Often as a journalist there are quite a lot of STEPS you have to make before you can start the actual work.
This time it is making video features on the stock exchange in Kampala, and the current situation in the North, now the peace talks between the rebel movement LRA and the government have started.
This morning it starts with getting the press permit for reporting in Uganda. So I call the press officer, and he tells me to come to their new office in the former post office building on Yusuf Lule road. Happily the boda boda man exactly knows where it is, and I jump on the back of his already running motor bike.
The traffic is perfectly jammerd, but in the end we arrive at a tall building which looked like it needed a paint at least.
'Yes sir,' says the smiling lady at the front gate. 'This office is on the 11th floor, room nummer 1.' Still there is something odd in her smile, and at the elevator I find out what. 'The power is down sir,' says a gentleman passing by. 'The stairs are over there.' My God, eleven floors. Convincing, and powering up, myself that this is good for my health, I start the journey. With every floor I pass, the view outside grows more and more beautiful. Finally on the 11th floor I have the feeling I can see all the seven hills of Kampala. Unfortunately there is no office to be found at all, only a heavily padlocked door with metal bars. Did I mistake? Maybe it is room 11 on the first floor? Controlling my breath I start the journey down, until I reach the first floor. There is an open door, and I enter. Inside I find myself back in an huge open space. There are no offices, only pillars holding the ceiling. Workers are busy carrying bags of cement.
'We don't know about an office here sir.' There I go back to the front gate, with the still smiling lady. I explain her that there is nothing. 'It is there,' she repeats. Meanwhile a gentleman is listening. 'You're looking for the media council?' he kindly asks, and I agree. 'We're on the 11th floor. From which side did you enter?' I point at the stair case where I just come from. 'Ah no, sir. We're on the other side. Sorry for the confusion.' Now I am happy that I finally found the office, but unhappy with the perspective of climbing up again. 'Yes, there is still no power.' Upstairs I find myself in the situation of having climbed 22 stories in half an hour. 'Sorry sir,' the secretary of the press officer says, and starts preparing the permit, which is issued very fast. 'If you go to Gulu sir you also have to get accreditation from the army spokesman. He is in JP Plaze on Nkrumah Road. Sorry again for the stairs.' She points me where JP Plaza is.
The boda boda man brings me there, and there I speak with the friendly army spokesman (on the first floor). My legs still feel heavy, and while the officer is preparing the permit, I discover a signboard on the wall. It's about climbing stair cases. 'On your way up, be friendly to the people going down, you'll meet them again when you go downstairs.'
Thank you.