Blood, gore and tennis

My life as a stuntman. Picture the scene: Charlize Theron is struggling in the front seat with an abusive punter/boyfriend/super villain, her only option is to plunge out of the car onto the open road, despite her assailant driving way above the speed limit. 

Now replace Charlize with me, the villain with a packed car of helpful so and so's, the struggle with a helpful suggestion that I have a lift hanging onto the roof rack and standing on the step next to the door and the break-neck speed with at best 20mph. And then the dismount.

Needless to say I expected to land, stagger and stand to rapturous applause from all around. Several somersaults into a filth-filled drainage ditch and raucous laughter were not part of the plan. However, I managed to conceal a fairly bloody knee and elbow and limped off adamant that I wasn't injured and had performed the stunt for their amusement. I guess it was a fairly fitting way to end a week of injuries and mockery (worryingly, mockery appears to be becoming a consistent theme). Today is being used as a recovery day with lots of nothing and maybe football at a bar later.

I spent the rest of the week coping with another serious injury. Teaching barefoot as a result of a thoroughly irritating blister that refused to allow me to put any pressure on my left foot whatsoever. Unfortunately, all the staff and children at the school are very caring and nosy, which has meant I had to reveal the cause of my sorry state. It's hard not to laugh at a giant hobbling round like a war veteran as a result of a blister, harder still to listen to the abuse. Although, I was grateful that two year 7 girls offered to carry me to the staff room at the height of my suffering; I'm not convinced they know how heavy I really am thanks to my deceptive baggy trousers.

This 'injury' stemmed from my first foray into staff football and the studs in my new boots refusing to sink into the school's cement like pitch. Perhaps even more traumatic than the blister itself was the quest to find boots in Kampala. As I'll not be playing in any kind of competitive manner, I was advised to visit Owino, Kampala's biggest market, to find a cheap and cheerful pair with strict instructions not to pay more than 50,000ugx (£12).

Owino is the Ugandan equivalent of the bazaars of Morocco or Istanbul. If you're imaging tightly packed stores and the rich smell of spices then my comparison is useless. It started off a bit like that, but then it turned into maze-like, narrow warrens cut through piles of rubbish, plastic tac, rotten meat, animal (I hope) faeces, second-hand (questionable) clothes and distressed Ugandans. These Ugandan were poor, really poor and as the only white person (an immediate confirmation of extreme wealth) in the maze I was a popular attraction.

'Bida, bida, bida, bida, bida' was consistently screamed in my face. I'm still not entirely sure if this was an invitation for me to buy some of the muck by, or under, their feet; a threat; or pleas for help. By the anguished expressions, I'm fairly confident it must be option one or two. Either way, my polite excuses were ineffective, so I decided to demonstrate rude indifference to their pleas and focused on navigating. On three separate occasions I ended up back at the entrance having spun myself into confusion.

The shoe section of the market is found just beyond the meat section. Now, I'm a little peculiar about meat here based on the state of the meagre and diseased looking cows and chickens that litter all the roads and find most of their sustenance in huge heaps of rubbish pre-burning. In any case, like most people, I'm a bit iffy with butchery and carcasses. Owino's meat section is the most repulsive experience of my existence: rotting, discoloured, covered in flies, having spent days in the baking sun, within feet of excrement on the floor. The narrowness of the walkways meant that I had to push meat aside to get through, retching and then having the stench on my hands until I got home: truly harrowing.

It took an hour to haggle for the boots. I was quoted 500,000ugx (£120ish) initially for a pair of second hand boots with a huge hole in the front, but eventually secured a pretty average pair for 50,000ugx after agreeing to take the three salesmen for lunch (another 3,000ugx).

Other news:

Next weekend I will be leaving Kampala for the first time and getting to experience some of Uganda's natural offering in Jinja, which is famed for its extreme sports. Hopefully that will also mean more wildlife and I'll try to be a bit more prolific with my camera.

I've made friends with a baby monkey at school. He hangs around in the tree outside the staff room and I've been teaching him to wave. Apparently I will forget how cute they are, when they invade my classroom and start flinging chalk around... Surely this would only make them cuter?

Hobnobbing has started as I've joined a group of tennis players, which includes an European ambassador, the director of a large airline, the head of a NGO and a university ambassador. Patronage within the year, I reckon.

Hope you're all well. Have some random photos:

Demon: Dr Ian Clarke, who set up a big hospital in Kampala and became the first and only elected muzungu in Uganda, presenting some awards to our kids.

 One of the weird and wonderful birds that frequents my garden.

 There is a quarry at the top of my road. This thing is the hub of the operation and is clearly well constructed and suited to purpose.

 The school football field, half of it, and the building in the background houses my classroom, as well as the dance studio and drama rooms above it... not at all irritating.

 School pool dressed up for the awards evening.

 Close up of my chicken looking pensive.

 A view down my road.

Boda drivers. These helpful chaps take me everywhere and tried to charge me 100,000ugx for this picture and then told me they were all members of Al-Shabaab to try and scare me... I couldn't remember what Al-Shabaab was and talked them round with my charms.