This post has turned into a final summary of my experience. It’s a bit raw and unfiltered, and I thought about keeping it to myself. It is honestly what I have experienced in four months’ time, and I understand that it is my opinion and it is not without limitations and personal biases. I am open to the thoughts and perspectives of differences of opinions, in fact I would greatly appreciate them. That is one of the greatest ways in which I grow and learn. To be closed to differences of opinion, is to be closed to growth and knowledge, and that is exactly the opposite reasoning for which I came to Africa in the first place.
What should I say? Where do I start or end? I suppose here is as good a place as any. Many times on vacation I approach the end of my time and I secretly perseverate about all the things I wish I could still do. I know this to an unhealthy habit, but honestly, it happens. I remember and cherish all the experiences I have been lucky enough to have as well, but part of me can’t help but fantasize about all of the adventures I have heard tale of but for one reason or another, won’t be able to experience. The city in the south, that beach on the coast, historic isolated islands, remote waterfalls, ancient ruins, beautiful museums, a nameless mountain on the horizon. Not enough money, not enough time, the area is inaccessible or too dangerous. Blah blah blah…there is always something.
I know this is an inevitable challenge about traveling to wonderful places with wonderful people. I always leave happy, but there is a small tickle of regret that I couldn’t do it all. I smile to myself and say “It’s Ok. It gives you a reason to come back!” I know that to be only a half-truth consolation prize I often tell myself to fight-off unwanted feelings of regret or disappointment. I think maybe the only notable exceptions to this experience have been Latvia and Florida. I went, I left; and there were no regrets.
I have never been anywhere quite like Africa. Or maybe, more accurately, I have never had the opportunity to get to know someplace quite like Africa. Either way, the fact remains that my experience here has been different than any place I have ever been. Most of my travels have been transient whirlwinds, racing through a land with a backpack and a sense of adventure. I rarely stayed in the same place for more than a couple of days before moving on. I got to experience a little about a lot.
This trip has been quite different. I was able to tap into the flow and pace of daily life in a small village tucked away in the luscious green mountains of the east. Here, I was able to experience a lot about a little. As a result, I have come to be a part of the community and experience it in a way I could never have imagined or anticipated. Though truthfully that was partly what I came seeking in the first place.
The cultural difference I experienced in the first 72 hours was enough to make me dizzy and short of breath. The inner city squalor is impossible to ignore or avoid like in the US. It’s right there in the open with not even a hint of shame. No cover-up campaigns. Shoeless people, dressed in rags, mill about everywhere. Not all are poor. Plenty have jobs in the capital. It’s just that there are so many that are poor, and have nothing. The streets in and out of the city are lined with shanty towns like an almost endless unemployment line.
At first glance, it almost seems to be a country populated by children. Like Lord of the Flies, without the white children lawlessly killing one another. The average mother is roughly 25 yrs old, and already has 4 children. 50% of the population, currently at 33 million, is under 15 yrs old, while 69% is under 27 yrs old. Try to imagine what that looks like. Furthermore, AIDS is devastating the population, and a lack of education and honesty is preventing efforts to help.
And in spite of this, Ugandan’s, more than any culture I have met, approach life with tremendous optimism. They smile, laugh, dance, and sing with such energy you would think those are the only weapons they have to fight with. In many cases they are, but what surprises me most is how often those tools work. Most people are happy and light hearted; quick to joke and dance.
Where the people may be sick, the soil is still healthy. Winston Churchill, after a trip to Uganda prior to WW II joked: “…the soil is so fertile one could leave a walking stick stuck in the ground, and by the end of the day, it will have sprouted roots!” With my own eyes I have seen this to be not so far an exaggeration. The land is magical. Everything grows and it grows quick! The vibrant contrast of the rich red-brown soil and lush tropical green is so starkly different from any environment I have ever seen.
Even the senses are overwhelmed upon arrival. The market is possibly one of the best examples, with its smells of slaughtered animals hanging in the sun, wood-smoke, sweat, and urine. Hard to describe really. I hardly notice it at all now, but at first, it was nearly enough to send me scurrying to the trees with my hand over my nose and mouth. Now I walk through the market and take long deep inhalations for memory’s sake. The markets are wonderful. Huge fields where you may buy anything from cattle to shoe polish. Road’s lined with families selling their wares; sugar, salt, cabbage, tomatoes, bananas, mangos, fish, potatoes, flour, or maize. The selection and variety goes on and on. The colors are a great mix of natural earth tones and vibrant African fabrics.
Then the hawkers sell their locks, ropes, polish, candles, bowls, cups, knives, soap, lanterns, shoes, sandals, hats, and racks of second hand clothes from the West. In rural Uganda, it is a Free-market economy in the truest sense of the word. I have come to the conclusion that regardless of where you are, if you lose something in the world, inevitably it makes its way to Africa and ends up in a community market. You can buy anything in Africa. This unfortunately includes things that should not be purchasable. Use your imagination…or nightmares.
Then there are the machetes. I can’t describe the cultural differences without mentioning them. They are everywhere and they are used by everyone to do everything. They are Africa’s multi-tool. It is not uncommon to see children under the age of eight with machetes almost as long as they are, dragged laboriously behind. They cut grass, hunt rats, trim hedges, chop wood, split bricks, butcher meat, harvest crops, heard cattle, even discipline children. They cost about $1.50 and can be purchased almost anywhere.
I am reminded of the cultural differences with every handshake. I notice it when I eat my lunch and realize I am the only person in the room eating steaming hot rice and beans with a fork. The differences are present at the construction site where bricks are made by hand and extensive foundation excavations are dug by three men with hoes for 8 days. Rain here means roads turn to Willy Wonka’s Milk Chocolate Rivers.
Music is everywhere! Africans seem to always have a song or rhythm in their heads while they go about their day. I can wake to the singing voice of a women digging in the fields at dawn (usually with an infant tied to her back) and close my eyes to far off drums at night. Song and dance is in church and school; birth and burial.
My time in Uganda has been uniquely different from any other trip before. On one hand it is a place with limitless opportunity for adventure. You could spend your whole life here and never do or see everything. Maybe it is that fact that contributes to my feelings of contentment with leaving. I have done less than a pin prick of what is possible to experience, and I am strangely ok with it.
But my time in Uganda was not just about adventure. There is a greater understanding that has come from it as well. A broader perspective perhaps. You can argue that every day, every minute, has the capacity to open your mind and expand your perspective. Regardless of where you are. While this is true, I have found that new experiences have the capacity to accelerate that process. Life and death experiences even more so. Life is sharper, clearer. I came to Africa thirsting for it. I came looking for it in every handshake, raindrop, and sun beam. I found it in places I wasn’t looking, which, in my experience, is often how that works.
I came to Uganda with a teacher’s role and a student’s mind. What can Africa teach me about the world? About myself? I feel like I have accomplished more than just travelling to Uganda. I have actually lived here, among its people and its land; triumphs and failures. I have seen some of the best and worst its people have to offer. I have seen the sites of mass executions by the Lord’s Resistance Army in the North and deadly mudslide memorials in the mountains to the east.
I have seen children raising children and have been treated with more respect and honor than I deserve. I have often tried to take the advice of a mentor of mine and a progressive wise educator named Leah Mason, who has taught me many valuable lessons. One such lesson came by way of introduction to a quote by Albert Einstein that reads: “There are two ways to live your life: one is as though nothing is a miracle; the other is as though everything is a miracle.” While this is often very challenging at times, it has allowed me to see the glory and beauty in any given moment. It is always there if you look.
