Our boat guide said “Purple,” but I couldn’t understand his pronunciation. I asked three times, and it always sounded like he was saying something that started with a “C” and had a bunch of letters. I thought I knew all the wading bird species we might see at Mabamba Swamp, but I couldn’t pull something out of my gray cells. It was our first day on a ten-day tour of Uganda’s National Parks. Later that morning, we found a second individual of this species, and I asked again, still unable to understand. I looked at my friends, and they all shrugged, not sure either.
Our boat guide spoke excellent English. In many respects, far better than I. He did have that British accent typical of people across Africa. I had the same problem in Tanzania the previous week. Their English was flawless, but my inability to understand repeatedly embarrassed me. I felt they had so much knowledge, and I wasn’t doing a good job of absorbing all I could.
Back at the landing, after an excellent time finding many dozen birds in the swamp, I immediately conferred with my friends to see if they ever figured out that strange-colored heron. None of us had; we had heard something we could not pinpoint. “We can ask Nelson, our main Ugandan guide, for the ten days,” we all thought.
Nelson’s English was impeccable. I thought he could teach English; it was so good. We described the bird to him, and he immediately knew what it was, but, again, none of us could understand him. He had a bird book, instantly opening it to the herons and pointing at the Purple Heron while he said the name. We all laughed, and I turned bright red once again. I wish I’d pulled out my phone and recorded his voice. The word sounded so exotic and wonderful. I want to be able to pronounce my “Ps” that way.
A portfolio from Uganda can be found at www.thomasbancroft.com
