How do you mean what I say??

Before attempting to reach Lake Albert, we visit the metropolis of Hoima and Masindi. Masindi is the largest 'town' in the midwest of Uganda. Hoima is a bit smaller. In these towns we hope to be able to arrange some things, like e-mail, shopping, change money, exchange books and buy new chain-blades. The latter is maybe asking too much in Central Africa, but should be possible in view of all the mountainbikes we see here.

At one of the many bicycle-shops in Hoima we manage to buy a triple-chain-blade, even if it takes some trouble.

"How much is the triple chain blade in Uganda-shillings?"
"Mmmmmhh…"
It's not completely clear to us what amount of money is indicated with this sound, so Peter rephrases his question: "Can you tell me what I need to pay for that?", while pointing clearly at the article wanted by him.
"Eeeehh, it's for sale!"
"Yes, I see, and do you want money for it?"
"Eeeehh."
"How much?"
"Yes, it will cost you money."

It's not very clear to us where this conversation will lead, but moments later we find out that we will have to pay 15.000 shillings to call the thing ours. That's not very much at Dutch standards, about seven euro. Since none of the many bicycle repair shops possess the necessary equipment to fit the already bought article on Peter's bicycle we decide to take it with us to Masindi, a 'town' supposedly somewhat bigger than Hoima.
Masindi turns out to be, just like Hoima, no bigger than the smallest villages in the Netherlands. Using the internet isn't possible, just like changing money and exchanging books. Like in Hoima, there are bicycle repair shops everywhere you look, which do their business mainly on the street. At the best equipped shop Peter asks the seven tinkering men for the right tools: "Do you have tools to change these chain blades?"
Six of the seven men drop their tools, stand around the bicycles and look at it in awe.
The necessary tools are present, but are in a locked wooden box, which key is taking breakfast with tinkerer number eight. We wait for half an hour, then one of the men decides to break open the box: a sturdy bunch of hexagonal wrenches appears. There is no pulley, so the crank-set is carefully tapped of the bicycle. Peter's disappointment is big when the new set doesn't fit. Because it's deeper, the smallest blade touches the frame. We have no other choice then leaving the new set behind; we exchange it for a file, with which Peter files the burrs of the chain blades and re-models the teeth as far as possible. Hopefully they'll last a little bit longer.

The unmetalled road from Masindi to our special goal Kibiro leads through an almost un-Ugandan dry landscape. At least, the last fifty kilometres. Which is a nice change from the first forty this morning when we got soaking wet again from the terrible downpour. In Kigorobya we're looking for the turn-off to Kibiro. We ask a group of men for directions: "Good afternoon, how are you?" We've learned that in Africa nobody comes to the point directly, there are a lot of complimentary phrases that have to be exchanged before you can actually ask what you want to know.
"Fine, fine, eeeeeeh! How are you sir?"
"Well, tired but still very fine, thank you!" And then straight to the point: "Is this the road to Kibiro?"
"Mmmmmhh…"
This could mean yes, no, I don't know of I don't understand you. An answer we receive daily at apparent simple questions. Difficult.
The next question almost makes us forget what we were asking: "How is life?"
"Oh, well, life is very good here in Uganda; we like your country very much. And how is your life?"
"You mean what I say?"
Peter loves cryptograms, but after cycling 75 kilometres over very rough and steep roads his brains can't handle these twists any more and he friendly thanks the men: "Thanks for the conversation, have a nice day!"
"Mmmmmhh…"