Everyone knows that Africa needs help. That’s one reason, there are many by the way, why the continent receives more aid than anywhere else on earth. It is often labeled as “Third World”. Third World, in my opinion, is somewhat of an outdated term and has a negative, almost disrespectful connotation, like “step-child” (of which I am and never openly referred to in person). Most folks opt for the more politically correct term of “Developing”. Africa is the Developing World and the West is the Developed World. Right? Almost like it’s a race with a finish line. The West won a long time ago and we are sitting back enjoying the spoils of victory while the rest of the world chases after us hoping to “Make It” to the finish line.
I don’t believe growth and development to be fixed, finite, or linear beginnings or endings. It might be a race, but only because we make it so. If it were a race, we (the West) actually started real late, comparatively with the rest of the world. We made up for it by hopping on the backs of others, sometimes half-heartedly convincing them that we were actually trying to help them, and let them carry us a good distance to where we are today. All the while complimenting ourselves on our hard work, ingenuity, and superiority. When we really take a look at ourselves, how developed are we really? I still think we have a long way to go. That’s not pessimism; its realism.
My time in Uganda, has shown me that most Ugandan’s want to be uniquely African and have what the West has. I think there are misconceptions of both: What does it mean to be African? And what exactly does the West have that they want? I am not referring merely to material wealth and possession, although many desire after those allures as well. Most Ugandans want what many of us take for granted every day. They want a trustworthy government; fairly elected by the people, for the people. They want police and military that protects and defends, not a king’s private security force to ensure his claim to the throne. They want a health care system that takes care of its people; all of its people, without prejudice or corruption. Good education and reasonably priced healthy food. Safe roads and environmental protection.
The truth is Uganda does not have these things. They look to the west as a model, even a provider. Before coming to Africa, I could have written a very similar list of problems facing my own country, but as I sit and talk with the people of this land it gives me that greater perspective I came to find. I am not so disillusioned to believe that we are the “Developed” world. Done. Game-over. Race won. Hamburgers and Coke-cola for everyone! We are struggling just as our brothers and sisters are in Africa. But I do see how much we have grown. What headway we have made. I can’t tell you how often I have had that realization here. How often I have silently appreciated the fact that my time here was temporary. That I would eventually return to America.
Uganda is developing. It is “behind” the West. This term is often meant or understood from a political or economic stand point. While this is absolutely true in most cases, my own experience has shown me that they are “behind” in many other areas. Its religions, which it defends strongly, influence every aspect of life from governance to sex (and are almost entirely adopted from the “developed” world) are divisive, repressive, and ignorant. I have witnessed its ministers, preachers, and priests openly condemn homosexuality and the use of condoms as perversions against God in feverish sermons that last for hours. While they themselves, many of which practice polygamy, choose which parts of the Bible they follow and which they conveniently ignore. Women are second class citizens, children are slaves, and homosexuals are demonic perverts, worthy of capital punishment.
It is the same with nearly every aspect of society; education, healthcare, environmentalism, even transportation. Children are still caned for misbehavior, doctors steal free medicine and sell it and there service to desperate patients requiring immediate care. Trash and waste clog gutters and burn for hours in huge piles. Traffic accidents are a leading cause of death due, in part, to deteriorating roads and little governance.
So where are the miracles? They are in fact everywhere, every day. They are easy to miss, and are often over shadowed by the daily horror. Ugandans, however, are committed to developing. They want it more than anything. They work hard given the chance and show compassion when it is needed. They see all their short comings and, rather than point the finger at their neighbor or the West for its hand in making the mess, they smile, sing, dance, play and carry on with undefeatable spirit. Sometimes it is this impression of acceptance that frustrates me. They put up with unspeakable hardships that the Western world would never stand for. We have had our revolutions and we have made our mistakes. Our history is not much different from Africa’s present. We are all trying, questioning, and growing. We are all developing. Or at least we should be.
My time in Africa has given me the space to think about my life. It has also given me the space to understand the lives of others. This quest for greater perspective has enlightened my sense of self, others, and place and the responsibility I have to each. I am so grateful for the opportunity to come teach and learn. Thank you to everyone who encouraged us before we left, followed our adventures while we were here, and to all our loved ones who will support us when we return. I have gained much and I have no regrets! Wanyala Nabi!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
A Trip Within A Trip: Part 6 Welcome to Fort Portal
Out of all the places we visited during our stay in Uganda, Fort Portal was by far one of our favorites. It has great energy, good people, and delicious food. It was clean. It had several successful ecotourism businesses/campsites run by Ugandans. All in all, there was lots of fun to be had and the Rwenzori Mountains created a beautiful background that offered tons of adventure and stunning sunsets. When we arrived we didn’t have any plans for what to do but based on what we had read and heard about Fort Portal we knew we weren’t going to be bored. We had a guide book but we only used it for general information, partly because it was old and outdated, and also because we wanted to have our own unique adventure, go places that white people rarely roam and let our hearts and eyes be our guides.
During the majority of the day we would go on our various outings outside of town and we explored the city in the late afternoon and evening, which is really the best time. We arrived in town at 11:15pm and the place was hopping. Before this we had never experienced a night life in Uganda. (Bududa might have a night life but I imagine it isn’t like that of the city and it may even be more dangerous. Not to mention we usually go to bed around 9pm.) Fort Portal has a main street that has several bars, restaurants, banks, internet cafes, food markets as well as several other businesses and a traditional outdoor African market. The sights and smells were the same as any other market we have been to in Uganda except across the street was this huge, lavish restaurant called the Gardens. We thought about eating there but instead we decided to be kinder to our wallets and we ate at Master Snacks down the street. We paid about $2 per person versus $5 or $6, and it was more filling and more locally grown. You know you have been in Africa for a long time when you would rather eat at a local joint than a comfortable, predictable restaurant with a Western menu. However when the menu included made to order brick oven pizzas we couldn’t resist.
Mike has already talked about our interesting bike tour so I won’t get into that. Except I had a blast, I am almost more happy that we got lost because we got to see and experience a part of Uganda that otherwise we wouldn’t have seen. We were never actually lost, but Ugandans use that word to explain why you aren’t where you are expecting to be or when you arrive somewhere late. The ride up the hill was a bit reckless but it saved our legs and I didn’t realize how dangerous or terrifying it was for Mike until afterwards. I had the common sense not to sit on the tail gate but inside the back, since I consider my life more valuable than the bike. It was interesting that even though we stopped about 3 times to ask for directions everyone said to keep going. So it wasn’t just a bad map but also a thick language barrier and our attitudes of “this is beautiful, let’s keep going” that factored into a remarkable bike ride.
We woke up early the next day to go check out an area that is known for having lots of crater lakes. We got on a piki and drove for miles and miles and already we could tell it was going to be a great day. The hills were endless until we got to that top of one and took a sharp right hand turn and right before our eyes was this massive crater lake with steep banks on every side. Then less than a ¼ mile down the road there was another one, then another. The piki dropped us off in a tiny village called Kabata and instantly we were surrounded by a dozen kids who couldn’t stop staring at us. They all wanted to be our guide but we kindly told them we were just here to walk around, unfortunately they did not understand us and several of them followed us part way down the road. We did not know exactly which way we were going but we had an idea of where we wanted to end up. Along the road our first pleasant surprise hit us via our nostrils. The smell was soft, sweet and intoxicating and it didn’t take Mike long to figure out what it was… vanilla. A giant vanilla plantation nestled in the rolling hills of western Uganda; is there anything that they can’t grow in Uganda?
