The other day I was at Abola La Pok with Hayden, Coy and Robi. We go there a lot for lunch, especially since Diana Gardens was overtaken by evangelicals. We ordered and then all laughed together about the very particular way one must order in Gulu to get what you want the fastest way possible.
For starters, you can never go right into ordering, something that a hungry New Yorker just doesn’t get. Instead, greetings must occur or else the server becomes completely unnerved. Ugandans are truly the most polite people on the planet.
“Hello”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” (although I didn’t ask you how you were yet, I just said hi)
Once greetings conclude you must then establish what food is ready. Normally one might use a menu for this type of thing, but menus are more inspirational than factual in Gulu. For example, the cheeseburger on the menu sounds good, but has never, ever been available. Other items could be available eventually, but certainly not in the lunch hour. So the server recites the items that the chef has prepared in advance.
“What is ready now?”
“We have goat’s stew, chicken stew, beef stew. We have potatoes. Rice.”
Once you get this list, you must probe further, because the initial recitation is often incomplete.
“Do you have malakwang (spinach in peanut sauce)?
“It is not there.”
“Do you have sweet potatoes?”
“They are not yet ready.”
“Do you have beans?”
“Beans are there.”
When you are sure you have the complete list of available items, it’s time to order. Now some words of caution. You must order 1 dish that is considered a main dish by Ugandan standards and 1 starch. You cannot, say, order chicken and beans and potatoes. Well you can, but you will be asked to select another starch and two meals will be delivered. You can’t order starch alone, say just an order of chips, without considerable effort.
“Can I have chips?”
“Chips?”
“Yes chips.”
“Plain chips?”
“Yes, plain chips and nothing else please.”
“Ok please” (eyebrow raise) He or she usually walks away confused and/or laughing.
The other ordering no no is ordering for two people at once. If you say for example that you want 1 beans, 1 chicken, 1 rice and 1 potato and that you want it for you and the person standing next to you, you will receive 2 plates of chicken, 2 beans, two rice and two potatoes. Given the portion sizes here, that’s enough for about 10 people. It is possible to order for two, say if you’re trying to impress your Gulu date. But it has to be done a particular way.
“I would like 1 beans and rice” …wait for server to scribble down the order and make eye contact again.
“And the madam will have 1 chicken stew and 1 potato.”
Once you’ve got your food order down, you can order your drink, which is straightforward. One word of caution if you order juice though: you must pronounce it “jeweese.” The good news is that if you follow these simple rules, the food comes pretty quick.
A side note on condiments: Acholi/Ugandan food is not known for its culinary nuance, but there are 3 condiments usually available to help boost the flavor: salt, Top Up Ketchup and Top Up Chili Sauce. The Top ups are gelatinous, florescent blobs of artificial flavor that make new arrivals retch. But to us seasoned folks (ha!) we rely on these and use all three with reckless abandon.
When you’re finished, asking for the check may also cause a little confusion. If you ask for the bill, the server may bring you a “Bell beer.” So make sure you pronounce what you want clearly and ask:
“Can I have the beel please.”
“Ok please.”
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Gulu Vignettes
I’ve been running around a lot lately, trying to pull things together for the big move. I haven’t had much blog time. However, I’ve been blogging in my head and finally have a moment to jot a few things down.
Boomin’ System
Last night I was startled awake at 3am by music so loud that it shook my windows and I thought: “My goodness, that’s a really good sound system.” The quality of speakers in Africa is always top notch in fact. There’s a quality of sound, say for example when Michael Bolton’s silly songs are blaring, that could not be duplicated even if the man himself was performing at a Six Flags concert. Speakers are the modern expression of the African fondness for loud pulsating rhythms and magnificent, fiery speeches. Speakers are the new drums.
There are many questions that I lay thinking about when the speakers are booming. I’m past angry. That was year 1 until I realized that there ain’t no noise police in Gulu. I wonder, how come the power never goes out at 3am? How come, when everything else is a cheaply made Chinese import, the speakers are clearly Bose of the highest German standard? I wonder and wonder and wonder how people can stand being in the same room as those speakers for hours. Weddings can blare music for a solid 24 hours. Do people ever talk at weddings here?!
It’s not just night time events, but speakers are also well used at day events. When I was budgeting for all of my projects, I always had to include a line for a PA system. Even for a “traditional” fireside chat or “Wang oo,” the chiefs insisted that a PA system be dragged under the mango tree.
There is also the call to prayer, Africa style. Generally it’s the same as anywhere – the guy on the mic has an incredible stamina as we know. But once again, I am amazed that in Africa, where we often don’t have water or power or dairy products, the call echoes across the town with splendid crispness. When I worked at NRC my office was right next to the Mosque and I was often amused at the in-between prayer time mic use. The guy clearly loved his air time and could be heard randomly praising God or sound checking throughout the day.
