Vacation

6 January 2011

        Well it took a full four months and a day, but I was finally offered to blaze down on some local Ugandan grass. Politely chatting with the courageous tall baseball cap wearing, toothless Ugandan dealer forced a trivial smile. Considering this was the initial proposal of cannabis on this specific excursion to the continent, I contemplated my state of affairs. What does this say about Gulu? How about the lifestyle I lead in Gulu? More so, how does this speak to touristy, munu swarming areas of Uganda?
        After an ugly and tiresome battle with malaria, I demanded out of Gulu and all I was familiar with. Thanks to some fantastic guidance I left Gulu and gleefully voyaged south to Bujagali Falls with the fine intent of sitting cross-legged and meditating beside the gracious and commanding Nile River. The previous evening at the munu haven camping grounds/guest house was the initial weed discourse my ears have been exposed to while in Uganda during this jaunt. “What are ya up to tonight, braaa?” “Smokin’”, pompously stated the bare-chested, board short wearing, blonde chap with red sunglasses perched on his head as if it’s midday, but in actuality the sun set approximately 42 minutes earlier. “Sounds good, braaa … just the usual, right? Smokin’ the ganj and sippin’ on some cold ones.” Those were the calm yet thriving words of the similarly bare-chested, mid 20 year old Aussie. As I diligently and patiently attempted at a relaxation and forgiving breath, I serenely reminded myself, “No judgments Neil, you don’t know these dudes. And also, you’re on vacation!”
        Shortly after the munu’s mind numbing conversation, I quickly bounced from the munu frenzied vicinity in search of scoring some far better tasting authentic local food. As I blasted through matoke, beans and posho in the dingy, candle lit shack I observed two locals enjoying the same food that I took pleasure in. “Mzunugu (munu) thank you for supporting us,” faintly stated the 36 year old co owner of the 20’ by 20’ square wooden construction. With slight confusion I asked, “Do mzungu’s eat here?” “Sometimes we get muzungu’s but not much.” I struggled to not negatively criticize the munu travelers that inhabit this area. Again, I had to remind myself that the purpose of this retreat was to not overanalyze life.
        All of these munus in Uganda. It appears us outside, Western, white privileged souls journey here for widely distinct reasons. Ninety percent of the time, I actively and critically analyze the role of the bro braaas at my current guest house. However, since that warrants a significant chunk of my present life, if I did that on vacation, wouldn’t that simply contradict my personal socially constructed definition of the term “vacation”? Ideally, I certainly did not venture to this physically breathtaking and magical spot on our globe to bitch up ungracious and unappreciative Westerners. How do I even know they’re “ungracious” or “unappreciative”? How ungracious and unappreciative my “vacation” would be if I all I thought of was the lifestyle of the bro braaas. Am I implying that they are wrong and I am right? After all, is there an objective concrete definition of wrong and right, anyway?
        Well now that my incredibly mesmerizing holiday has terminated, exploring assorted munu instances while in Jinja is personally necessary. While sitting on a wooden chair reading Okot p’Bitek in front of my spacious room one serene evening, I marveled as the sun headed west, but was suddenly interrupted by a munu’s farcical words. “All I want out of life is to just have loads of sex and a pocket full of money.” This stemmed from the Kiwi raft guide - Incredible Hulk replica - who was trying to bring a lovely local Ugandan woman into his living quarters.
        The previous day I heard an English raft guide mutter some nonsense. “Well I know the car will also be packed with like four Ugandans who won’t contribute any money. It happens every time and I starting to get f*cking tired of it.” Then there’s the shaggy looking munu who took a boda ride the equivalent of three New York City blocks to the “junction” so he can board another boda to town. All the while three young Ugandans waved to him as he gazed towards the children, and chose not to wave back, but instead take an extended drag from his cigarette. Finally, after feeling enthusiasm to survey three munus in the local eatery I frequented, I swiftly realized they were watching their local Ugandan companion finish his rice and fish, so he could escort them to the local pub where a pool table sat. No local food for these munus.
        Why are the majority of rafting guides munus and not local Ugandans? Did the munus grow up with the Nile River as their backyard? Frantz Fanon would be both mesmerized and nauseous by this place. In a plethora of ways, it was sort of thwarting to associate with that collective. It highly resonates to the ways in which munus are perceived not only in Uganda, not only in Africa, but further globally. As a collective we are a horde of money flaunting, pretentious people. This experience reified the notion of why locals consistently and successively request money from munus. How can I pretend it’s absent, when my people (munus) continuously act like discourteous, pompous and confused souls? This vacation reintroduced me to whiteness. It is no wonder some local Ugandans view us as money symbols when we eat overly priced western food, take bodas two blocks, and when we desire Ugandans to pay for rides in their land of waterfalls and Nile Rivers. What would it mean if only locals could be rafting and kayak guides? Where would the Incredible Hulk bro braa be able to find his “loads of sex” and “pockets full of money”? Sure, the break away from Gulu was much needed and a savior in a small sense. But, I’m enchanted to be home in Gulu where I don’t continuously encounter haughty munus who do not believe they are outsiders in a foreign land.

     Fishermen on the Nile, while a munu receives kayaking lessons. What do they think of each other?
                            

                Perhaps this sign was directed towards the Incredible Hulk bro braaaa.