Occasionally on the road we were passed by local people with fishing poles and bundles of fresh fish they caught in a nearby lake. After walking for about 40 minutes we saw another massive crater lake which helped us figure out where we were. This is when the real adventure started because we turned off the road and for the rest of the day we trekked on the paths that winded through the jungle covered hills. Many locals just stared at us as we walked by. They were probably surprised to see us since we travel a different route than most mzungus. At one point this little kid, no older than two, looked at me and let out this loud and horrifying scream and instantly had tears running down her cheeks. It could have been the first time she saw a white person and based on her scream I probably looked like an alien or monster to her and thought I was going to eat her. We had a full day of trekking that included swimming under a water fall, two river crossings (once a little above the waterfall and once where the bridge was taken out), walking through a giant banana plantation, swimming in a crater lake (400 meters deep!!), and checking out a local ecotourism spot.
The next day was similar in that we saw more of the countryside and more crater lakes but this time we hired a guide and saw more cool things. We hiked through a jungle that was so thick we almost had to curl on our hands and knees and in some place the mud would have come up to our knees if there weren’t planks laid in the path. We trekked through caves, behind a waterfall, up and over hills and down dirt roads that rarely have cars pass. The cave we saw was Ambere Cave and our guide told us the history and legend of the cave in wonderful detail. I don’t remember most of it except that it had to do with this ancient woman’s breasts that were cut off and she was banished to the caves and to this day you can still see her breasts hanging from the roof of the cave. You can take my word for it; the stalactites actually look a bit like breasts.
The thing that we were most impressed by during our stay was the presence of African run ecotourism businesses. They dotted the area like bars dot a ski town in the United States. They offered a variety of tours and activities for every kind of tourists and every budget. The first day we rented bikes from one. The next day we stopped to have drinks at one, and the last day the caves and surrounding area was run by one. It was relieving to see that these businesses were doing well, they were well lead and organized and in many cases they were run and owned by Ugandans. Not only that they were giving back to their local communities by building schools or donating to schools in exchange for having students come and volunteer there. Many of them seemed to also have a more conscious environmental ethic. The local people were taking care of the land and since it was owned by Africans that prevented Westerners from coming in and building giant resorts. Some of them had even been recognized by the government as community development organizations. It was the opposite of what we experienced in Sipi Falls. Now if only that business model was used all over Uganda, including Sipi Falls area, within a few years Uganda could become the tourist center of Africa.
During the majority of the day we would go on our various outings outside of town and we explored the city in the late afternoon and evening, which is really the best time. We arrived in town at 11:15pm and the place was hopping. Before this we had never experienced a night life in Uganda. (Bududa might have a night life but I imagine it isn’t like that of the city and it may even be more dangerous. Not to mention we usually go to bed around 9pm.) Fort Portal has a main street that has several bars, restaurants, banks, internet cafes, food markets as well as several other businesses and a traditional outdoor African market. The sights and smells were the same as any other market we have been to in Uganda except across the street was this huge, lavish restaurant called the Gardens. We thought about eating there but instead we decided to be kinder to our wallets and we ate at Master Snacks down the street. We paid about $2 per person versus $5 or $6, and it was more filling and more locally grown. You know you have been in Africa for a long time when you would rather eat at a local joint than a comfortable, predictable restaurant with a Western menu. However when the menu included made to order brick oven pizzas we couldn’t resist.
Mike has already talked about our interesting bike tour so I won’t get into that. Except I had a blast, I am almost more happy that we got lost because we got to see and experience a part of Uganda that otherwise we wouldn’t have seen. We were never actually lost, but Ugandans use that word to explain why you aren’t where you are expecting to be or when you arrive somewhere late. The ride up the hill was a bit reckless but it saved our legs and I didn’t realize how dangerous or terrifying it was for Mike until afterwards. I had the common sense not to sit on the tail gate but inside the back, since I consider my life more valuable than the bike. It was interesting that even though we stopped about 3 times to ask for directions everyone said to keep going. So it wasn’t just a bad map but also a thick language barrier and our attitudes of “this is beautiful, let’s keep going” that factored into a remarkable bike ride.
We woke up early the next day to go check out an area that is known for having lots of crater lakes. We got on a piki and drove for miles and miles and already we could tell it was going to be a great day. The hills were endless until we got to that top of one and took a sharp right hand turn and right before our eyes was this massive crater lake with steep banks on every side. Then less than a ¼ mile down the road there was another one, then another. The piki dropped us off in a tiny village called Kabata and instantly we were surrounded by a dozen kids who couldn’t stop staring at us. They all wanted to be our guide but we kindly told them we were just here to walk around, unfortunately they did not understand us and several of them followed us part way down the road. We did not know exactly which way we were going but we had an idea of where we wanted to end up. Along the road our first pleasant surprise hit us via our nostrils. The smell was soft, sweet and intoxicating and it didn’t take Mike long to figure out what it was… vanilla. A giant vanilla plantation nestled in the rolling hills of western Uganda; is there anything that they can’t grow in Uganda?
Occasionally on the road we were passed by local people with fishing poles and bundles of fresh fish they caught in a nearby lake. After walking for about 40 minutes we saw another massive crater lake which helped us figure out where we were. This is when the real adventure started because we turned off the road and for the rest of the day we trekked on the paths that winded through the jungle covered hills. Many locals just stared at us as we walked by. They were probably surprised to see us since we travel a different route than most mzungus. At one point this little kid, no older than two, looked at me and let out this loud and horrifying scream and instantly had tears running down her cheeks. It could have been the first time she saw a white person and based on her scream I probably looked like an alien or monster to her and thought I was going to eat her. We had a full day of trekking that included swimming under a water fall, two river crossings (once a little above the waterfall and once where the bridge was taken out), walking through a giant banana plantation, swimming in a crater lake (400 meters deep!!), and checking out a local ecotourism spot.
The next day was similar in that we saw more of the countryside and more crater lakes but this time we hired a guide and saw more cool things. We hiked through a jungle that was so thick we almost had to curl on our hands and knees and in some place the mud would have come up to our knees if there weren’t planks laid in the path. We trekked through caves, behind a waterfall, up and over hills and down dirt roads that rarely have cars pass. The cave we saw was Ambere Cave and our guide told us the history and legend of the cave in wonderful detail. I don’t remember most of it except that it had to do with this ancient woman’s breasts that were cut off and she was banished to the caves and to this day you can still see her breasts hanging from the roof of the cave. You can take my word for it; the stalactites actually look a bit like breasts.
