Photos:
City scope, Kampala....craziness. This is a pic of the street next to the bus park.
Market restaruant: this is where the Swedes and I ate the first day I met them. The women cook matoke and beans on coal fires, which makes for a very warm (but very cheap) dining environment.
Puff Daddy: I love this picture. All of the matatus (taxis) here have slogans foiled onto their windows, most reading something like "jesus saves!" or "Have faith" but not this one....no no.
I’ve been told by fellow travelers that it’s a good idea to try and accomplish one major thing every day while in Uganda. Maybe two things, but that could really be pushing it. Seems ridiculous right? At first I thought “oh ho, but I am Annie McCabe, over achiever extraortinaire!” and set out to maintain my uber-productive pace in this slow-paced city, but I was promptly humbled by what I now refer to as “the stethoscope fiasco.”
I, like an idiot, packed my swanky Litman’s stethoscope (compliments of UW alumni assoc, thanks guys) with my various other belongings that are currently residing contently in boxes tucked into the plush burgundy interior of Bessy the Buick in my Aunt Jane’s yard in Olympia, Wa….USA. I realized this just prior to boarding my flight to Uganda, which is quite a ways from Olympia, but figured hey, no biggie I’ll just pick up a stethoscope in Kampala.
Christine, my classmate and cohort here in Kampala who arrived here one week after I did, graciously purchased me a used stethoscope from a 4th year UW student and brought it along. Sweet, problem solved! Oh wait, except said 4th year was a tricky conniving jerk and convinced sweet and trusting Christine that the stethoscope in question wasn’t missing its diaphragm, no no, it came like that, it never had a diaphragm. Lies. Dirty stinking lies, because the large bell doesn’t work at all sans its diaphragm and the style and number is identical to Christine’s diaphragm-having twin Litman’s.
Ok, back to plan A: get a stethoscope in Kampala, no problem.
Thursday. I inquire with Richard, my 5th year med student Ugandan friend, about where to either find a new diaphragm or get a new Litman’s here and we agree to meet for lunch on Friday and sort it all out. Ok, the ball is rolling.
Friday. I’m sitting in the canteen at Makarere U with Christine and Sophie the Swede waiting for Richard at our agreed-upon time and 30 minutes later Richard shows up because A: he’s on Uganda time, not American time and that’s just how they roll here, fair enough, and B: he was waiting for me outside the canteen for a good 15 minutes while I was waiting inside the canteen for him. We get to chatting and he agrees to take me to the repair shop at Mulago (the hospital) where there is a guy he knows (there’s always a guy he knows, its great, Richard is a good friend to have here) who will probably have a spare diaphragm and will be able to jimmy my Sävlig stethoscope into working order. We show up at the repair shop where there is a graveyard of old hospital beds/chairs/desks etc awaiting repair and an impressive collection of engineery-type machinery that I assume is used to cut metal and perform other manly tasks, but “the guy” was absent. Ok we’ll try again tomorrow. “Or,” I assure Richard “It would also be ok for me to find a place to get a new stethoscope.” We then promptly run into one of Richard’s pharmacy school friends (another one of those guys) on our way out who has the low-down on stethescopes and where to get them. He informs us of a few places in town where I can purchase a good scope, the best one being Joint Medical Stores on the outskirts of Kampala in a region called Nsambya, because it sells Litman’s at a good price. After being thoroughly assured by both of them that JMS is open on Saturdays, I thank them and bid them farewell. Sweet, the ball rolls on.
Saturday: I awake nice and early because I don’t know how long its going to take me to find JMS. I could take a special hire (personal taxi) that would deliver me straight there, but its about 10 or 15X as expensive as public transport and I’m a cheapskate while traveling so I decide to brave the matatus and find my way. Armed with Kaisa’s map of Kampala and a good amount of sunblock, I set out. It is 9am.
