been a construction boom in Kampala in the last year or so. It's apparently Uganda's moment in the sun when it comes to foreign investors. I'm told that a good portion of the cash comes from a shift of investments away from Nairobi, which has become notorious for insecurity (particularly since the embassy bombing) and "unmanageable" corruption. (Whatever that means.) Kampala is a sleepy village by comparison.

It took me all of 10 minutes to take six shots, but in that time I was called to by street boys (I never see street girls...) who were bathing in their usual puddle, begged for 100 shilling from a man sitting on the sidewalk with a broken leg and a listening to a Walkman, and approached by a kid that I met last December when I was here for two weeks. I had been looking for the American Embassy, which was still located on Parliament Avenue at the time, when he came up to me. He speaks excellent English and gave me his story about being an orphan from Fort Portal whose parents were killed in the mass cult suicide/murder last year. He can't find a job to pay for school and doesn't have enough money to get home, etc. etc. I told him show me to the American Embassy and I'll give him a donation, which he did (almost) and I did (generously.) The long and the short of it is that he recognized me 7 months later and makes another polite attempt. He'd grown a bit and looked clean and Sunday dressed. Quite the little professional. This time I wished him good luck with his troubles and sent him on his way. I wonder how he learned to speak English so well.

Last night we were at the 14 July Bastille Day celebration at the French Embassy. The champagne and wine were flowing, tasty hors d'oeuvres were passing, and "important" elbows were rubbing. The French-speaking community in Kampala turned out en masse. Strangest conversation award goes to the milk-intolerant Indian engineer who's in the milk business in Uganda. We missed the 4th of July picnic at the American Recreation Association last week. I completely forgot it, probably because it happened on the 7th of July. By the time I remembered in the late afternoon, the old-fashioned chili and pie cook-offs were finished, the party was over. It's a nice contrast, how the US and French diplomatic communities celebrate their independence days. Have to admit, though, that I'm a sucker for free French wine and cheese.