The thing that we were most impressed by during our stay was the presence of African run ecotourism businesses. They dotted the area like bars dot a ski town in the United States. They offered a variety of tours and activities for every kind of tourists and every budget. The first day we rented bikes from one. The next day we stopped to have drinks at one, and the last day the caves and surrounding area was run by one. It was relieving to see that these businesses were doing well, they were well lead and organized and in many cases they were run and owned by Ugandans. Not only that they were giving back to their local communities by building schools or donating to schools in exchange for having students come and volunteer there. Many of them seemed to also have a more conscious environmental ethic. The local people were taking care of the land and since it was owned by Africans that prevented Westerners from coming in and building giant resorts. Some of them had even been recognized by the government as community development organizations. It was the opposite of what we experienced in Sipi Falls. Now if only that business model was used all over Uganda, including Sipi Falls area, within a few years Uganda could become the tourist center of Africa.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
A Trip with in a Trip: Fort Portal Part 5
We awoke, groggy and swollen-eyed, from a restful, though short lived, nights rest. Our plan was to stay for 2-3 days, depending on how much fun there was to be had. It was overcast, as it often is in mountainous regions of the world. After all we were in the shadow of the fabled Rwenzori Mountains, and the third highest peak in Africa, Mount Margherita (5,109 meters). We walked into town and found a place that rented bikes for a small fee. Our plan was to ride out to where a series of crater lakes dotted the country-side. We were also hoping to find the ancient Ambere Caves. That was the plan…but plans change! We were given a crude little hand drawn map, but what we didn’t know (and weren’t told) was that the signs and landmarks we were to follow had been removed because of construction. T.I.A.
We peddled right past the turn-off and rode into nowhere. To make matters worse, Therese’s chain kept falling off, my breaks were a bit shotty, we didn’t have helmets (sorry Mom) and two police officers said we were on the right track! Eventually we came to a large hill that was under road construction. By the looks of things, it seemed like they were widening a pre-existing road. What was somewhat surprising was that traffic was allowed to pass while construction was underway. There was no road crew with hard hats, two-ways, or “Stop/Slow” signs. We biked right down. By this time, we were pretty sure we were not where we wanted to be. We stopped for some water and a picture, before approaching the next section. It was around a steep, blind corner and we took the turn slowly. A pick-up could be seen 40 meters away coming at us. The road was extremely wet and muddy and the truck needed to get speed to race up the slope, allowing its momentum to carry it through the mud, not its traction. We quickly realized it was not a very safe place for us to be at the moment, especially considering the death and oblivion that awaited anyone who was unlucky enough to go off the road and tumble the steep 300 meters down into the river and ravine.
The truck raced up the slope, splashing and skidding its way to dry level land, while Therese and I looked at one another with that calculating look that we have given each other often in Africa. We continued on in haste, hoping to beat another approaching car; the beauty of the area pushing us to continue. As another car approached, heavily laden with people, we noticed what looked to be a rock slide cascading down from above. We watched as the car, gunning the final section through the mud, was pelted with baseball size stones. Any slower, and the car would have been struck by the basketball size rocks that continued to rain down over the road. In shock, I looked up to see a back hoe precariously situated over the edge above us. His excavations on the road above had sent the rock slide down.
At this time we came to our senses and realized descending down the road would probably lead to our untimely deaths and was almost certainly not going where we wanted to go anyway. We were able to hop in the bed of a Uganda Wildlife Authority Range Rover pick-up. In hindsight that was also a poor decision. The driver, showing absolute conformity with every other driver I have had in Uganda, sped recklessly up the slope, taking blind corners at over 40 mph, the back wheels sliding out to the far side of the turn. To make matters worse, I was positioned on the top of the tailgate, desperately holding onto the car and my bike. The rest of the passengers (maybe 5-8) in the back with Therese and I, seemed to look at us with something between curiosity and annoyance. Every time we took a corner I feared I was going to tumble right out and over the side of the ravine. We hit one particularly bad bump that send the handle bars of the bike into my face. The force of it almost made me lose consciousness and I screamed up to the driver to stop! Honestly, my fear in that moment was on par with the hippo sighting only a few days before. I was on the verge of tears as I lifted my bike out of the back, thanked the driver, and pedaled my way up the remainder of the hill.
We biked into town for some food and water. I drank a cold beer and thought about life, death, and what other adventures I could get into tomorrow. I love when life becomes that simple!
We peddled right past the turn-off and rode into nowhere. To make matters worse, Therese’s chain kept falling off, my breaks were a bit shotty, we didn’t have helmets (sorry Mom) and two police officers said we were on the right track! Eventually we came to a large hill that was under road construction. By the looks of things, it seemed like they were widening a pre-existing road. What was somewhat surprising was that traffic was allowed to pass while construction was underway. There was no road crew with hard hats, two-ways, or “Stop/Slow” signs. We biked right down. By this time, we were pretty sure we were not where we wanted to be. We stopped for some water and a picture, before approaching the next section. It was around a steep, blind corner and we took the turn slowly. A pick-up could be seen 40 meters away coming at us. The road was extremely wet and muddy and the truck needed to get speed to race up the slope, allowing its momentum to carry it through the mud, not its traction. We quickly realized it was not a very safe place for us to be at the moment, especially considering the death and oblivion that awaited anyone who was unlucky enough to go off the road and tumble the steep 300 meters down into the river and ravine.
The truck raced up the slope, splashing and skidding its way to dry level land, while Therese and I looked at one another with that calculating look that we have given each other often in Africa. We continued on in haste, hoping to beat another approaching car; the beauty of the area pushing us to continue. As another car approached, heavily laden with people, we noticed what looked to be a rock slide cascading down from above. We watched as the car, gunning the final section through the mud, was pelted with baseball size stones. Any slower, and the car would have been struck by the basketball size rocks that continued to rain down over the road. In shock, I looked up to see a back hoe precariously situated over the edge above us. His excavations on the road above had sent the rock slide down.
At this time we came to our senses and realized descending down the road would probably lead to our untimely deaths and was almost certainly not going where we wanted to go anyway. We were able to hop in the bed of a Uganda Wildlife Authority Range Rover pick-up. In hindsight that was also a poor decision. The driver, showing absolute conformity with every other driver I have had in Uganda, sped recklessly up the slope, taking blind corners at over 40 mph, the back wheels sliding out to the far side of the turn. To make matters worse, I was positioned on the top of the tailgate, desperately holding onto the car and my bike. The rest of the passengers (maybe 5-8) in the back with Therese and I, seemed to look at us with something between curiosity and annoyance. Every time we took a corner I feared I was going to tumble right out and over the side of the ravine. We hit one particularly bad bump that send the handle bars of the bike into my face. The force of it almost made me lose consciousness and I screamed up to the driver to stop! Honestly, my fear in that moment was on par with the hippo sighting only a few days before. I was on the verge of tears as I lifted my bike out of the back, thanked the driver, and pedaled my way up the remainder of the hill.
We biked into town for some food and water. I drank a cold beer and thought about life, death, and what other adventures I could get into tomorrow. I love when life becomes that simple!
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
A Trip Within A Trip, Part 4: 99 Jeri-cans on top of the bus
It is hard to describe what it is like to travel in an African country by public transport. It is kind of like Forrest Gump’s quote “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get” but times 1000 and the opposite of sweet. Finding a bus that is going to where you want to go in Uganda is actually not that hard. If you ask someone they will point you to the right direction, but the ride is no where near comfortable.
The day we traveled from Murchison to Fort Portal was by far the longest and most epic day of traveling of our trip and possibly of my life. If you took 100 snapshots of me from that day, in 40 of them I would be praying, in 50 of them I would be nervous, uncomfortable or terrified, in 9 I would be calm and accepting and in 1 I would be pushing a coach bus up a muddy hill that resembled a road. We were able to live through that day without a nervous break down because before we even left we accepted the fact that we had no idea what was going to happen or where we would end up. Having each other has a traveling companion made it possible for us to have serenity in the face of such craziness and uncertainty.
