Suspending my Iberian thoughts, I boarded the plane to Kampala, Uganda, half of December. Petra was still selling my remaining valuables, she had decided to celebrate her birthday (in the Christmas period) with a series of festivities starting with one at her home, and ending on the memorable Victoria Lake Island Banda. My tenor sax still being at my sister's house in Entebbe, I would play a gig with Baximba Waves in Bubbles and with Mr. Webb in the Jazz Village. I could see Roland, and not to forget Nasty and Mlawatu.
...
Tamara (left) now became our party cocktail specialist, she broke her right upper arm working a heavy male judoka to the
ground ... at the high of the party
Petra's boyfriend Devon (right) insisted on dancing but navigation
vicissitudes led him
in the shallows ...
Spread over all corners of Petra's garage I found some of my unsold stuff, the main part of which turned out to be taken in use on the island Banda that she had taken over after Dom's death, with the approval of his heirs, even finding someone with an appetite for running it. But no payment, not even a purchase. "We are trying things out". Grumbling a bit that such was not in the agreed procedure, Petra told me with full conviction I should be grateful for their readiness to buy the stuff taken, once they would have the money. I resigned, carefully collected the the remains of my unsold stuff at Petra's house in Kampala and brought it to Roland, where Nasty had parted, but Mlawatu still there and still always sleeping in the dhow. He approached me for a cuddle but without clearly recognizing me. Had he jumped on like a tiger, I would have gone through the hassle exporting him to Europe, but as it stood, I left quickly.
About a year after having been taken the Banda, my stuff finally got paid, except, chiefly, the outboard. It was claimed they had no money for it so they made a 30% offer. I asked for the return of the outboard which, again after a rather long while even turned up, with the larger part of the other items that Banda had taken but decided not to buy, my loss a fair course fee for doing better next time.
... atrial fibrillation sets me out of
breath on this excited level of swing (Baximba Waves, Bubbles, Kampala) ...
My atrial fibrillation having become permanent, a Baximba Wave gig needs, once the band gets wild, a more modest approach to keep breath. Another thing is not to unjustly blame all health problems on it. Twice I got sick during my Uganda stay, but those could have been other issues.
Nairobi was as usual: staying at Lydia's, playing with my friend Coco, and golf with Annemarie, though she had become member of a second club and now played there routinely, parties, group dinners out, lots of amusing events. One Dutch guest of a party at Annemarie's came in with two photo model shaped young black ladies who had wrapped themselves as presents, making a ten year old girl run to her mother shouting: "Mam! Mam! He took two Barbies!". Can it get any better?
Nairobi Hospital cardiologist Dr. Silverstein was
just as little surprised as I that my
atrial fibrillation had become
permanent. Not unexpectedly: he was the one who stuffed me with the latest
literature. Our past testing indicated that none of the known medications was
helpful to me. The present success rates of operations are not attractive to
someone whose condition does not really push him below the physical
capacities of his age group, though it is a depressing fall from being way
above. According to latest protocols, for another four years I will be off the risk class
requiring blood thinners. So he told me I
"looked perfect", we laughed, shook hands, and with my hands in my pockets, no
prescriptions, I left the hospital, for a visit to the pharmacy, to be
honest, to buy cheap venlafaxine for a year (I am already for 15 years, and
for life time, on that marvelous drug for neuro-metabolic
swings that used to give me recurring heavy depressions).
... I left
the hospital, without a presciption but headed for the pharmacy to buy cheap
venlafaxine for a year ...
Back in Kampala, my Rio-Bossa ambitions down but my mind still on Southern Spain, I ordered a black suit with black applications, to wear on stage. 60 euros.
... We wish you a good journey ...
Amsterdam airpost was in the grip of cold. There was an emergency train schedule. On the airport electronic boards, all trains we reported cancelled. The board wished us a good journey. And it would be! I did find a special train quite quickly. It sported an electronic board showing the outside temperature: 0oC.