Kampala/Munyonyo – Sunday August 5th

As it was Sunday, and certainly not out of some “born again” religious fervour, I wanted to find a church service where I could perhaps peek in. My moslem hosts told me that there was a catholic church within walking distance so off I headed.

I met some of faithful (or gullible depending on your point of view) strolling along in the same direction under the hot sunshine. Most were carrying gifts/donations for the church but I sadly feel that these were not for sharing with the community at large. My sense of how these ordinary (mostly poor by any standard) people were being pickpocketed by the local clergy just for the sake of an imaginary ticket in business class travel into the next life was exacerbated when I saw the scale of the almost brand new church.

It was built in 2015 for a papal visit, and you wouldn’t need to be a rocket scientist to see that whatever it had cost would have been far better spent on health, education and food programs in the immediate vicinity. I’m only passing through so I am not going to judge but rather just express my feeling about it – a tad offended.

A more typical local church by comparison!

The purpose of the papal visit was, I gather, to honour christian subjects who were killed on this spot by the then local king who was not so pleased with the spreading of christian doctrine.

I must say however that the singing which I could hear wafting out from the large dome was exquisite. As I walked away I heard a rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus that would have lifted the heart of even the harshest cynic.

I walked on for a while until I reached the lake shore which was a hive of Sunday afternoon activity. I was approached by a woman selling water and, as it was really hot, she also kindly gave this sweltering mzungu a plastic chair under the shade of a big tree.

I sat beside these guys for a while listening to them chatter without understanding a word of what they were saying. Looking down at the lake and I could see three men wading into the water fully clothed. One of the guys beside me explained that it was an adult baptism and that one of the three was a pastor.

So a Ugandan John the Baptist did his thing and I watched as he performed the ritual on three separate men.

This was the official part of the ceremony before the immersing into water. The pastor is the man in the brown shirt and beige trousers.

A few locals swimming after washing in the lake. Quite honestly I would not need a fear of Bilharzia to stop me getting into that lake. It is pretty gross, with raw sewage easily visible to the naked eye.

I wandered on until I came across a local fish market. It was quite pleasant to walk around until being confronted by the local drunk who suggested that I should bugger off. I guess that this is just the same sort of racism that black people experience back home and it gives me an idea of how they must feel intimidated. I didn’t notice anyone prepared to challenge the drunk so, not being one to argue when you are outnumbered, I duly obliged and buggered off.

It was late afternoon by now anyway so I walked a different route back in the 30 degree heat.

Everywhere you go you will find small shops and/or street stall. Nothing gets wasted in Africa and everything gets resold.

Once back in the comfort of my little flat I took a long cold shower.

Rather than eat with the family I went on Simba to a big hotel close by for dinner as I was craving a nice bit of meat and some decent WiFi. I experienced neither unfortunately.

Later back at the house I introduced the family via their YouTube to Riverdance – they were surprised to see that some white people can dance but I was quick to assure them that I didn’t fall into that category……