In Prison

My experiences in Uganda have been extraordinarily varied and I consider myself to be very lucky as a result. I came to Uganda to work with a non-governmental organization (NGO), but have also managed to make close contacts with the government, with the mining/geological sector to be specific. At the moment this department is heading towards a large conference with 200 stakeholders invited, including the president’s wife, and I foolishly volunteered to help with certain aspects of it. Thus, in my so-called spare moments, I have been editing a book on small-scale mining in Uganda and will be helping with organizational aspects of the conference. Maybe, if I am lucky, I will even register the president’s wife if she comes. Because of my work, I have been spending much time at the department and it is definitely worth a description.

In 1962 the government shifted from Entebbe to Kampala, making Kampala the new capital. Most government offices shifted as well and are concentrated in downtown Kampala and, for Ugandan standards, are quite nice. One Ministry and one department were left behind. The department I associate with is the one. It is situated on a beautiful peninsula that juts out into Lake Victoria, which also happens to be the perfect place for a prison. And indeed it was! And not only a prison, but a high security one for the worst criminals! You can imagine how delighted I was to find out – my time in Australia awakened a love for old prisons in my heart.

Once someone tells you it becomes obvious. The corridors, the exercise yard, the cell-like size of the offices, the way it is easy to supervise the comings and goings – these has prison written all over it. So I am currently sitting in a former cell, typing away. Last night, after dark, I was also here and had no trouble imagining the ghosts of the former convicts, although none of them troubled me ;o) I wonder what kind of crimes they committed and how they were punished. And I am sure that for some of the civil servants that work here, this place remains a prison or place of torture.

To add to the feel of this place is the fact that it seems to be falling apart. The bathroom is the best example. The doors to the toilets don’t close properly, the toilets have trouble flushing, neither have toilet seats (although this is not unusual), the window is broken, a broken toilet and sink lie in the corner, covered in dust and cobwebs, and the single-functioning faucet of the sink is drooping and looks like it will soon come off. But despite all this, the office is a peaceful place to work, when its current drama, intrigue and corruption don’t distract you.

Another discovery I made at this department is that I really wish that a cartographer had come to my elementary or high school during parent’s day. I mean, who asks themselves where maps come from and then studies the subject? Not many people. It could have been a good field for me – I love maps and have three of them hanging in my room (World, Canada, Uganda). But for now I shall have to be content pursuing historical research. And if that doesn’t lead anywhere, I will take my copy of the Miner’s Handbook that I edited and come back to Uganda to mine gold, small-scale of course.