Tonight is pub quiz night in Gulu which inevitably means big noise at the latest hippest club in town, located only a few hundred meters from my house. I look forward to lying in bed and singing along to Gaga. “Can’t read my, can’t read my. No he can’t read my pokerface, pokerface…”
Dog Capella
Staying with night time themes, I must write about things that go bump in the night in Gulu. When I lived on 8th Avenue and 18th street, I got used to the city traffic. Garbage collection, it turns out, happens around the clock. One perseveres. In the countryside, it’s mostly quiet, but there are some exceptions, usually involving wild life. Frogs, invisible plentiful frogs chirp at an incredible volume. What’s weirder is that they only seem to chirp on rainy nights. (That’s probably not weird to people who know about frogs.) They seem to sprout in water. That’s how I imagine it anyway. Sort of like seahorses I picture them as little African sun-burnt embryos that instantly become adult frogs with a deluge of rain.
By far, the most significant night time noise is dog crooning. Although the initial torrent of dog barking startles the crap out of me and makes me angry, once I’m awake, I’m somehow amused. Usually my dog Issac is the instigator. He’s got a really deep Johnny Cash bass bark. I imagine that a small noise, such as a tree branch rustle, gets him bellowing, which sets off the 4 million other dogs that live in a 100 meter radius of the house. Everyone chimes in. There’s the call and response bark: Issac barks and then the neighbor’s dog barks and then Issac and then neighbor’s dog, etc. There’s the bark down the lane, where you can literally hear the bark transfer from dog to dog to dog all the way down the street to the Acholi Inn a half a mile away. By far, the most impressive midnight dog communication is the 17 part harmony of the dog cappella. A single combined wail from all those dogs thunders through the air in perfect harmony, complete with semi tones, fifths and octaves. A giggle even escapes my mouth when the little guy from the compound next store chimes in. He’s a high soprano and really goes for it – hitting the legendary high F over C no problemo.
The chorus usually stops abruptly once everyone gets a good diaphragm stretch in. Silence returns…until the asshole rooster who can’t tell time, starts cocka doodle doodling at 4:30am. I hate roosters!
Mosqweeto Net
Mosquitoes, as we know, suck. Their malarial venom takes no prisoners. Without a doubt it is the one living organism on this continent, nay planet, which I do not hesitate to extinguish. (Ok, maybe roosters too – KFC anyone?)
Malaria is a terrible illness that is as commonplace as the flu here, except far more deadly. I thought it was an inevitable right of passage to get it until I got it. I loved that the doctor turned to me and asked, “Do you realize how sick you are?” Uh, yeah. Thanks.
It’s terrible and deadly and a cure needs to be found asap, because most people here don’t have the luxury to afford the medical treatment that I had. Although available, treatment is expensive and often means choosing meds over meals. There is nothing worse than seeing a two year old stricken with malaria. The light goes out in their eyes and the agony is so great that they can’t even cry or complain. They just lay limp in their mother’s arms waiting for relief and wondering why mommy hasn’t made it better. Sigh.
So obviously a mosquito net (Ugandans pronounce it “mosqweeto” which always cracks me up) is essential. It keeps the screaming killers at bay. It keeps a lot of things at bay I have learned. There are many, rather significant creepy crawlies here that penetrate the bedroom: geckos (and their plentiful poo), spiders, mothra-sized moths, rodents (although with 5 cats in the house I don’t see those guys anymore) and countless nameless insects that don’t understand boundaries. So when I tuck in at night I feel like I’m wrapping up in a force field and it helps me sleep better knowing there will be no unexpected company in my bed.
Lately, however, the net feels more like an iron curtain, an impenetrable shroud, a yoke I can no longer bear. It reminds me of when I was in Iran and had to wear the veil. I didn’t mind it so much at first. I picked out a really cute green silk one and rocked the eye liner, Angelina Jolie-style. But at the end of the day that thing felt like lead on my head. I used to run from the lift to my hotel room, slam the door and fling it across the room.
The net feels that way now. It’s kind of my fault. I was lazy and didn’t install a less intrusive walk-in net. I opted for the kind you have to let down and tuck in every night and tie up every morning. Every night for over 3 years, I’ve been letting that sucker down and tucking it in. When I stay at the Serena, famous for its fabulous beds, I think my favorite part is reveling in a net free night. (Apparently mosquitoes aren’t allowed into the five star Serena.)
Now that I’m leaving my patience is dwindling. It’s too late for the walk-in net. So I tuck and I untuck and tuck again. I can’t wait to not need a net!
Boomin’ System
Last night I was startled awake at 3am by music so loud that it shook my windows and I thought: “My goodness, that’s a really good sound system.” The quality of speakers in Africa is always top notch in fact. There’s a quality of sound, say for example when Michael Bolton’s silly songs are blaring, that could not be duplicated even if the man himself was performing at a Six Flags concert. Speakers are the modern expression of the African fondness for loud pulsating rhythms and magnificent, fiery speeches. Speakers are the new drums.
There are many questions that I lay thinking about when the speakers are booming. I’m past angry. That was year 1 until I realized that there ain’t no noise police in Gulu. I wonder, how come the power never goes out at 3am? How come, when everything else is a cheaply made Chinese import, the speakers are clearly Bose of the highest German standard? I wonder and wonder and wonder how people can stand being in the same room as those speakers for hours. Weddings can blare music for a solid 24 hours. Do people ever talk at weddings here?!
