Nyege Nyege Fest //Uganda
What happened when I took a group of EMPOWERED Ugandan youth, to a music festival, to talk about periods.
Arriving on the plane I was greeted by the gentleman seated behind me, leaning over to shake my hand before returning to introduce himself to his neighbour as she took her seat. There was music playing, the type of music that conjures up images of safari. Bold patterned fabric on the chairs, cabin crew dressed with class, their bodies adorned in gowns that spoke to the regal, the beautiful, the African people.
I was flying to Uganda on Ethiopian airlines, via Addis Ababa - the same route I took when I moved there in 2016,
‘Welcome home’.
There was a confusion in me since I booked the flight only a few weeks prior, that remained in me as I left Reykjavik the night before, to head to London for this flight. I didn’t have enough time to come around to the idea before taking off. What was I doing popping back to the equator, for two weeks? I’d be returning to snow! Fortunately though, I trusted that this trip would work out, it would be whatever it needed to be.
Back in 2016 I stayed with a host family whilst on a placement, supporting a group of national and international volunteers to implement project work in community. I find this sort of work questionable now but it is a part of my story. And it was one of the most peaceful times of my life.
Just months before, I left; my partner of 9 years, the home we had renovated together, my job - to go in search of something else, another life I’d always fantasised about. Living abroad, something I had thought would only ever be something I just dreamed of. This dream became a reality and I adjusted to long drops, bucket baths, cockroaches, red dusty roads, village life and being the only muzungu, white person, in the neighbourhood.
My Father set up and ran a charity when I was young, supporting children affected by the Rwandan genocide; the first flight I took I was aged 17 and it was to Rwanda. I had grown up with Rwandans, Ugandans, Kenyans (and even Filipinos at one time), staying with us. Dad would go away for a few weeks at a time. My sister and mother each took a trip to learn more about what his work was. I guess it was a pretty unusual childhood for someone growing up in such a predominately anglo-saxan part of England but it was normal for me, my dad and his friends coming along to school assemblies. I had an awareness of genocide and parts of the world far away, when I was really young.
My visits to Rwanda when I was aged 17 and 21, were spent in the actual Hotel Rwanda, which is actually a very fancy hotel. Staying with a host family in Uganda meant staying in the home of a local. Contrary to popular belief Africa isn’t just goats farmers, elephants and mud huts. The home I stayed in had a TV that the family gathered around of an evening to watch the news, some drama like Days of Our Lives and local comedy sketch shows. Always with the volume on full. And sometimes there were chickens, even a turkey at one time, living inside. The loo was outside, a long drop at the back end of the compound, shared with the tenants who rented a room inside the compound from the family. There was a curtain in place of a bedroom door, raindrops on the metal roof brought much noise when it poured, the radio played through the night - a pastor preaches loudest at night. Always with the volume on full. Aunty would wake up at 4am to also pray loudly.
My sense of peace grew most noticeably during that time in Uganda, despite all of the noise. It could have been the increased exposure to vitamin D, the heat, the fresh fruits, the slower pace, the reduced responsibility from my full time job or the people and their way of life.
So keen to return, I organised my own research trip and was back home again within two months of my placement ending. I had met a youth organisation who were leading the way locally, teaching how to make reusable pads and rapping about menstruation. It was at a time where talking about periods was becoming cool and these young peoples approach was so refreshing.
Now I was back 8 years later.
Sarah greeted me at the airport, the same Sarah I had first met all those years before, some how different. Now she is a mother, she’s grown, not the same quiet little girl I had known. She came to meet me at the airport, traveling with the driver I booked to pick me up, to ensure I arrived safely. We made the long journey from the airport back to the village, all the while catching up and reminiscing about just how much time had passed since we last met, putting the world to rights.
And we spoke about what the plan was for Nyege Nyege.
I arrived at Medie’s place before the sun came up. I was grateful to have a friend like Medie who I could trust would receive me and have a bed for me to rest.
‘Isukayo’, welcome home.
I woke abruptly at dawn; people were being called to prayer, the birds, the migration of bodies outside the glazeless windows starting their day. My body remained still, I was shooketh. My eye lids burst open and I look around the room to try desperately to piece together my environment, making sense of where I was, and how I’d ended up here. Go back to sleep, I wasn’t able or ready to process it all yet. A few hours later I stir again. I check my phone and it’s now afternoon. I lay there letting my body and mind catch up with my reality - I was actually back in Uganda.
