EnterUganda

. Kampala, Uganda.

Society and Lifestyle:

All is well when signs of democracy sprout everywhere. The donors are happy, the opposition has plenty to boo about and the rest of us can walk about looking smug.

You have only to take a peek at our vibrant social scene to see what I mean. Numerous exotic restaurants, and one trendy Wine Bar later, it is pretty obvious that Kampala is not just any seedy backwater smack in the middle of a jungle.

Finally, we have expatriates mingling wildly with rest of us; nobody really has to live town in order to have a good time.
Sadly, Macdonald's has not yet extended a hand in friendship, which is quite worrying. What else can we do to please you, Oh gracious one? If there is one missing signature on the endorsement of Uganda's brilliant social prospects, it is neon signs of the double arches winking on our skylines.

But the way things are going it is probably only a matter of time before we get that. In the meantime, anyone with a thirst for all things American can at least surf the net and stay in touch with the rest of the global village.

We might be savages beating our tom-toms in the dark, but we know the importance of the international communications. Which explains the staggering number of electronic cafes sprouting all over the dusty sidewalks.
The desperate demand for them is just as astonishing; you'll find queues of hairy-faced youths and be-slippered, mangy tourists in sarongs waiting their turn in every one of these. Not good places to spend humid afternoons.

It is not all C-group society either, in Kampala. We have evolved into distinct A- and B- groups in the last ten years. The creamy society might be more gliterati than literati, but they have managed to spawn economic emperors and their scions, worthy of any top society.
They have the sleek cars, the jets, the speed boats and the women. Not blonds of course, rarely long legged or in possession of vital statistics to rival Tyra Banks, but good women all the same.
It was a bit of a mood crusher to be exposed as a society that breeds short, wide-hipped women (unlike the Abyssinians to the North and South of our landlocked haven) but worse things happen to better people.

We might be midgets with pelvic disorders - by global standards - but the sex trade is not suffering. Ask any of those expatriates who know there is more to Al's Bar than loud, raunchy rock an' roll. Even Mick Jagger would take a bite out of that.

Nobody has really seen anything until they check out our nook of the woods. A good number of our global village mates have caught onto this, which explains the growing amount of tourist traffic on the highways and the byways.
These days it is actually possible to have a fling with a tanned, muscular specimen from Down Under without travelling all the way.
It is nothing out of the ordinary to hear a woman say "my boyfriend is from Kazahkstan." Don't wonder where that is, just hang out at the Mzungu haunts like Just Kicking or the Blue Mango and catch yourself a Macedonian. Better still, make hobbies of Mzungu things like white water rafting, camping, sailing or house partying, all of which abound aplenty.

You'll get the best of both worlds; you will be a trendy B-group wannabe with cosmopolitan tastes in a third-class society. We should perhaps be very afraid.