The 250 mile trip took us roughly 16 and1/2 hours and consisted of 2 piki rides, 2 minibus rides and one coach bus ride. To give you an idea of how muddy the roads were and how crazy the drivers are if Mike drove the same route with his Jeep he would have done it in the same amount of time. The first piki ride was like picking a piece of refreshing milk chocolate with a strong hint of danger in it. The ride took over an hour but we didn’t mind since the morning breeze and rising sun felt good on our faces. But this ride was probably the most dangerous part of the day even though it wasn’t nearly as terrifying or uncomfortable as the rest of the trip. The danger factor was that the majority of the piki ride was inside the park, the same park that has elephants, hippos and buffalo, all of which could easily outrun an overloaded piki carrying three people and two backpacks. The closest we got to seeing any wildlife on the ride though was seeing lots of hippo tracks in the road from the night before.
The first piki took us to Bulisa, a small village at the northern tip of Lake Albert that is a fraction of the size of Bududa. Somehow finding our next bus was much easier than finding something to eat for breakfast in the village of Bulisa. The bus ride from Bulisa to Hoima was the most spectacular leg of the trip. It was also the shortest of all the bus rides, being only a 3.5 hours trip. One really interesting and ironic thing I saw during the ride was a giant cell phone tower in the middle of a village that consisted of about 100 mud and thatched roof huts. As a whole Africa is developing at a slower rate compared to the U.S. or any other first world country. But what happens in countries, such as Uganda, is that their technology is so far behind that when new technology is introduced it skips whole stages in development. 15 years ago no one in a village in Uganda had a phone, today I bet half of the population has cell phones and that includes in the villages.
The road passed through some plains and rolling hills that ran along the eastern shore of Lake Albert. From there the road started to gain elevation. It went up and up and up and we were able to see great views of Lake Albert and the Congo on the other side. We were lost in the beauty and vastness of the country and before we knew it we were in Hoima. We did not spend any time exploring Hoima because we were still hopefully to end the day in Fort Portal and we didn’t want to waste any time. We spent over an hour there and for the majority of that time was spent in the bus waiting for it to leave. Buses here only leave when they are full, and this one filled up in about 30 minutes. Then we waited another 45 minutes for them to fit all the luggage in, get the back door closed, fill up on gas, put air in the tires and strap another 40 jeri-cans to the top of the bus. (Jeri cans are 20 liter jugs that are used for carrying anything from water to gasoline.) All of this proved to be challenging including getting gas because the bus ran out of gas and staled about two hundred meters away from the gas station. As if things weren’t ridiculous enough it also poured rain for the whole time we were there. It was like going into the box of chocolates and having a sea of chocolate fondue spill into your lap. I was literally rained on while in the bus because it rained so hard and the seal between the frame and the window nonexistent.
The chocolate fondue flowed into the roads and tripled the number of potholes, mud puddles and rivers that the driver had to navigate around. The roads were so bad they made Deer Hill Road look like the yellow brick road. Twice in the first hour of the ride we hit ruts big enough to cause the back door to fly open and have luggage spill out. One of the times a jeri-can filled with gasoline also fell out and somehow got a hole was punched into the top of it. So for the better part of the next four hours Mike and I and the rest of the passengers were inhaling gasoline fumes. Occasionally I stuck my head out of the window to get some fresh air and my nose and mouth rejoiced when ever a new scent hit them. Never before have I been so happy when the smell of shit hit my nose.
The most eventful and comic part (looking back on it) of the trip was when the bus got stuck in the mud. The first time the Ugandan plus Mike made quick work of pushing it up the hill and out of the mud. I didn’t have time to get my camera out. Their energy was high and the stubbornness fierce; there was no way they were going to let a little bit of mud stop them from getting to where they wanted to go. I enjoyed watching them push because I had total faith that they could do it and because I was happy to be out of the bus for a little while. Fortunately the rains stopped but the road continued to get worse as the waters drained down from the hills. The bus jostled from sides to side, fell in ruts and slid all over the place. Slowly my serenity began to wane and I held Mike’s hand tightly in mine and I started to wonder if we were still going to make it to Ft. Portal. When the bus got stuck in the mud a second time I almost lost it because I did not feel safe anymore but I was neither surprised nor upset. I was extremely grateful to get out of the bus and stretch my legs. This time I captured the epicness on camera, although at the chagrin of the driver and conductor. On a good day the bus ride from Hoima to Kagadi only takes about 3 hours, that day it took us 5.5 hours (6.5 if you count the 1 hour we waited before we left).
When we got to Kagadi there was no waiting around to start the next and last leg of our trip. Within minutes we were sitting in the relatively comfortable seats in the second row of a coach bus. Our hope had been revived because Fort Portal was the final destination for this bus and only a third of the road there was unpaved. For the first 30 minutes of the ride I couldn’t stop thinking how grateful I am to be alive and amazed that our bus only got stuck twice (don’t think happen in 3s). Little did I know my mind had the power to jinx the whole bus… it got stuck in the mud again. So there I was in a coach bus raging as fast as it could up a slipper muddy slope and even though we were fortunate enough to have the best drive in the world there was no way…there was no way. Instantly the driver started to scream and everyone rushed out of the bus slightly amused, perturbed and perplexed. How does one go about getting a coach bus out of a 12 inch muddy rut and then 100 yards up the rest of the hill? Like I said the stubbornness of African is fierce and every time they pushed they didn’t stop until it moved. And every time it moved a couple of inches their spirits went up and their stubbornness just got more intense. An hour went by with very little progress and I was becoming more and more pessimistic. Mike on the other hand was trilled to watch such an epic scene unfold and he was optimistic that their stubbornness would make them triumphant. One of our fellow passengers said this is an historic trip, it was indeed. After the sun had set and the stars came out there was a sudden roar in the crowd as the bus gained traction and moved several feet. The driver put the pedal to the metal and everyone kept pushing and soon the bus was safely waiting for its passengers at the top of the hill.
Three hours later the bus came to a stop, our journey has come to an end. It was 11:15pm and we were exhausted. We had lived through one of the longest, uncomfortable and most epic days of our lives. But we accomplished something that many Uganda doubted was possible; we made it to Fort Portal from Murchison in one day. All we had left was a quick piki ride to our hostel before we slumbered into our warm, cozy beds and called it a night.
The day we traveled from Murchison to Fort Portal was by far the longest and most epic day of traveling of our trip and possibly of my life. If you took 100 snapshots of me from that day, in 40 of them I would be praying, in 50 of them I would be nervous, uncomfortable or terrified, in 9 I would be calm and accepting and in 1 I would be pushing a coach bus up a muddy hill that resembled a road. We were able to live through that day without a nervous break down because before we even left we accepted the fact that we had no idea what was going to happen or where we would end up. Having each other has a traveling companion made it possible for us to have serenity in the face of such craziness and uncertainty.
