Temporarily Back on Track

In Uganda, simplicity and predictability have different meanings than in the United States.  By Saturday morning, we were ready to exchange their definitions for ours.  Our Ugandan coordinator, Andrew, left before dawn for his father’s 80^th birthday party celebration in Mbale – four hours away – so we were on our own.  Before he left, he strongly cautioned me to advise the film crew not to take any chances with their equipment before Monday when they will be provided the use of a marked government vehicle and be given an official, stamped letter granting them permission to film in and around Kampala.  That letter could be shown to police officers who were either looking to stop them from filming, or looking to add to their monthly income by confiscating the equipment until a “private fine” was paid.

You can probably see where this is going.  The film crew was eager and not so much open to persuasion – they had a shot list they wanted to capture and were less deterred by yesterday’s airport debacle than I was.  They politely listened to and appreciated my warnings and worst-case-scenarios, but they are professionals who have filmed all over the world (Columbia, India, Ukraine, and elsewhere) who came to do a job and prime filming light was burning.  So I took a deep breath and did lots of praying.

Susan Vincent made and laminated official-looking press passes (that they would only pull out if the we-are-tourists-with-expensive-cameras-making-youtube-videos-for-our-mommies line proved ineffective) and I threw on a suit and tie and a stern and authoritative demeanor.  I also reached back into my computer archives for some official letterhead I used to use when I lived here and whipped something up.  Just in case.  I won’t go into details as to what it said, but my instructions to them were clear – pull it out of the official judicial envelope only in cases of dire emergency and pray that the detaining police officer will be too intimidated to take the matter to his or her supervisors.

It turns out that reassembling and preparing for action two professional-grade cameras takes a long time.  So it was early afternoon before we (including Henry who was in town for the weekend) climbed into Tango’s safari-style mini-van (open sun roof where passengers can stand with half their bodies above the roof line).  The crew wanted to capture “establishing” shots of the city of Kampala and daily life in it.  They really wanted to get into the middle of the action, noise, and chaos that defines life in this developing country.  But we also really needed to avoid the police.  Really, really needed to avoid the police.  Tall order.

“Stop here!  This is perfect!” Andy yelled like Steven Spielberg on the set of big budget film.  Tango complied like a Ugandan genie.  My sphincter tightened like an anaconda around a baby goat.

Everyone piled out . . . except me.  The plan was that if it became necessary, I would be the “hey, what’s going on here?” guy in professional attire if things went south.  But I suck at patience.  After a few minutes, I got out and lingered fifty yards from where they were filming, trying to keep a watchful eye on the crowd that was gathering.  Michelle the producer and Andy the director were doing some vacation posing for the initial shots, but John the cameraman looks nothing like the accidental tourist.  If one put his camera in my hands, and I could convince anyone watching me that I am some buffoon with a way-too-expensive-camera-for-my-skill-set in my hand.  John’s vibe is rather different.  After ten minutes or so, Henry advised them they needed to leave the dilapidated side street because they were becoming a prime target for a snatch and run gang of thieves.

“This is great!  Here!” soon boomed out again from inside the van.  A nano-second later another baby goat was bone-crushingly asphyxiated by the circular muscle standing guard to my tailpipe.

This time, the prime shooting location was an auto-mechanic shop where the workers and other locals were shooting pool on weathered table rested on uneven dirt on the side of the road.  I lasted about thirty seconds in the car before I was in the thick of things.

“You must pay to capture us!” The Minnesota Fats and Willie Mosconi wannabes were bellowing.

The camera was intimidating them and the confused mzungu faces and impenetrable mzungu English was missing its mark.  Henry was doing his best to talk to a few of them, but they weren’t sure what role he played or what authority he had to bargain on the mzungu’s behalf.  As I approached the gathering crowd, Andy met me with the news that the locals wanted to be paid and that Andy was willing to do so.

I have had some excellent trainers over the years (John Niemeyer, John Napier, Shane Michael, David Nary) on how to speak calmly and effectively as a white person to a group of locals.  I threw a couple Luganda phrases in with my broad grin, gave some traditional handshakes and shoulder pats to those who seemed to be the leaders, and then palmed a five thousand shilling note (two dollars) into an eager hand.  Instantly, we were all besties and John had the run of the place to capture their mugs and their milieu from every conceivable angle.

Billiards, Ugandan Style

As John filmed and Andy directed, Michelle mingled throughout the crowd and made all sorts of friends with the ladies and children milling around.  By the time we left, we had thirty new friends and thirty minutes of great footage.

“Let’s go to an outdoor market.  I really want to be in the midst of lots of people and chaos,” Andy declared.

Once again, Tango granted Andy’s wishes.  Once again, my trap door slammed shut.  I think it might have been audible.

I break out into a cold sweat even as I type this description of the 90 minutes at the market, but suffice it to say, John captured what Andy was looking for.  The shots included close-ups of everything a Ugandan outdoor market has to offer, including all kinds of food preparation, garment making, and social interacting.  Some of it is too graphic to provide details, but suffice it to say that more than one type of animal departed with its cognitive features and sustaining fluids.

Tyson, Andy, John, and Henry capturing a market shot

Making Chapattis in the Market

Fortunately, we didn’t see a single police officer and most of the locals allowed us to film them, though several of them insisted on being given a “tip.”  As the sun nose-dived toward the horizon, Tango took us to rooftop on a hilltop and John got some really good city scapes.  As we descended the hill, John ascended through the roof and started shooting safari-style.  More butt clenching as we bounced along a crumbling, pot-holed, and crowded strip of asphalt.

Andy really wanted to capture before the sun completely set some shots with John’s Movi device, which is a bulky image-stabilizing contraption that screams “professional film crew!”  Even my Arnold- Schwarzenegger-gatekeeper couldn’t handle this type of risk, so I bailed on the filming adventure and instead met up with the American lawyer team who landed in Uganda Saturday afternoon, fortunately without incident.

We had a very productive orientation meeting and everyone is excited to get started on the prison work.

At 9:30 p.m., I called Michelle to see if the film crew and Henry had encountered any difficulties.  The commotion in the background instantly spiked my blood pressure.

“We are being threatened with arrest, so we’re going to get out of here and head back,” she said.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when they finally arrived back at the hotel.

We are starting Sunday morning with a time of prayer and reflection before the full team of Americans and Ugandan are assembled for a final planning session.

Thanks for following and praying along.