I board a Matatu to the old taxi park like a pro because I have been there before on our previous get-out-of-the-city weekend excursions, and then ask a few people how I can get to Nsambya from there. One nice fellow guides me across the street and directs me to the right taxi (people are so so nice here when it comes to directions, its great) I get in the taxi, wait for about 15 minutes while it fills to the brim with Nsambya-bound Ugandans and we’re off. The driver assures me that he knows JMS and will direct me when to get off, but I don’t know weather or not to trust him because on our way out of the taxi park when we encounter the always-present hoard of coming and going matatus, bikes and boda-bodas (small motor bikes) he literally almost runs over 3 or 4 pedestrians and nudges the back wheels of passing bikes while aggressively honking his horn in order to pass as quickly as possible through the traffic (it still takes like 30 minutes despite all this). We emerge from the crowded streets of central kampala and start skirting along the dusty side roads leading to Nsambya (I saw some signs with the word “Nsambya” on them intermingled with some Lugandan words that meant nothing to me, so at least I knew we were heading in the right direction…unless the signs were reading “do NOT go this way to get to Nsambya,” which I thought was unlikely J). A few minutes later the driver pulled over and pointed down a road, telling me to follow it for a while and I’d arrive at JMS. Ok. So, I paid my 800 Ugandan Shillings (about 50 cents) and off I went. Lo and behold, a short walk later there was JMS! Sweet! I am a bad ass! Yes, its about 11:30 am by now, but no worries, I made it.
In a very good mood, I open the big iron door to find a nice security guard, but absolutely no one else in sight. Mmm, mood plummet, what’s going on? “Hi there, I’m here to buy a stethoscope, is the store open today?” No. The store is not open on Saturdays, silly mzungu. (I make a mental note to cause Richard some sort of pain). “Ok, do you mind if I take a look around?” I was not going to give up so easy. The guard concedes to my wandering around with a “its not like you’re not going to find anything” look on his face, but he lets me go anyway. I find an open door on the side of a building, and inside a really nice employee who assures me that no, there is no way of getting into the store house on Saturday, but since I really need to get a stethoscope today because I’m leaving for the rural rotation the following day, he starts calling around Kampala to help me find a place that is open on Saturdays where they sell stethescopes. Yay for nice people, he finds a store (on the way other side of town) that is open and we locate it on the map. Off I go.
I hop another matatu (that was an IHOP pun), weave through the ensuing traffic jam, make it to a place in the city I recognize and jump out. Walk a few winding blocks up to the main road, hop another matatu that’s headed in the right direction, make friends with the fellow passengers who agree to tell me where to get out and in another hour or so, and a lot of directions later, I’m walking up to SinoAfrica Medical Supplies. They are open! They have stethoscopes! Not Litman’s but at this point I don’t really care what brand I get as long as I can hear heart sounds with it. I settle on a nice Chinese model and also purchase a reflex hammer and pen light, all the things I should have brought with me from the states but did not. It takes a while to get the items from the store house, but I’m chatting amiably with the two staff who are helping me and when they find out I’m going to work in a clinic in Kumi they muster up some other supplies that they want to donate and place them in the bag for me to take to the clinic. They were super nice. One of the ladies leads me back to the main road via a short cut and makes sure I get on the right matatu that’s headed back to Bukoto street, where I live.
Ah, all done. The matatu was going to pass all the way back through town (there was no direct matatu back to Bukoto) but it would eventually take me all the way home, I just needed to sit there and bask in my success. Good thing because my blood sugar was really low and all the matatu jumping and traffic and heat was getting to me. I slid over to the far window when a few passengers unloaded so that I could feel the breeze a bit and just zone out while other passengers hopped on and off (if you’re by the door you have to keep moving so that people can get past you). A few minutes later *CRASH* the window where I had been sitting moments before busted into a thousand tiny little pieces and all the passengers (including me) jumped and turned to see what had happened. The conductor had slammed the door with a touch too much fervor and the window had relented. Tiny crystalline nuggets of glass were scattered all over the floor and the back seat. Thank goodness I had moved, it would have scared the crap out of me if I’d been right next to the window. I thought for a split second that someone had shot at us, but that was just a silly gut fear as there’s very little violence here….though the police and guards carry disturbingly large weapons.
