ode to Kampala

i'm leaving the city by bus for Rwanda and my next clinical rotation. It's very hard to leave. I "feel free" in this place thanks to the community that has welcomed me. These last few days I've carried my camera around everywhere trying to steal pieces of this place. Now, I'll write in an attempt to share the life of this place with you.

The streets of Kampala are so alive: they are the climax of a live symphony. third world style. Men pushing wheel barrows brimming with colorful fruit compete with diesel trucks for space, and rivers of motorcycles flow through any room that's left on the road. The bota-bota motorcycles carry women side-saddle, little children wearing bright school uniforms, and even wooden bed frames that tower several feet above the driver's head. Horns blare and merchants approach moving vehicles in the lively chaos.

In the morning I ride a bota to the top of Nairembe hill. I can taste dust in my mouth--the same dust that coats the old buildings along the street. They look like they have risen up from being buried alive. The lines of drying clothes give the dingy buildings the color that they have lacked since the colonialists painted them years ago. From the top of the hill I hear the call to prayer from the mosque as I look out at the hills arising from the city below. Seven of the mounds are the hills of the city and the rest are stacked clouds of the morning haze filling in the valleys. Two million lives arise to collide in the small spaces of the city. I was one of them.

The nights are warm and lively. Merchants light their crowded wooden dukas with oil lanterns and candles. Away from the city the loud sound of crickets takes over the honking. From Ellen's house I can hear the brassy sound of the neighbor's radio. It's playing Ugandan hits that repeat and repeat a simple reggae beat.

I enter the Better Living Resource Center just off the main road. On the couches on the porch I am greeted by whatever regulars are around for the day. This place is home to a multi-generational group that has been a powerful example of community. Students are scattered around utilizing the library or reading the newspaper. Rebekah, who most people refer to as their "auntie", cooks lunch everyday using fresh garlic and ginger root: I'm still not tired of her beans and rice even though I eat it five days out of the week. Moses and Able live in a small closet behind the center. They talk to me about music, culture, and help out with whatever we're doing for the day. Seth is a goofy artist who loves children. His art is up around the office, and he hangs around to take me to a near-by orphanage on my day off. He has dreams to open his own. There is a group of girls in their twenties who show up for choir practice and then take me out dancing with them. They are amazing girls, and I'm so proud of how hard they work. Teddy comes from the royal family of Tutsi in Rwanda. Before the kingship was abolished her father was carried around on men's backs. Fred is an evangelist at the church. He comes with his niece Rachel who is in his care because the African concept of responsibility to family reaches beyond the immediate family, and his sister has put him in charge of one of her children. Fred knows a great deal about the cultures and history of Uganda. He has taught me a lot. A women's refugee group has meetings at the center. I will sing with them before they come to the clinic on Saturday. I have gotten to know many of them from staying in their homes, buying their jewelery, and visiting them in the hospital. They have unbelievable survivor stories and I admire them.

I could go on....Issac, Able, Josesph, Maggie, Sheba... but this may be more detail than one cares to read about. The point is that this rotation has been a treasured experience in family medicine: All my patients have become like family. I know them and their stories. Most of them I have seen many times--in and out of clinic. We play football together, I see them at church on Sunday, I eat lunch with them, dance, we practice singing together, I love their children, I admire their perseverance. It has been a joy to work at this community center.