Pentecostal church experience/Uganda live music show

I apologize to those of you who have been looking for more information about my internship and project here in Uganda, but I promise they will be coming! Because it has been mostly office work thus far, I have spared you the details, but I will be sure and share more storied about my interviews towards the end of this week.

This Sunday was first experience of an African Pentecostal church service, which was followed by a visit to Lake Victoria in the afternoon to see a music show with some of Uganda’s popular artists. The jury is still out, but I think that the little bit of “saved” I became from attending church was quickly erased by the Ugandan live music experience…

I went to church with Meki (the 15 year old daughter) and her friend Ivy’s family. The 7 of us traveled to church in a 5-seater sedan, about the size of a Toyota Corolla. The church wasn’t far away, but I was fairly damp by the time we arrived—I’m pretty sure it was due to the close quarters, not the anticipation… Before I even saw the church, I heard the music. And not traditional church songs, or what I would classify as “church music,” but rather rock/pop style songs blaring from big studio speakers. The only way I could tell the music was associated with church was when I listened to the lyrics and noted that the chorus went along the lines of, “bring us to Him, be him the Lord.” Now, if the music wasn’t enough to throw off my conception of what “church” is, then the giant circus-style outdoor tent was. This tent was set up as essentially the church “building” as it had rows and rows of chairs facing risers that functioned as a stage. Lawn chairs were also scattered across the lawn outside of the tent, with a TV centrally located so that each section could see and hear the message being relayed. No stained glass, no old men in white robes, only happy people greeting one another, praying and singing. The whole time I was just trying to figure out if I was witnessing a giant family reunion or a church service…

Later Sunday afternoon I had made plans to go with my friend Bbale (a guy who had given me a tour of Makerere University after seeing the bewildered look on my face in downtown Kampala) to a beach on Lake Victoria for a live music show. I guess the beach is owned by a filthy rich Ugandan artist named Bobi Wine. Now, he holds shows with local artist at his beach, and by charging a small entry fee, continues to become insanely rich by Ugandan standards. Not a bad business model…

We left Kampala around 4 p.m., on a bus that would in no way pass safety inspections in the United States, or probably even in Mexico. I was the only white person, and one of four girls, so I definitely got a lot of stares as people kept yelling at Bbale in Luganda and asking what I was doing with him. The bus ride took about 45 minutes, but it felt like forever, as the road conditions were worse than anything I’ve ever seen, and we were stopped by some police officers that decided to get into a yelling match with some of the passengers on the bus. I just sat back and tried to look inconspicuous, hearing what I presumed to be insults, being traded back and forth. After this slight delay, we arrived at the beach, which was already swarmed with old men, moms, teenagers, and small naked children. The shoe didn’t start till around 7, so we spent some time walking around and eating different vended foods, whereby I managed to become quite sunburned. (The malaria medication warning doesn’t lie as to increased sun sensitivity…). I tried a few of Uganda Breweries domestic beers and marveled at the amount of people who were continuing to filter into the beach area.

The show itself was incredible, and seeing artists who were able to deliver a true performance, even while on a stage much to small and with limited tech equipment was nothing short of refreshing. The music was a mix between hip-hop, rap, and reggae, all with an island/African flavor. And now I know what it means to “feel the music.” Africans know how to dance—I think it is something genetic because even the smallest kids could move better than I’ll ever be able to. And EVERYONE dances! No one is self conscious, and I think I had the most fun watching groups of men in their mid-20s dance around without a care in the world. Judging from my concert experiences in the U.S., and hearing how much Ugandans like to drink, I had prepared myself for some belligerence and raucousness. But, lo and behold, the crowd did nothing more than drink, dance, converse, and generally enjoy themselves.

What I was very unaware of was the Ugandan partying/socializing stamina. By 10:30 p.m. I felt like I was about to collapse, a feeling that was undoubtedly brought about by my sunburn, as well as the 5+ hours of standing and walking around. Evidently, this same sentiment was not shared by other concertgoers, as vendors were still hawking their goods and toddlers were running about. And, being the savvy business man that he is, Bobi Wine—the headlining act—had not performed yet. He ended up coming on around 12 p.m.; the same time at which I wanted to fall asleep on the one wooden bench that was strategically placed next to the restroom facilities. Note: I hesitate using the word “facilities” because it was more like a shack with three segmented stalls, each containing a dark pit in the dirt floor that I avoided direct eye contact with…even though I don’t consider myself easily disgusted, I couldn’t even go in towards the end of the night—that’s how bad it was.

By 12:30 I finally said that there was no choice in the matter, I needed to go home, otherwise I was going to fall asleep in someone’s plantain garden. I figured that there would be some traffic leaving the area, but nothing too significant, as a large crowd was still watching Bobi Wine and waiting for the next act. Oh no. The one and a half lane road that we had come in on was utter mayhem, as taxis tried to squeeze past one another, boda-bodas cut through the brush on either side of the road, and people dodged around both boda-bodas, taxis, and each other. Despite the fact that the thought of a half-hour boda boda ride on a dirt road was nothing less than terrifying, I decided that was going to be our means of transport back as it would be the fastest. While we caught a boda-boda right outside of the beach area, what I had failed to realize was that the road was a lockjam for about the first mile. So there I was, sitting on a boda-boad with a driver who didn’t give two squats for the welfare of my limbs, breathing in exhaust fumes and red dust, and watching a taxi try to squeeze through two taxis who had so conveniently parked on either side of the road. I don’t think I’ve every had a panic attack or serious anxiety, but I know what it feels like. With the sunburn and exhaustion, I was on the verge of tears.

However, as you may have guess from this entry, I made it home in one piece, albeit with every exposed surface of my body covered in a fine red dust. Job, the night guard, let me into the house, where I found that three people were sleeping in my room. Too exhausted to care, I hurriedly washed my face and crawled into the unoccupied side of my bed, noticing the grit in my mouth that would reside there until the morning.

I have since recovered from this cultural/enjoyable/traumatizing experience, but know that if I am ever to partake in more Ugandan cultural activities, I will need to prepare mentally and physically. And bring sunblock.

I digress to note that I saw a sign in the supermarket advertising “Germany Puppies for Sale.” Anyone interested in what is sure to be a unique souvenir?
Also, at last night’s most recent Mwadime party, the chef piled some sort of kebab meat on my plate and assured me, “this is the best meat you will ever eat.” Being accustomed to just eating whatever is in front of me, it was only later during clean up that I was informed that I had just eaten a whole plate of goat meat.