A little while later I decide to get up, no one is home. Medie had said he would be out at work but the boys next door would be around to help me out if I needed anything. I hear birds gossiping right outside the window. I turn to watch them quarrel. I pull out my notebook. Moving slowly, I take myself to sit on the bench on the front porch home sweet home, I think to myself. There is something so familiar about being here, as I’m processing my new environment a smile dances across my face. I feel safe here, even without having a guide, a driver or translator glued to my side. I feel comfortable, even with no curtain on the bedroom door. I smile at the people passing by. They wave back and nod, children whisper muzungu and giggle to each other.
Sega, one of the boys from next door returns home and sits with me. He begins to introduce himself; he is a boxer through one of the projects Medie set up to engage young people through sports, to empower youth. He also has his own goats and chickens. I wasnt aware of any of the young people I met previously owning goats - what made him different?
Then he takes out his phone and begins to show me some footage of his recent fights.
I love when a person feels comfortable with me and wants to share more about who they are.
At the same time, I’m getting an update of how the youth here were doing. Those that I previously knew had moved on to try and make ends meet. There was still the same struggles; limited opportunities, finances and resources. The organisation was a group of volunteers who were busying themselves with the type of community work that helps shape a person, can turn things around. Unfortunately it didn’t pay the bills. They were evicted from the meeting spot where they had set up a library, a youth parliament and had a boxing ring to train, practice and perform in. The land owner wanted to develop.
I am welcomed like a family member, a reunion with this stranger who feels like home.
The days that follow, I take my time to adjust to the heat. Faces from the past visit from time to time. The ingredients for a meeting begin to form and I start to question again what am I actually doing here? Sarah and I had been messaging the year before about the Festival that happens in Uganda, joking about how I had to go to the festival one day go truly experience Uganda. Then she sent me a post from the festival organisers, they were looking for organisations to run their own events and activities at a selection of ‘off venues’ in the city.
Well when you speak about something enough times eventually it becomes a reality.
I had spoken with Sarah one afternoon whilst sat on a bench in Reykjavik, watching the erupting volcano in the distance. She hosted Medie and a few of the boxers at her place to discuss what we could do. We video called whilst they BBQ’d. I shared minutes, we delagated tasks to prep for it. And then I booked my ticket. We still hadn’t had confirmation about A. who would actually be involved and B. if we had a venue.
Now I’m being greeted by young people visiting the compound. Our guests start to introduce themselves; name, age, what year they’re in at school as they’ve been conditioned to do. I soon realise that although words had been shared, intentions spoken, ensuring that this wasn’t me dictating what we could do - the ideas were all straight from the young people of this community.
Everyone who knows +256 Youth Platform knows the force that is is.
Youth energy. Youth leaders. For young people, by young people.
Of course everyone wanted to promote the work of +256, they are incredibly passionate about the the impact it’s had on their lives. And yet, a few days later, after we had adjusted the loose plan to better suit the capacity of the group, I was acknowledging that I was leading on this. Medie had now taken a step back from programmes, something he had needed to do for sometime but he could never bring himself to step back from the young people in need. His focus now was on working on getting policies changed in government, he had done all he could on the ground. Benja, the young boy I had known, the one who told me that since he learnt about periods, he would buy pads to take to school in case anyone needed them. The young boy whose story I would go on to share when running workshops on menstruation in response to someone saying ‘isn’t it just a women’s problem’. The young boy who redefines to me what it means to be a man. He was now the president and overseeing the project work, alongside studying to become a nurse, naturally.
Half of the people who said they wanted to be involved, weren’t here and are no longer available. Fortunately, there were a small group of people who were keen and able, so we wrote a budget and I sent some money to be used to get t-shirts printed, travel to the city and around for the duration of the festival, food for us all. All out of my own pocket.
Some people I know spend £1000s on holidays, to all places near and far, on cruises, taking partners, parents, children, friend groups. Me? I’m taking four guys to the city to party, and educate.
Of course, sure. Naturally.
Sarah kindly allows us to stay at her place, we carry the tents, banners, pads, and personal items by boda boda, three to a bike plus bags. The guys camp in the compound, I stay in the house with Sarah, her daughter and teen sister she’s been housing. The event organisers confirm that we can set up at a bar and shortly after go to check it out, not without being accosted by the police at least once.
We find the bar that will be base camp for the next few days. Sarah says it’s a good location, we are by the football pitch and there will be a match that everyone comes to. Unfortunately as the task was about to start, the nerves began to set in and people became shy. Part of the experience, beyond promoting the wonderful network of community, it was an opportunity for personal and professional development. I was a youth worker for many years, providing opportunities for individuals to explore different environments to develop their skills.
