Nothing Escapes the Red

Uganda is a juxtaposition of extremes and contrasts. It's a land where one drinks hot tea to cool down, buses leave once all the seats are taken, and straight men hold hands in public to show they're not gay.

Giant gutters, 2 foot deep, line each street to drain the sewage and storm water that spill forth from over 20 million people living in the space of Auckland. Occasionally it spills into the street amongst the children at play. Goats, chickens and bovine species I can't define roam the streets, interrupting the steady stream of cars and bodas. Hardwood planks, roughly nailed together, serve as dwellings. Nothing here is new. Signs are hand-painted and stenciled The shop fronts are aged. Rubbish lines the streets. Giant Malibu storks circle overhead, occasionally swooping down to feed off the garbage. And the dirt, oh the dirt. Thick red clay that clings to whatever it comes across. Nothing in Uganda escapes it except, perhaps, the Ugandans themselves. They always look pristine. The tropical sun gleams off their sweat-basted skin, giving it a luminous glow. Amongst the old and the tatty and the dull and the drab, they positively shine.

They dress impeccably. Business shirts an

d dress shoes for the men. Women in brightly coloured dresses. In my khaki cargo pants and a dull grey tee-shirt, I look decidedly scruffy. How do they keep themselves so immaculate? If your house and belongings cannot escape the brunt of the African sun and dirt, perhaps all you can possibly clean is yourself.

All state personnel carry guns. Usually semi-automatic types slung casually over their shoulders, as if they're an inconvenience. Police mainly. But also traffic wardens, security guards, and. Why, you can't pass a block or two in Kampala or any rural town in the south without seeing a couple of cops sitting watching idly, rifle over the shoulder. Sometime a Ute drives past, the trailers loaded with half a dozen armed police. They don't seem to be rushing to any great emergency, just transferring from part of town to another. Is Uganda really violent enough to justify such precautions?

The hospital itself has 4 wards: male, female, children's, and maternity. Male and female each being split into medical and surgical. It's a privately run venture, partly funded though an Irish NGO and partly through the patients themselves. Each patient must have an attendant, usually a family member that does their washing, prepares their meals, and attends to their bathing. No attendant, no admission. Nothing here is free. The hospital grounds are full of such attendants washing clothes by hand, feeding children, On top of a nightly bed fee, a patient must pay for all drugs, diagnostic tests, and procedures. Even examination gloves are included in the broken down balance.

I can't help but imagine the uproar if such a system were introduced back home.