The 250 mile trip took us roughly 16 and1/2 hours and consisted of 2 piki rides, 2 minibus rides and one coach bus ride. To give you an idea of how muddy the roads were and how crazy the drivers are if Mike drove the same route with his Jeep he would have done it in the same amount of time. The first piki ride was like picking a piece of refreshing milk chocolate with a strong hint of danger in it. The ride took over an hour but we didn’t mind since the morning breeze and rising sun felt good on our faces. But this ride was probably the most dangerous part of the day even though it wasn’t nearly as terrifying or uncomfortable as the rest of the trip. The danger factor was that the majority of the piki ride was inside the park, the same park that has elephants, hippos and buffalo, all of which could easily outrun an overloaded piki carrying three people and two backpacks. The closest we got to seeing any wildlife on the ride though was seeing lots of hippo tracks in the road from the night before.
The first piki took us to Bulisa, a small village at the northern tip of Lake Albert that is a fraction of the size of Bududa. Somehow finding our next bus was much easier than finding something to eat for breakfast in the village of Bulisa. The bus ride from Bulisa to Hoima was the most spectacular leg of the trip. It was also the shortest of all the bus rides, being only a 3.5 hours trip. One really interesting and ironic thing I saw during the ride was a giant cell phone tower in the middle of a village that consisted of about 100 mud and thatched roof huts. As a whole Africa is developing at a slower rate compared to the U.S. or any other first world country. But what happens in countries, such as Uganda, is that their technology is so far behind that when new technology is introduced it skips whole stages in development. 15 years ago no one in a village in Uganda had a phone, today I bet half of the population has cell phones and that includes in the villages.
The road passed through some plains and rolling hills that ran along the eastern shore of Lake Albert. From there the road started to gain elevation. It went up and up and up and we were able to see great views of Lake Albert and the Congo on the other side. We were lost in the beauty and vastness of the country and before we knew it we were in Hoima. We did not spend any time exploring Hoima because we were still hopefully to end the day in Fort Portal and we didn’t want to waste any time. We spent over an hour there and for the majority of that time was spent in the bus waiting for it to leave. Buses here only leave when they are full, and this one filled up in about 30 minutes. Then we waited another 45 minutes for them to fit all the luggage in, get the back door closed, fill up on gas, put air in the tires and strap another 40 jeri-cans to the top of the bus. (Jeri cans are 20 liter jugs that are used for carrying anything from water to gasoline.) All of this proved to be challenging including getting gas because the bus ran out of gas and staled about two hundred meters away from the gas station. As if things weren’t ridiculous enough it also poured rain for the whole time we were there. It was like going into the box of chocolates and having a sea of chocolate fondue spill into your lap. I was literally rained on while in the bus because it rained so hard and the seal between the frame and the window nonexistent.
The chocolate fondue flowed into the roads and tripled the number of potholes, mud puddles and rivers that the driver had to navigate around. The roads were so bad they made Deer Hill Road look like the yellow brick road. Twice in the first hour of the ride we hit ruts big enough to cause the back door to fly open and have luggage spill out. One of the times a jeri-can filled with gasoline also fell out and somehow got a hole was punched into the top of it. So for the better part of the next four hours Mike and I and the rest of the passengers were inhaling gasoline fumes. Occasionally I stuck my head out of the window to get some fresh air and my nose and mouth rejoiced when ever a new scent hit them. Never before have I been so happy when the smell of shit hit my nose.
The most eventful and comic part (looking back on it) of the trip was when the bus got stuck in the mud. The first time the Ugandan plus Mike made quick work of pushing it up the hill and out of the mud. I didn’t have time to get my camera out. Their energy was high and the stubbornness fierce; there was no way they were going to let a little bit of mud stop them from getting to where they wanted to go. I enjoyed watching them push because I had total faith that they could do it and because I was happy to be out of the bus for a little while. Fortunately the rains stopped but the road continued to get worse as the waters drained down from the hills. The bus jostled from sides to side, fell in ruts and slid all over the place. Slowly my serenity began to wane and I held Mike’s hand tightly in mine and I started to wonder if we were still going to make it to Ft. Portal. When the bus got stuck in the mud a second time I almost lost it because I did not feel safe anymore but I was neither surprised nor upset. I was extremely grateful to get out of the bus and stretch my legs. This time I captured the epicness on camera, although at the chagrin of the driver and conductor. On a good day the bus ride from Hoima to Kagadi only takes about 3 hours, that day it took us 5.5 hours (6.5 if you count the 1 hour we waited before we left).
When we got to Kagadi there was no waiting around to start the next and last leg of our trip. Within minutes we were sitting in the relatively comfortable seats in the second row of a coach bus. Our hope had been revived because Fort Portal was the final destination for this bus and only a third of the road there was unpaved. For the first 30 minutes of the ride I couldn’t stop thinking how grateful I am to be alive and amazed that our bus only got stuck twice (don’t think happen in 3s). Little did I know my mind had the power to jinx the whole bus… it got stuck in the mud again. So there I was in a coach bus raging as fast as it could up a slipper muddy slope and even though we were fortunate enough to have the best drive in the world there was no way…there was no way. Instantly the driver started to scream and everyone rushed out of the bus slightly amused, perturbed and perplexed. How does one go about getting a coach bus out of a 12 inch muddy rut and then 100 yards up the rest of the hill? Like I said the stubbornness of African is fierce and every time they pushed they didn’t stop until it moved. And every time it moved a couple of inches their spirits went up and their stubbornness just got more intense. An hour went by with very little progress and I was becoming more and more pessimistic. Mike on the other hand was trilled to watch such an epic scene unfold and he was optimistic that their stubbornness would make them triumphant. One of our fellow passengers said this is an historic trip, it was indeed. After the sun had set and the stars came out there was a sudden roar in the crowd as the bus gained traction and moved several feet. The driver put the pedal to the metal and everyone kept pushing and soon the bus was safely waiting for its passengers at the top of the hill.
Three hours later the bus came to a stop, our journey has come to an end. It was 11:15pm and we were exhausted. We had lived through one of the longest, uncomfortable and most epic days of our lives. But we accomplished something that many Uganda doubted was possible; we made it to Fort Portal from Murchison in one day. All we had left was a quick piki ride to our hostel before we slumbered into our warm, cozy beds and called it a night.
Monday, September 12, 2011
A Trip within a Trip: The Good German, Part 3
So, as I finished my “007”, I pondered the next leg of our journey. Arriving at the park proved to be quit simple, as we were driven by Solomon and his private vehicle. Owning one’s own vehicle is a luxury not many Ugandan’s, and even more so for Bududan’s in my experience, have the means to afford. We felt quit privileged ourselves to be able to travel with such comfort and convenience. We would soon learn, and more intimately than ever before, how convenient and comfortable we truly had it.
When we parted with Solomon and his family, we didn’t just say goodbye to good friends; we also said goodbye to our means of transportation. There is no town to speak of in the Park. There are lodges. Guest arrive, usually in rugged Safari Land Rovers, chartered through tour companies based in Kampala. They shuttle their clients, almost all of which are muzungus, from airport to hotel and from there…anywhere their money wants to go. A few adventurous souls drive their own vehicles, Solomon being one. Furthermore, the overwhelming majority of visitors arrive, and leave, by the paved road to Kampala, or roughly SE. A small few may come from the East or the North where there is a fair amount of NGO’s operating. Even fewer still, choose to leave from the SW. Especially without their own vehicle. Except us. Our plan was to continue traveling SW to Ft. Portal.
