Bert 60
Welcoming the inevitable!

Organizing parties and burglaries have much in common. Most important: before you start anything, secure the way out. My 60^th birthday is about. Not only will shitting overboard become cumbersome in the years to come. When you get older you also acquire the desire to please guests (nay, even the desire to have them). Nothing better for that, as everybody knows, than a nice clean, working, yes indeed flushing toilet, where you can even throw your toilet paper in, not requiring the study of extensive wall-pinned operating instructions and metal wire unclogging. ^{[a concise history of dhow shitting]}. I bought a boat toilet it in Europe, saved it from all little African customs thugs by claiming gays had already sat on it, and now the time is ripe to mount it.

Left: fiberglass shower interior, to be made after we put mahogany walls for toilet and shower. Right: The third toilet I mounted in my life (forget about my dissertation, I insist this feat to be reported on my funeral!).

Left: My latest find: Ayanga! Right: after we covered my frame with mahogany planks, lip-and-groove. He likes the project and will make the doors similar style.

My latest find: Ayanga! In an African wood cutting workshop, a wood cutter is a private business man paying for the use of the machines. At your arrival a host of overalled shady guys will surround you, ready to totally spoil your wood on the totally worn out machines. But one guy stayed in the back. Experienced customers walked through the cloud of shady fools straight to him. He was the only one to work with assistants, and speedily ran from one assistant to the other whenever he saw things go wrong. Nevertheless, though nicely near the harbour, I thought the poor machine quality sufficient to look for a better workshop, albeit further away. A furniture maker, however, talked me into going back and trying Ayanga. This made me opt to give him some cutting jobs and see how he would perform on the lousy machines. The result: everything extremely neat, nice an straight, at least to African standards. So, naturally, we became friends. He is loyal to the workshop owner so is only available for assignments in weekends. The first was to frame and roof the shed I was building for the harbour. This took him and his boys only two days. No pause, no eating (and no drinking, had I not gone to bring water). Now he cut mahogany 1 inch lip-and-tongue planks, sanded them (!) and came to mount them with me, running between sawing place to the wall, gasping for air, saying "Nice! Nice! Do you see?". You will never see a Muganda like that. Ayanga is from Lira in the until recently rebel infested North, a Langi. The "Nilotic" language of Northern tribes differs from Bantu languages as English from Chinese, but in the meantime his Luganda and English are excellent.

So far for the down-rear end of birthday digestion. On to the up-front! Wednesday, I bought to big cool boxes at Nakomart, a colossal Kenyan hyper market chain that recently opened in Kampala, to be filled Friday, the afternoon of my birthday with pre-chilled drinks and ice.

All 7 staff visible are at work for me at the Nakomart pay desk.

Wearing my sister's Willemien's old T-shirt, a symbolic birthday gift meant to use for polishing her main gift, the dhow's bell, yet on its way from Europe.

I heard a conversation between two old friends (both ladies) about their worries when many years ago I was appointed university lecturer. They shared their satisfaction that fortunately I finally had ended up well. I am wearing my sister's Willemien's old T-shirt a symbolic birthday gift to use for polishing her main gift, the dhow's bell, yet on its way from Europe. (Willemien and Maarten reported the party on their blog (in Dutch) and picasa picture site)

It�s amazing how you ... can see Bert in a bar Blowing his sax .... after smoking cigars Try as you may ... you may never believe when he leaves... my God what a relief The smile on his face Makes you think he is happy Up and down Ggaba road In a pick-up so crappy But the speed of his tub never lacks Reaching coconut shack He drives his best When he�s not driving at all All day long on his boat.... Bert says nothing out loud But when we go out....he�s the noise of the crowd Try as we may ..... we can never explain How his talk .... always drives us insane The smile on his face Makes you think he is happy Up and down Ggaba road In a pick-up so crappy But the speed of his tub never lacks Reaching coconut shack He says his best When he says nothing at all.

Deven and Petra Petra took the floor (the steering deck, that is), to tenderly besing the celebratee (putting his bravest of faces) and his guests (de-ligh-ted!) in the empty bottle forest on the shore

The band was a bit small, I offered double money, but failed to bribe, Baximba Waves (formerly Kampala All Stars) off their contract. Reggae bassist Data, initiator of Rub-a-Dub, joined amazingly well in some blues and old jazz.