It’s not just night time events, but speakers are also well used at day events. When I was budgeting for all of my projects, I always had to include a line for a PA system. Even for a “traditional” fireside chat or “Wang oo,” the chiefs insisted that a PA system be dragged under the mango tree.
There is also the call to prayer, Africa style. Generally it’s the same as anywhere – the guy on the mic has an incredible stamina as we know. But once again, I am amazed that in Africa, where we often don’t have water or power or dairy products, the call echoes across the town with splendid crispness. When I worked at NRC my office was right next to the Mosque and I was often amused at the in-between prayer time mic use. The guy clearly loved his air time and could be heard randomly praising God or sound checking throughout the day.
Tonight is pub quiz night in Gulu which inevitably means big noise at the latest hippest club in town, located only a few hundred meters from my house. I look forward to lying in bed and singing along to Gaga. “Can’t read my, can’t read my. No he can’t read my pokerface, pokerface…”
Dog Capella
Staying with night time themes, I must write about things that go bump in the night in Gulu. When I lived on 8th Avenue and 18th street, I got used to the city traffic. Garbage collection, it turns out, happens around the clock. One perseveres. In the countryside, it’s mostly quiet, but there are some exceptions, usually involving wild life. Frogs, invisible plentiful frogs chirp at an incredible volume. What’s weirder is that they only seem to chirp on rainy nights. (That’s probably not weird to people who know about frogs.) They seem to sprout in water. That’s how I imagine it anyway. Sort of like seahorses I picture them as little African sun-burnt embryos that instantly become adult frogs with a deluge of rain.
By far, the most significant night time noise is dog crooning. Although the initial torrent of dog barking startles the crap out of me and makes me angry, once I’m awake, I’m somehow amused. Usually my dog Issac is the instigator. He’s got a really deep Johnny Cash bass bark. I imagine that a small noise, such as a tree branch rustle, gets him bellowing, which sets off the 4 million other dogs that live in a 100 meter radius of the house. Everyone chimes in. There’s the call and response bark: Issac barks and then the neighbor’s dog barks and then Issac and then neighbor’s dog, etc. There’s the bark down the lane, where you can literally hear the bark transfer from dog to dog to dog all the way down the street to the Acholi Inn a half a mile away. By far, the most impressive midnight dog communication is the 17 part harmony of the dog cappella. A single combined wail from all those dogs thunders through the air in perfect harmony, complete with semi tones, fifths and octaves. A giggle even escapes my mouth when the little guy from the compound next store chimes in. He’s a high soprano and really goes for it – hitting the legendary high F over C no problemo.
The chorus usually stops abruptly once everyone gets a good diaphragm stretch in. Silence returns…until the asshole rooster who can’t tell time, starts cocka doodle doodling at 4:30am. I hate roosters!
Mosqweeto Net
Mosquitoes, as we know, suck. Their malarial venom takes no prisoners. Without a doubt it is the one living organism on this continent, nay planet, which I do not hesitate to extinguish. (Ok, maybe roosters too – KFC anyone?)
Malaria is a terrible illness that is as commonplace as the flu here, except far more deadly. I thought it was an inevitable right of passage to get it until I got it. I loved that the doctor turned to me and asked, “Do you realize how sick you are?” Uh, yeah. Thanks.
It’s terrible and deadly and a cure needs to be found asap, because most people here don’t have the luxury to afford the medical treatment that I had. Although available, treatment is expensive and often means choosing meds over meals. There is nothing worse than seeing a two year old stricken with malaria. The light goes out in their eyes and the agony is so great that they can’t even cry or complain. They just lay limp in their mother’s arms waiting for relief and wondering why mommy hasn’t made it better. Sigh.
So obviously a mosquito net (Ugandans pronounce it “mosqweeto” which always cracks me up) is essential. It keeps the screaming killers at bay. It keeps a lot of things at bay I have learned. There are many, rather significant creepy crawlies here that penetrate the bedroom: geckos (and their plentiful poo), spiders, mothra-sized moths, rodents (although with 5 cats in the house I don’t see those guys anymore) and countless nameless insects that don’t understand boundaries. So when I tuck in at night I feel like I’m wrapping up in a force field and it helps me sleep better knowing there will be no unexpected company in my bed.
Lately, however, the net feels more like an iron curtain, an impenetrable shroud, a yoke I can no longer bear. It reminds me of when I was in Iran and had to wear the veil. I didn’t mind it so much at first. I picked out a really cute green silk one and rocked the eye liner, Angelina Jolie-style. But at the end of the day that thing felt like lead on my head. I used to run from the lift to my hotel room, slam the door and fling it across the room.
The net feels that way now. It’s kind of my fault. I was lazy and didn’t install a less intrusive walk-in net. I opted for the kind you have to let down and tuck in every night and tie up every morning. Every night for over 3 years, I’ve been letting that sucker down and tucking it in. When I stay at the Serena, famous for its fabulous beds, I think my favorite part is reveling in a net free night. (Apparently mosquitoes aren’t allowed into the five star Serena.)
Now that I’m leaving my patience is dwindling. It’s too late for the walk-in net. So I tuck and I untuck and tuck again. I can’t wait to not need a net!
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