Wandegeya

‘‘Wandegeya’’. One of many neighborhoods in Kampala marked by a severe lack of basic infrastructure and public services. Paved roads, power facilities and water stations are absent from the visual panorama. The narrow streets assailed by a plethora of pudholes and open air sewage canals act as the visitor’s first challenge. Additionally, the myriads of pathways and alleys intersecting with the main street serve as a testimony to the organic growth of the neighborhood, and confirms one’s insecurity about dominating the environment.

One storey high houses make up for the vast majority of the neighborhood’s real estate. Mud, bricks and wood piled together carefully rarely hide the precarious nature of construction enterprises. Confronted with a limited array of material, creativity has become institutionalized. Windshields are improvised as rooftops and advertising banners are turned carpets. Priviledged local businesses are established in large shipping containers, cut and rearranged in order to fit its local usage and context. Attached to this fascinating setting is the omnipresence of the red-orange color, reflected from the dry earth, slowly making its way on house walls, and inevitably gaining momentum on my levy’s.

Ivan, our self-appointed guide, heads our small human convoy continuously enlarging itself with young members as we march through town, and getting rhythm by the shouts of ‘‘Azungu, azungu’’ (white man in Baganda). The place is busy, and no one is exempted from housework activities. Some kids participate in the food making process and in washing the laundry while others adopting an evasive behavior, are playing nearby. By the time we, in Europe, start constructing basic sentences orally, kids here jump, run and develop an acute sense of orientation.

A few miles from there, in the ‘‘Kamuokya’’ area resides Washington Benzo Benzo. With confidence, he waves at us, signalling that his courtyard is open to visitors. As we approach he stands up from his comfortable position and greets us with a warm and inimitable ‘‘Hey Brothers’’. Both his hat and belt recalls the three familiar colors of a famous island in the Carribean. Behind his cigarette from which stems an unconventional smell, Washington shares with us some interesting tenants of the philosophy he follows.

The sun is setting, sole temporal indicator, calling for the need to adjourn our stay.

Today was a long day,

For a while im gonna stop complaining about my laundry and start smiling a lot more.

Louis-Guillaume Roldan

Mr. Brown et Rachel - Une rencontre mémorable

Malgré notre manque de sommeil évident, aucun de nous quatre n’a réfléchi deux fois avant de sauter du lit, enfiler shorts, t-shirts et chaussures. Une fois nos tasses de café terminées, nous partons en direction du centre de Kampala. Après avoir longé la rue principale de Kampala comparable à une fourmilière pour son désordre structuré, nous arrivons au centre de la ville où notre attention est vite captée par les étroites ruelles menant au cœur du quartier de Wandegeya, un quartier-bidonville. Après concertation, nous décidons de nous y aventurer. Echanges de regards et de sourires, poignes de mains et multiples rencontres dans un contexte extrêmement pauvre sont les thèmes principaux de cette petite escapade. L’aventure dont je veux parler commence avec la rencontre d’un certain Ivan. Ce jeune Ougandais dans la vingtaine réside dans une très petite chambre que lui prête l’école de son quartier « Kamuokya ». Après quelques minutes de conversation, le nom de « Mr. Brown » sort pour la première fois de la bouche d’Ivan. A l’écoute de la description de cet homme, nous réalisons très vite qu’il nous faut absolument rencontrer l'homme en question. C’est donc aux côtés d’Ivan que nous partons en direction de Kamuokya, à la rencontre de Mr. Brown. Atteint de la malaria, c’est allongé dans son lit qu'il nous raconte brièvement la raison de sa présence à Kampala et plus précisément dans le quartier de Kamuokya. Aujourd’hui âgé de 80 ans, et très affaibli par la maladie, il semble avoir gardé son sens de l’humour. Cette rencontre aussi intéressante qu'émouvante restera un moment fort de notre séjour dans la capitale.

Despite our severe lack of sleep, we were quick to embarck on a trip to downtown Kampala, shortly after sipping a few cups of coffee. Arrived at the shanty town of Wandegeya, we were greeted by firm handshakes, smiles and curious stares. As we were marching through the town, a young man introduced himself as Ivan, and he offered to take us to a British man named Mr. Brown. This unexpected encounter occured in a tiny shelter, behind a primary school facility self-financed by the local population. Sick, sitting on his death bed, Mr.Brown disclosed to us his motivation for staying in Kampala, and his neglect for medical assistance.

Thomas Bertrand