Africa No.4 - Brochettes and loneliness / Uganda

Staying in eastern Africa for a few months, I was getting fed up of the food. Injera, made of teff in Ethiopia, stinks sour. Ugali, made of maize or cassava, feels flaky. Tough meat. Oily fries. Good or bad, being served the same thing everyday,

Food in Uganda is similar, but somewhat different. They eat matoke, fake bananas or rice for ugali. Fake bananas are a bit like roasted sweet potato with some flavor of apples. Not as dried out as ugali, it goes well with every single meat.

And the meat is also juicy here. Chicken, lamb, all the parts of beef, you name it, they serve it freshly-baked. At the bus terminal, on the random street corner, during your bus ride, you can smell the barbeque brochette meat baked on the cast-irons pans, all over the city.

(hustle and bustle, Kampala)

When I first got in to Uganda with friends travelers, we were supposed to take a night bus from Nairobi heading to Jinja, the small riverside town close to the border and to get there around 4-5am. It was 6am when we all woke up. We heard the hustle and bustle of the city. Seemed like we overslept the town of Jinja and came all the way through to the capital Kampala.

We were too tired. We wanted to get back to the little town Jinja, which we haven’t even seen. We were captured by a random driver and got in to a random mini-van, which would take us directly to Jinja.

To tell you this again, we were too tired. After the stress of getting a night bus in the middle of the dangerous city center of Kenya. After the stress of being forced to get up at the border in the middle of the night and being checked all over. So that we fell asleep as soon as we got in to the mini-van.

*

(wake-up call, on the way to Jinja)

We were awakened out of sound sleep in the van, with the loud scream, rather, roar. I tried to look out the window and found that I couldn’t. All the local women sticking to the window from outside shouted for selling something; barbeque brochette meat and matoke, fake bananas.

We then knew that we were more hungry than being afraid of being eaten by these shouting women. We took some of these brochette meats and gazed at each other. These meats tasted perfect. Salty taste was just, right. They were not as tough and chewy as the ones we had in Kenya. They have varieties of the parts off the meat, starting from a piece of gizzard to a piece of liver.

We were so fascinated by these brochettes then started to look for these in all the place we have been.

While we were enjoying chilling out at the riverside of Jinja, and being impressed by the headstream of Nile; Victoria Nile(This river was a bit red and contaminated but bright and cheerful place with all locals doing their laundries on the riverside).

While we were rushing up to meet the Pygmy tribes in Fort Portal, the area with rain forest close to the border of DR Congo(There were only a few village of Pygmies in the middle of the normal Bantu Ugandan village, but the king of that village was really small, just as the same as our image of pigmy people. They danced well).

And while we were waiting for the Rwanda visa and I was waiting for the visa renewal in Kampala.

(laundry in Nile, Jinja)

(dancing with pygmies, Fort Portal)

Great barbeque meats were everywhere and they were all cheap, from 30 cents up to 1 dollar.

My favorite place was the one in the suburb of the city Kampala, which was a few minutes walking distance from where I stayed. It was a small stall in the small market along with the road, and I always went out when the night has come. This little market started to smoke out for the dinner time, selling everything for the dinner. Meat, fish, chapatti, soup, omelets, pilaf. Fruits, doughnuts and vegetables.

There was a 40-years-old man and a 18-years-old son, sometimes a 22-years-old son in the stall. They baked the meat in good order every day. Starting with beef brochettes, they went on to the whole chicken, then liver brochettes, mixed ones, and gizzard brochettes. The father was baking all the time, the son was making the brochettes with all the spices with ginger and garlic. They didn’t talk much but they smiled a lot. This family-owned business was doing well. Probably because of the atmosphere they had with each other, locals came and talked with them while they were making the brochettes. Having something to eat is for family, for sharing. The food they, a family, made was something they offer for the dinner table, it seemed like they thought so. And this concept made their stall so popular, not just for locals, but for the tourists like me.

(a family stall, Kampala)

When my passport was renewed and I got a new one for the first time in 9 years and a half, I got these brochettes, went back to the hostel and bought some bottles of beer. Ugandan beer was as great as the ones in Kenya and Ethiopia, and with these delicious street foods, even greater than those.

I pulled out the plug and started drinking with these family-marked brochettes. Then I felt so alone. These foods were made by a family and for families.

When I renewed my passport almost 10years ago in Japan, I was not alone. When I started my travel I was not alone. When I came in to Uganda I was not alone. Now I was by myself saying cheers to myself in the most cheerful place with the warmest brochettes, holding a shiny brand-new passport in my hands.

(barbequing with friends, Fort Portal)