When I had returned to Uganda for my research trip, I had met young men who not only knew about menstruation, they also ran workshops teaching how to make reusable pads. Men! Boys! Well these young men who had now accompanied me to the festival weren’t as clued up. They had also become deflated about there being no foot traffic to run outdoor gym sessions for. So sarah taught them. I had brought a mini mic for Sarah to make content with. No better time to jump straight in. She started talking through the reusable products with them and lead a discussion, amongst ourselves. The guys practiced their spiel on the bar stuff and I responded to a message.
The event organisers had added me to a group chat with the other off-venue organisers. We would be able to go to the festival for free. All of us!
This was huge news. In months, weeks and days leading up to the festival I had contemplated buying a ticket, if I needed to experience as Sarah said. I wouldn’t have wanted to go alone but if I were to buy a ticket for Sarah as well, was I then to also get some for the others. It wasn’t definite who would be coming, and even how it would all go, and I also didn’t have the money to afford all of this. The website had shown different prices for tourists and locals tickets. I’m relieved I hadn’t bought any because I had now just added out names to a spreadsheet - we were on the guestlist.
The mood changed. There was excitement, I was unsure what I was about to step into, but off we went to the ticket office to get our wristbands.
It was chaos.
As we followed the road to the entrance and joined the movement of people queuing to get in, my contact had appeared behind us. A little further and I see one of the period preachers from all those years before, he had moved to the city now. The bag checks allowed our most creative member to enter with the pants he had been carrying to decorate the clay birds he had been making to sell for a higher profit margin, £1. The tent to pick up wristbands for those on the guest list was that last hurdle that tests your patience before you make it to your destination. Some of the names weren’t showing on the spreadsheet, there was more than one spreadsheet - it was opening night, there’s bound to be teething problems. Staying calm, we did manage to get this sorted and off we went.
The venue was right by the source of the Nile. There were performances from traditional dressed demonstrating their style of dance and signing. There was a ferris wheel which cost a ridiculous amount. There were stages and areas sponsored by the drinks companies; huge screens advertising the noticeable contrasting products on sale. And everything was expensive. There was street food but muzungu prices.
We took a walk around the site, Kabynge wondering off to make sales. I’m figuring out if I’m responsible for this group. As long as we make it all home tonight. There’s a giddiness, excitement, it’s time to party. We dance. A circle forms, I find myself the back up dancer for a member of the circle to perform with, what is happening? This is amazing. What ever hat I had left on had now come off, I was performing no more.
I LOVE FESTIVALS.
I also really enjoy listening to music, watching performers, and dancing.
And I love the part of the night when it’s time to go home.
Sarah wanted to stay out, the boys were ready to head back. It was a long walk back up the street to get to the boda taxis. We were heading back into the city to get some dinner, at normal prices. Something that would have been around 50p was closer to £10, they were right, we could get it cheaper at the place near the bar some of the boxers had worked as bouncers at. Right near a piece of cardboard a group of about 10 street children are using as a bed tonight.
What a day.
I don’t know if they thought any money that didn’t get spent they would be able to keep? Maybe? We went over budget in the end, even with the free festival tickets.
The reality is, that for many of my friends living in Uganda, they are living paycheque to paycheque.
What does that mean when you’re not working?
Or when your employer never paid you?
Or when you have to pay for school?
Or you’re a single mother? And you have to pay for your child’s school now too?
And you believe that there will be more. You have to have faith. Hope.
How are you to afford rice or chapati? It is cheap.
And data for your phone?
It’s all done via mobile money. Instead of cash points there are banks that you can withdraw money from. But the act of sending and receiving money to your mobile number has allowed for ease to ask loved ones for a bit of support from time to time. It is cheap. Rent is cheap. Employment options are low, so you take what you can get even if it means being treated poorly by a manager, not actually having enough to live on and it being something you don’t actually want to do.
The next day we return to the same spot at the bar. We get set up, try something different and watch as people arrive for the football game. There’s a few conversations with passers by, some are from the same village and know of +256. Some know of reusable period products. Most are not interested in our stall. Next door we visited the fashion exhibition, a project funded by arts council funding. Me and Sarah day dream about what we could be doing and make connections with one of the organisers.
The energy of the group this evening has waned, the boys go to leave, I get a boda back later in my own
Switch day order
