I moved into Kampala's central business district yesterday (for the last five nights), which is nice for a number of reasons - one of which being that I can walk more places. However, whether it's the early morning gray-ness or the scorching mid-day heat or the purple-y quiet twilight, I feel like I'm being watched. Perched atop Parliament, National Theater, the Serena, and street trees caving under their unusual birdy weight, the Marabou Storks are the sentries of this town. They peer down at you and pace the tops of buildings, their folded wings hunching behind them, giving the appearance of a sinister old man with a determined walk, hands clutched behind his back, long skinny legs with wobbly knees. When they come in for a landing, one can't help but pause to see if those long filament-like legs will support the girth of their black bodies and long, fleshy pink gullets. As I type this blog in the unusually boiling morning sunshine, I can count 18 of these grouchy, watchful, bumbly old men congregating atop the MTN building, probably handing out their surveillance posts for the day.