No half-steppin

Ok, start reading this post by opening this song for some “entry theme music.” I tried to find a link to this other Ugandan song that I cannot get out of my head. Ever. But it's not on the Internetz.  However, this one is another moderately addictive goodie to really put you in the Ugandan moment.

Now… onto dating. Uganda-style. Or something like it. 

My first date happened like this.

I met this guy at DePosh, which is a place that is about as classy as it’s name. Envision first a huge tree in the front entry, in the middle of a tiled open area with plastic chairs and metal tables. On this tree are hanging strobe light things that would hypnotize into stupidity anyone on mushrooms. You pass below the crazy tree light spectacle and enter a world of “twisting” bodies, a fair amount of body odor, and “local girls,” which is a nicer way to refer to prostitutes.  DePosh is in Kabalagala, a neighborhood of Kampala where the first Ugandan pub opened many years ago, and the whole nightlife scene originated thereafter. Kabalagala is fairly run-down, which gives it personality, and it's now more like the red-light district of Uganda. You should also be fairly sure that you will be pick-pocketed if you’re a muzungu, or carrying your money anywhere other than shoved into your underwear (even then, I’m not sure it’s safe—I’ve heard stories of girls whose bras were stolen from under their shirts without their knowledge. Personally I think it’s an urban-underwear-myth.)  Anyway, DePosh gets crazy-crowded, and you will probably be groped at some point, by either and both sexes, and people start tripping all over themselves anytime around 3am and if you stay ‘til 6, things really get interesting, or sad, depending on the night.

Update: a picture of the crazy tree! taken super high-quality-drive-by-iPhone-out-of-car-style:

So by “met,” I mean, two guys grabbed my arms as I was leaving the DePosh bathroom a few weeks ago and encircled me—then one shooed off his two friends who had helped corral me like some filly, and we started talking. He had the unfortunate name of Shon. If you know me, you know why this is an unfortunate name for a Ugandan boy that is hitting on me to have. I thought it was slightly ironically hilarious, however, (I’m sure the 4+ beers helped.) He seemed relatively normal and attractive (again, I’m sure the 4+ beers helped,) and I gave him my number. We chatted a bit, then I returned to the group I was with.

Two days later he calls, invites me to come to Kibuli, an area of town near Kabalagala, to meet up with him

Let me also diverge for a moment and clarify that phones here are prepaid—you have to buy little codes for anywhere from 500 to 10000 UGX and punch in like 50 numbers to load credit onto your phone. The calls are ridiculously overpriced, unless it is network to network, which is difficult, since there are like 6 main networks here. So many locals have like 3 phone numbers on different Sim cards with different providers. As a result, and using my already clipped and simplified English I have adapted to using with locals, phone calls are direct, to the point, and typically under 2 minutes.

My phone call with Shon went something like this (forgive me for making him sound like an idiot):

     him: “Hey, you goin' come round to my side?”

     me: “Yeah, so I’ll head over to Kibuli. Where am I going?”

     him: “Come to Kibuli”

     me: “Yeah, ok Kibuli, but where exactly am I headed?”

     him: “Come to Kibuli.”

     me: Laughing at this point, “Kibuli, yes, but where should I meet you!?”

     him: “Kibuli”

I gave up. I told my boda guy to take me to Kibuli. Then when we got to Kibuli, and I realized I was out of airtime on my phone, and I had no idea how to find this guy… so I loaded up at a mobile point, and called him, finally agreeing on a location, the Shell station.

The fun was just starting at the gas station, because he showed up minutes later and we walked down a dirt road behind the building, into the dark (the power was out in the area during that time), and I made some sarcastic comment about him just leading me blindly into the slums in the dark.  Which I later found out offended him, as it seemed I was implying I wasn’t safe with him (which of course he would protect me from any foreseeable harm within or outside of the slums with his superior strength and sparring skills.) Turns out, he was actually just taking me to his house. Correction--his mother’s house. I  walked through the iron entry gate to be immediately met by his aunt, mother and little brother in the dark driveway, and then was left in the living room to make small talk with the ladies, while Shon wandered off doing God-knows-what. It was incredibly awkward and uncomfortable and hilarious. His mother’s English seemed a bit limited, as our conversation kind of just circled around “how are you?” and “how is work?” that sort of thing. The aunt saved the day, as she was more of a talker, and kept the banter going for the next long 16 minutes.  I complimented their house, complimented the aunt's sparkling gold bracelet, asking questions about where to buy that kind of jewelry, what type of work she did, where she stays, etc., until Shon reappeared and grabbed my hand and led me to his room. In his room a different younger brother was sitting on one of the beds, and Shon and I sat on the other, in the “romantic” candlelight (remember, no power) and we all made small talk. Actually the brother didn’t really talk, except occasionally in Luganda to Shon.  A girl showed up at one point and sat next to the brother on the other bed, and when they left I found out she was Shon’s ex-girlfriend who was now dating his brother. (Sharing is caring?)  We just sat on the bed, talking about whatever, drinking Coca-Cola’s.

His aunt came in with a water pitcher, plastic tub and towel for me to wash my hands without having to leave the room, and his mom made us each an enormous piece of fried chicken and French fries. All this fanfare was uncomfortable, but I tried to accept it somewhat graciously.  Apparently it is a pretty big deal for their son to have some random muzungu coming home for dinner (which I did unaware.) Before his aunt left later in the evening, she came back into the room and snapped her sparkly bracelet onto my wrist, despite my protesting, declaring “It’s yours.”

I really liked the bracelet, it’s way too loud and gaudy—just my style of jewelry. When recounting the story to my roommate later, she recommended actually being careful about complimenting clothing or items on a Ugandan (if just trying to be nice,) as that person may end up giving you the complimented item. Many Ugandans have very little, but in order to make a guest feel welcome, they will give you the shirt off of their back. Literally.

So, all and all, a pretty epic first date. Wandering into a new part of town by motorbike without directions, to find a guy I don’t know, strolling down dark dirt roads into dark houses to meet the fam, eat fried chicken dinner, and converse by un-optional candlelight.

Then hop a late-night motorbike road back home to my 'hood, Viet-Namuwongo.