As I sat at the bar, continuing to sip my whiskey, shake off my hippo encounter, and inquire about the possibility of such a trip with the bartender James, I observed a patron sitting alone. He was in his early 40’s; tall, stern, dirty and sunburned. At first I thought maybe he worked at the camp, a guide or driver perhaps. He was completely uninterested in interacting with the other guests, who loudly tried to one-up each another with their safari stories of the day. One large group was actually in a heated game of “Asshole” with a deck of cards. This man sat, uninterested, with three empty Niles in front of him.
I slide over to the empty bar stool next to him and introduced myself. He was polite enough, but clearly thought I was of the same crowd as the others behind us. I asked him how long he planned to spend in the park, to which he replied with a shrug and a thick German accent: “Don’t know?” I asked him where he was headed after he left (somewhat hoping he might be heading our direction) and he replied with the same gesture and response, then sipped his beer. Despite the small disappointment that he was not traveling my direction, I immediately liked him. I asked him where he came from, as I was almost sure he was not from a Kampala tour company. To my excitement, he explained how he had arrived by public transport (boda-boda) from the south-west!
I informed him of our intention to leave via that route, and that any info he could pass on would be greatly appreciated. He went on to elaborate on his travels a bit, starting from Kampala, where he took a bus to Ft. Portal, our intended destination. He spent several days there climbing in the fabled “Mountains of the Moon”, the Rwenzori Mountains. My heart began to sink a little when he described how the trip from Ft. Portal to Murchison had taken him 4 days and was some of the roughest traveling he had encountered. We were hoping to travel the distance in a single day. Most of these challenges and delays he attributed to the condition of the road and the heavy rains.
I took out my map and he showed me his route, which was similar to the one Therese and I intended. He said that securing transport was no problem from Bulisa, the closest town outside the park to the west, as there were many boda-boda men waiting for passengers. The ride, he reported, was somewhat perilous, on account of the animals present, and took over an hour.When I informed him of our intention to travel the route in a single day, he chucked and took a large gulp of his beer. He smiled and said, with absolute sincerity: “Good luck!”
We had found the information we needed but we still had one problem. There were no boda-boda men in the park. James, who had been listening on intently, announced that he had a friend who was a boda driver in Bulisa. He arranged a phone call, and within minutes I was negotiating the price for transport. He agreed to meet us at the camp at 7 am sharp. I finished my whiskey, shook the hands of James and the good German, before retiring for the night. I had a suspicion that tomorrow would be a long eventful day, and a good night sleep could prove essential.
When we parted with Solomon and his family, we didn’t just say goodbye to good friends; we also said goodbye to our means of transportation. There is no town to speak of in the Park. There are lodges. Guest arrive, usually in rugged Safari Land Rovers, chartered through tour companies based in Kampala. They shuttle their clients, almost all of which are muzungus, from airport to hotel and from there…anywhere their money wants to go. A few adventurous souls drive their own vehicles, Solomon being one. Furthermore, the overwhelming majority of visitors arrive, and leave, by the paved road to Kampala, or roughly SE. A small few may come from the East or the North where there is a fair amount of NGO’s operating. Even fewer still, choose to leave from the SW. Especially without their own vehicle. Except us. Our plan was to continue traveling SW to Ft. Portal.
As I sat at the bar, continuing to sip my whiskey, shake off my hippo encounter, and inquire about the possibility of such a trip with the bartender James, I observed a patron sitting alone. He was in his early 40’s; tall, stern, dirty and sunburned. At first I thought maybe he worked at the camp, a guide or driver perhaps. He was completely uninterested in interacting with the other guests, who loudly tried to one-up each another with their safari stories of the day. One large group was actually in a heated game of “Asshole” with a deck of cards. This man sat, uninterested, with three empty Niles in front of him.
I slide over to the empty bar stool next to him and introduced myself. He was polite enough, but clearly thought I was of the same crowd as the others behind us. I asked him how long he planned to spend in the park, to which he replied with a shrug and a thick German accent: “Don’t know?” I asked him where he was headed after he left (somewhat hoping he might be heading our direction) and he replied with the same gesture and response, then sipped his beer. Despite the small disappointment that he was not traveling my direction, I immediately liked him. I asked him where he came from, as I was almost sure he was not from a Kampala tour company. To my excitement, he explained how he had arrived by public transport (boda-boda) from the south-west!
I informed him of our intention to leave via that route, and that any info he could pass on would be greatly appreciated. He went on to elaborate on his travels a bit, starting from Kampala, where he took a bus to Ft. Portal, our intended destination. He spent several days there climbing in the fabled “Mountains of the Moon”, the Rwenzori Mountains. My heart began to sink a little when he described how the trip from Ft. Portal to Murchison had taken him 4 days and was some of the roughest traveling he had encountered. We were hoping to travel the distance in a single day. Most of these challenges and delays he attributed to the condition of the road and the heavy rains.
I took out my map and he showed me his route, which was similar to the one Therese and I intended. He said that securing transport was no problem from Bulisa, the closest town outside the park to the west, as there were many boda-boda men waiting for passengers. The ride, he reported, was somewhat perilous, on account of the animals present, and took over an hour.When I informed him of our intention to travel the route in a single day, he chucked and took a large gulp of his beer. He smiled and said, with absolute sincerity: “Good luck!”
We had found the information we needed but we still had one problem. There were no boda-boda men in the park. James, who had been listening on intently, announced that he had a friend who was a boda driver in Bulisa. He arranged a phone call, and within minutes I was negotiating the price for transport. He agreed to meet us at the camp at 7 am sharp. I finished my whiskey, shook the hands of James and the good German, before retiring for the night. I had a suspicion that tomorrow would be a long eventful day, and a good night sleep could prove essential.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A Trip within a Trip: Diamonds in the Dark: Part 2
So there I was…frozen between fear and excitement in the immediate presence of such a prehistoric and potentially dangerous creature. With the absence of moonlight, the darkness that surrounded me was suffocating and I clung to the beam of light produced by my headlamp like a man-overboard to his rescue line. My fear prevented me from both movement and breath. Instead I focused on the beam, which was intern, focused on two reflecting diamonds in front of a mass of bulky shadow. Those eerie shinning eyes peered back at me uncertainly. They occasionally looked away as if searching for a means of escape, only to focus right back to mine.
In hindsight, I probably should have turned the light off, but I was too afraid to loose sight of those eyes. I knew that I could not walk any closer because I might provoke it, but neither could I turn and run. I was already too close. Running, even moving, could spook it into chasing me. And it would undoubtedly win the race. There was only one thing I could do. Freeze. With my whole being I silently urged those eyes away. It needed to know I was of no threat and become tired of the stalemate. I had no other move except stillness and patience, but every second made my knees weak and my heart pound. The jungle walled me in on either side impenetrably, and the road was not wide enough for us both to cross. It would have to turn back, crash through the jungle, or crash through me. But how long until it decided? The road to my camp was only a short distance away, a few hundred yards maybe, but those eyes prevented me from approaching any closer. So there I was, frozen.
Our day, and this precarious situation of ours, began with a wonderful tour of Murchison Falls National Park and its unbelievable assortment of wildlife. After saying goodbye to Solomon and his family, doing some much needed laundry, and getting a little personal time away from one another, Therese and I reunited and ventured outside the lodge where we were camped to find a place to eat. The “canteens” are local little spots in the park where local people (park rangers, lodge staff, drivers) go to get local meals (rice, beans, matoke) and pay local prices (25%- 50% of what whites pay in lodges/camps). We knew of a place not far from our camp that we had seen the day before and set out at dusk. We found the spot and ate a great hot meal with cold beer (Nile Special of course). It was also in a haphazardly constructed bamboo hut with plastic lawn chairs and no lights. I used my headlamp with my water bottle to make a shaky bluish lantern from which to see our food. I noticed we were the only “muzungus” present and almost everyone else was Park Staff. They seemed to take absolutely no notice of us in the corner with our funny little light.
