You might think I am being harsh. Before I tell you what counts as a worthwhile conversation, I will tell you what it is not.

Good conversation is NOT a regugitation of all the information/data one may have on a person they just met. A few weeks ago, I was out with friends at a lovely restaurant named after vegetation and reptiles in Nakasero when a young man that my friends knew came over to say hello. When we were introduced, he spent the next ten minutes drawing out the names of my siblings, their spouses, where we all went to school and where they all work. And when he was done, I thought – yes, but so what? I did not know him from Adam, and after ten minutes, he was content to have it remain that way.  And he is not alone. A former colleague of mine and I used to joke about the fact that whenever I needed an update on my life I could count on him for details. There seems to be a sense among the few people  encountered that conversation is assumed to be how much one knows about another – very gossipy. But it seems to be the unfortunate default state of affairs.

When good conversation happens, there tends to be a sense of mutual benefit, some kind of connection on common ground/interest, some learning, some unlearning – ultimately, something. Perhaps I take it all very seriously and wish for meaning in every human interaction, my unrealistic expectations resulting in the inevitable high frequency of disappointments. But I take it seriously enough to have fallen in love after a five hour conversation.

Perhaps there is something for me to learn about inspiring good conversation. If you have any ideas, let’s make a date for a chat.

This has been one of the big questions on my mind in the last four months – four months of non-violent protests-turned-violent, the alleged consequence of the Arab spring on fuel and food prices, the confirmation of the changes (mostly a lack there of) that our electoral process earlier this year brought about. In these months, there were those among us that knew about the terror of tear-gas  and police beatings first-hand and those of us that watched it in the remote comfort of our homes on the evening news; those of us who had to rearrange out lifestyles to deal with the ever-rising food and commodity prices and those that cannot tell you the price of a packet of salt; there has been unnecessary loss for some and fraudulent gain for others. And in between these extremes, many of us exist.

I wonder which ‘we’ this blog represents… It started off with the sentimental notion that shared humanity within the Ugandan context was all that was necessary to justify the use the pronoun. Then I remembered that I had not seen most of the country. The focus then turned to the shared experience of living in Kampala, but that lost it’s strength with the greater exposure to the quality of life for the majority of the city’s dwellers in informal settlements. As the circle represented shrunk even more to a few family members and friends, I realised that the post might have been more accurately named: ‘ the way I live’.  And since I have been floating around in a sentimental cloud these last four months, once awaking to the uncertainty of which country I was in, it may be best to remain silent  and wish us all the best in whatever circumstance we find ourselves.

With this growing realisation of the power of unity, my heart started to break for my own nation for whom this state of affairs may never be a reality. Our identity as Ugandans is a colonial construct, our sprituality is mostly of foreign influence and tribalism has become a way of life. How then are we to have a shared vision for the future?

Perhaps we shall have to begin looking at those things we have in common, those things we share as human beings – things like the value of family. We are all part of one in one way or another, we care for the well being of the family members, we strive to meet their needs, we support them and receive their support in return. Perhaps family as a common motivation in life is a key to unity in our collective future…

Ugandans, it seems, are not in that place….yet. It seems we are not angry enough, united enough. We may not be ready to pay the ultimate price for real democracy.

With paving catering for vehicles and the  traffic police (that superceded most of the traffic lights a long time ago in the city) concerned only about the flow of vehicular traffic, I wonder, who is looking out for the pedestrian?

In the Modernist vision, the car was at the heart of urban planning. It was assumed that in the city of the future, most individuals would own the luxury of this machine that could wheel you to and from your activities of life (live, work play). In Kampala, a city formerly at the heart of the Buganda Kingdom and later the seat of colonial power, urbanisation has only had about 50 years to evolve, too short a time to consider all necessary players and inevitably leaving the pedestrian at the bottom of the priority list. But with more than three quarters of the city occupants pedestrians, isn’t it about time that someone took into account the needs of the majority?

I first became aware of this brand of men at my brother’s wedding meeting (a curious local phenomenon worthy of its own post). There were about 40 of them, loud, arrogant and ready to show off their financial might in supporting their friend to prepare for his wedding. With only a week in the country, I left with a less than flattering impression of these men. When I finally returned and heard more about who they are and what they do together, the negativity slowly morphed to the other end of the spectrum.

There are a number of fraternities in Kampala with a breed of proud young men. It turns out that they are a form of social networking, forming both social and professional relationships. Their families know each other, their children play and study together, they support each other in the inevitable life events, weddings, births and deaths. They not only take care of each other but reach out into the public to support orphanages, hospitals and community projects. I can see the positive effect of membership to this fraternity on my brother: he is motivated to do well, he has a healthy social life from which he becomes increasingly informed about the workings of economics, industry and any other subject of his interest. He is like breathing directory of this country.

Watching these fraternities at work reminds me of my father’s fraternities. They have been such a part of his life that they would be the first point of call if anything were to happen to him. And so we see the continuation of a positive culture. I have had the privilege to be live in a country with some evidence of men that have lost their pride. In parts of South Africa, men without any pride have turned their anger and frustration on their fellow men, on their women and children with devastating social and economic consequences. As a young (I insist) proud woman in this context, it gives me great pleasure to know that in Uganda there are an increasing number of men that care about themselves and each other, that want to do right by their families, that are not terribly hang up about tribal differences and are generally taking care of business. I respect that and I am proud of them.

It is a shame. But at the same time, therein lies the hope of this country as I see it. I do not believe in politicians and politics. I believe in individuals with positive vision that affects more than their immediate family but spreads out to better benefit the community in which they live. If they were standing, I would vote for the founders of the orphanage, Sanyu babies home, I would vote for the party of the people making a difference for the former child soldiers in the north. I support the farmers associations who are not participating in the fraudulent NAADS schemes, but are simply and honestly doing their best. Sadly they are not running for president, MP or LC chairperson.

I guess i didn’t need the card to vote. I simply needed it as evidence of integrity, proof that perhaps the people in charge can deliver as promised. Once again I was disappointed.

A mouthful and a handful, I know, but this is a classic example of how we live, if we are lucky to have people that care about us. In that week, I got a strong conviction about what poverty is  – it is the absence of people in one’s life. It is to be alone..

My country faces new beginnings – (or not) with the upcoming elections. Let us hope that we do not end up with a Cote d’Ivoire arrangement.

In this new year, I wish for you what you wish for yourself.

Having been raised Catholic and spent a good deal of time exploring various religious denominations, this sudden abscence of the need to pray made me feel both uncomfortable and irrelevant. Uncomfortable because it seemed to render my God idle, something I did not believe made him too excited, and irrelevant becasue everything seemed to work perfectly without my help. I needed to know that my God is active and that I can be part of his busyness. So I came back home.

And here I found some of the most amazing manifestations of faith – situations that work out in spite of the huge and seemingly insumountable odds: medical miracles in spite of the run-down or absent medical facilities and demotivated staff; viable business in informal infrastructure; cheerfulness in the daily strain to obtain the very basic human needs. That for me is active faith, hope and a reason to get up in the morning and do what I have to do. Afterall, if Jane down the road, who is HIV positive and a single mother of 4 can get up and do her best, so will I. I won’t only pray for her, I will help her support some of her children through school in the hope that they can do better for themselves.

In UG, I find faith, hope and relevance – the basis of my spirituality.