The conductor swept the glass from the seats and we pressed on. The traffic was increasing to the point of agony now so we turned around, edging along slowly, and back tracked to take an alternative route. By the time we reached about the half-way point to Bukoto I decided that I just couldn’t take any more of this inch-by-inch progress and got out to walk. I made it home by about 2:30pm, completely exhausted and slightly dehydrated but with a shiny new stethoscope in hand…and it only took 2 and a half days.
I, like an idiot, packed my swanky Litman’s stethoscope (compliments of UW alumni assoc, thanks guys) with my various other belongings that are currently residing contently in boxes tucked into the plush burgundy interior of Bessy the Buick in my Aunt Jane’s yard in Olympia, Wa….USA. I realized this just prior to boarding my flight to Uganda, which is quite a ways from Olympia, but figured hey, no biggie I’ll just pick up a stethoscope in Kampala.
Christine, my classmate and cohort here in Kampala who arrived here one week after I did, graciously purchased me a used stethoscope from a 4th year UW student and brought it along. Sweet, problem solved! Oh wait, except said 4th year was a tricky conniving jerk and convinced sweet and trusting Christine that the stethoscope in question wasn’t missing its diaphragm, no no, it came like that, it never had a diaphragm. Lies. Dirty stinking lies, because the large bell doesn’t work at all sans its diaphragm and the style and number is identical to Christine’s diaphragm-having twin Litman’s.
Ok, back to plan A: get a stethoscope in Kampala, no problem.
Thursday. I inquire with Richard, my 5th year med student Ugandan friend, about where to either find a new diaphragm or get a new Litman’s here and we agree to meet for lunch on Friday and sort it all out. Ok, the ball is rolling.
Friday. I’m sitting in the canteen at Makarere U with Christine and Sophie the Swede waiting for Richard at our agreed-upon time and 30 minutes later Richard shows up because A: he’s on Uganda time, not American time and that’s just how they roll here, fair enough, and B: he was waiting for me outside the canteen for a good 15 minutes while I was waiting inside the canteen for him. We get to chatting and he agrees to take me to the repair shop at Mulago (the hospital) where there is a guy he knows (there’s always a guy he knows, its great, Richard is a good friend to have here) who will probably have a spare diaphragm and will be able to jimmy my Sävlig stethoscope into working order. We show up at the repair shop where there is a graveyard of old hospital beds/chairs/desks etc awaiting repair and an impressive collection of engineery-type machinery that I assume is used to cut metal and perform other manly tasks, but “the guy” was absent. Ok we’ll try again tomorrow. “Or,” I assure Richard “It would also be ok for me to find a place to get a new stethoscope.” We then promptly run into one of Richard’s pharmacy school friends (another one of those guys) on our way out who has the low-down on stethescopes and where to get them. He informs us of a few places in town where I can purchase a good scope, the best one being Joint Medical Stores on the outskirts of Kampala in a region called Nsambya, because it sells Litman’s at a good price. After being thoroughly assured by both of them that JMS is open on Saturdays, I thank them and bid them farewell. Sweet, the ball rolls on.
Saturday: I awake nice and early because I don’t know how long its going to take me to find JMS. I could take a special hire (personal taxi) that would deliver me straight there, but its about 10 or 15X as expensive as public transport and I’m a cheapskate while traveling so I decide to brave the matatus and find my way. Armed with Kaisa’s map of Kampala and a good amount of sunblock, I set out. It is 9am.
I board a Matatu to the old taxi park like a pro because I have been there before on our previous get-out-of-the-city weekend excursions, and then ask a few people how I can get to Nsambya from there. One nice fellow guides me across the street and directs me to the right taxi (people are so so nice here when it comes to directions, its great) I get in the taxi, wait for about 15 minutes while it fills to the brim with Nsambya-bound Ugandans and we’re off. The driver assures me that he knows JMS and will direct me when to get off, but I don’t know weather or not to trust him because on our way out of the taxi park when we encounter the always-present hoard of coming and going matatus, bikes and boda-bodas (small motor bikes) he literally almost runs over 3 or 4 pedestrians and nudges the back wheels of passing bikes while aggressively honking his horn in order to pass as quickly as possible through the traffic (it still takes like 30 minutes despite all this). We emerge from the crowded streets of central kampala and start skirting along the dusty side roads leading to Nsambya (I saw some signs with the word “Nsambya” on them intermingled with some Lugandan words that meant nothing to me, so at least I knew we were heading in the right direction…unless the signs were reading “do NOT go this way to get to Nsambya,” which I thought was unlikely J). A few minutes later the driver pulled over and pointed down a road, telling me to follow it for a while and I’d arrive at JMS. Ok. So, I paid my 800 Ugandan Shillings (about 50 cents) and off I went. Lo and behold, a short walk later there was JMS! Sweet! I am a bad ass! Yes, its about 11:30 am by now, but no worries, I made it.
In a very good mood, I open the big iron door to find a nice security guard, but absolutely no one else in sight. Mmm, mood plummet, what’s going on? “Hi there, I’m here to buy a stethoscope, is the store open today?” No. The store is not open on Saturdays, silly mzungu. (I make a mental note to cause Richard some sort of pain). “Ok, do you mind if I take a look around?” I was not going to give up so easy. The guard concedes to my wandering around with a “its not like you’re not going to find anything” look on his face, but he lets me go anyway. I find an open door on the side of a building, and inside a really nice employee who assures me that no, there is no way of getting into the store house on Saturday, but since I really need to get a stethoscope today because I’m leaving for the rural rotation the following day, he starts calling around Kampala to help me find a place that is open on Saturdays where they sell stethescopes. Yay for nice people, he finds a store (on the way other side of town) that is open and we locate it on the map. Off I go.
I hop another matatu (that was an IHOP pun), weave through the ensuing traffic jam, make it to a place in the city I recognize and jump out. Walk a few winding blocks up to the main road, hop another matatu that’s headed in the right direction, make friends with the fellow passengers who agree to tell me where to get out and in another hour or so, and a lot of directions later, I’m walking up to SinoAfrica Medical Supplies. They are open! They have stethoscopes! Not Litman’s but at this point I don’t really care what brand I get as long as I can hear heart sounds with it. I settle on a nice Chinese model and also purchase a reflex hammer and pen light, all the things I should have brought with me from the states but did not. It takes a while to get the items from the store house, but I’m chatting amiably with the two staff who are helping me and when they find out I’m going to work in a clinic in Kumi they muster up some other supplies that they want to donate and place them in the bag for me to take to the clinic. They were super nice. One of the ladies leads me back to the main road via a short cut and makes sure I get on the right matatu that’s headed back to Bukoto street, where I live.
Ah, all done. The matatu was going to pass all the way back through town (there was no direct matatu back to Bukoto) but it would eventually take me all the way home, I just needed to sit there and bask in my success. Good thing because my blood sugar was really low and all the matatu jumping and traffic and heat was getting to me. I slid over to the far window when a few passengers unloaded so that I could feel the breeze a bit and just zone out while other passengers hopped on and off (if you’re by the door you have to keep moving so that people can get past you). A few minutes later *CRASH* the window where I had been sitting moments before busted into a thousand tiny little pieces and all the passengers (including me) jumped and turned to see what had happened. The conductor had slammed the door with a touch too much fervor and the window had relented. Tiny crystalline nuggets of glass were scattered all over the floor and the back seat. Thank goodness I had moved, it would have scared the crap out of me if I’d been right next to the window. I thought for a split second that someone had shot at us, but that was just a silly gut fear as there’s very little violence here….though the police and guards carry disturbingly large weapons.
The conductor swept the glass from the seats and we pressed on. The traffic was increasing to the point of agony now so we turned around, edging along slowly, and back tracked to take an alternative route. By the time we reached about the half-way point to Bukoto I decided that I just couldn’t take any more of this inch-by-inch progress and got out to walk. I made it home by about 2:30pm, completely exhausted and slightly dehydrated but with a shiny new stethoscope in hand…and it only took 2 and a half days.
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