As we finished eating darkness set in. The change over from day to night happens in an instant in equatorial Africa; or so it seems. It’s as if all the light from the sun is sucked to the other side of the world once the sun makes its journey over the horizon. By the time we were ready to leave, the sun was gone and the moon had set with it. Furthermore, thick cloud cover even snuffed out the stars!
We had our headlight, and as we walked back to camp we half jokingly reminded each other of the dangers that existed outside. But one in particular concerned us most. We new the big cats (lions, leopards, cheetahs) were active at night, but they were mostly on the other side of the Nile from us. Granted, we were only about a half a km from the bank, but those cats don’t swim. Something else does though; something that kills more Africans than any other. To be fair, it kills less people than malaria mosquitoes or humans with machetes, Kalashnikovs, or automobiles. Regardless, what really concerned us at that moment was a Hippopotamus encounter! And that is exactly the situation we found ourselves in!
Weighing up to a ton or more and capable of reaching speeds up to 40 kilometers an hour on land, a hippo is a force to be reckoned with. They are even more dangerous in water where they are good swimmers, thanks to their webbed feet, and can be extremely territorial. Their ivory teeth can grow up to a foot long while their jaw has the power to snap through bone like it was a pencil. Not particularly bright, they are spooked easily and apparently mow down anything in their way.
All of these warnings I had heard about previously and now they raced through my mind as quickly as my heart pounded in my chest. Time, like me, was frozen. My eyes locked and my body tensed with anticipation. My stomach released a familiar little gurgle of adrenaline erupting into my chest, sending my body a shot of energy that seemed to shiver with electricity. Or maybe the “gurgle” was me about to shit myself and the electric shiver was actually body shaking with fear. Who can say? All I know was that I kept my focus on that beam of light as it reflected the shimmer of those eyes back to us.
Then, as if it had finally made its decision, it turned and lumbered off into the jungle by some unseen path on its way back to the river. I took my first breath in an eternity and quickly walked the short distance back to the camp. I walked straight to the bar and ordered a double shot of cheap Ugandan Bond 7 whiskey, which I have taken to calling a “007”, but really only with Therese because no one else would get it. She remains thoroughly unimpressed. After my hand stopped shaking I told the African bartender James, a good man who literally grew up inside the park, my harrowing encounter. He smiled that warm white-toothy smile that I have grown quite accustomed to in recent months, and congratulated me. He very quickly moved on with his evening and not another word regarding the incident was uttered.
Now, many days later, and a whole host of additional adventures had, I am back in the stunning mountains of Bududa. After more than 9 days traveling there and back again, those familiar mountains have come to feel like home. The feeling of relief and appreciation I felt when Therese finally pushed open the cast iron door to our home and the lantern’s warm light filled the room was sublime. Our overland travel was hard and uncomfortable. It was a true adventure, and in the paraphrased words of my man Mark Twain, the experience was great, partly because it was worth doing but chiefly because I know that I shall never have to do it again. Perhaps there is no better way of summarizing a close encounter with a hippo in the dark moonless night of the African bush.
In hindsight, I probably should have turned the light off, but I was too afraid to loose sight of those eyes. I knew that I could not walk any closer because I might provoke it, but neither could I turn and run. I was already too close. Running, even moving, could spook it into chasing me. And it would undoubtedly win the race. There was only one thing I could do. Freeze. With my whole being I silently urged those eyes away. It needed to know I was of no threat and become tired of the stalemate. I had no other move except stillness and patience, but every second made my knees weak and my heart pound. The jungle walled me in on either side impenetrably, and the road was not wide enough for us both to cross. It would have to turn back, crash through the jungle, or crash through me. But how long until it decided? The road to my camp was only a short distance away, a few hundred yards maybe, but those eyes prevented me from approaching any closer. So there I was, frozen.
Our day, and this precarious situation of ours, began with a wonderful tour of Murchison Falls National Park and its unbelievable assortment of wildlife. After saying goodbye to Solomon and his family, doing some much needed laundry, and getting a little personal time away from one another, Therese and I reunited and ventured outside the lodge where we were camped to find a place to eat. The “canteens” are local little spots in the park where local people (park rangers, lodge staff, drivers) go to get local meals (rice, beans, matoke) and pay local prices (25%- 50% of what whites pay in lodges/camps). We knew of a place not far from our camp that we had seen the day before and set out at dusk. We found the spot and ate a great hot meal with cold beer (Nile Special of course). It was also in a haphazardly constructed bamboo hut with plastic lawn chairs and no lights. I used my headlamp with my water bottle to make a shaky bluish lantern from which to see our food. I noticed we were the only “muzungus” present and almost everyone else was Park Staff. They seemed to take absolutely no notice of us in the corner with our funny little light.
As we finished eating darkness set in. The change over from day to night happens in an instant in equatorial Africa; or so it seems. It’s as if all the light from the sun is sucked to the other side of the world once the sun makes its journey over the horizon. By the time we were ready to leave, the sun was gone and the moon had set with it. Furthermore, thick cloud cover even snuffed out the stars!
We had our headlight, and as we walked back to camp we half jokingly reminded each other of the dangers that existed outside. But one in particular concerned us most. We new the big cats (lions, leopards, cheetahs) were active at night, but they were mostly on the other side of the Nile from us. Granted, we were only about a half a km from the bank, but those cats don’t swim. Something else does though; something that kills more Africans than any other. To be fair, it kills less people than malaria mosquitoes or humans with machetes, Kalashnikovs, or automobiles. Regardless, what really concerned us at that moment was a Hippopotamus encounter! And that is exactly the situation we found ourselves in!
Weighing up to a ton or more and capable of reaching speeds up to 40 kilometers an hour on land, a hippo is a force to be reckoned with. They are even more dangerous in water where they are good swimmers, thanks to their webbed feet, and can be extremely territorial. Their ivory teeth can grow up to a foot long while their jaw has the power to snap through bone like it was a pencil. Not particularly bright, they are spooked easily and apparently mow down anything in their way.
All of these warnings I had heard about previously and now they raced through my mind as quickly as my heart pounded in my chest. Time, like me, was frozen. My eyes locked and my body tensed with anticipation. My stomach released a familiar little gurgle of adrenaline erupting into my chest, sending my body a shot of energy that seemed to shiver with electricity. Or maybe the “gurgle” was me about to shit myself and the electric shiver was actually body shaking with fear. Who can say? All I know was that I kept my focus on that beam of light as it reflected the shimmer of those eyes back to us.
Then, as if it had finally made its decision, it turned and lumbered off into the jungle by some unseen path on its way back to the river. I took my first breath in an eternity and quickly walked the short distance back to the camp. I walked straight to the bar and ordered a double shot of cheap Ugandan Bond 7 whiskey, which I have taken to calling a “007”, but really only with Therese because no one else would get it. She remains thoroughly unimpressed. After my hand stopped shaking I told the African bartender James, a good man who literally grew up inside the park, my harrowing encounter. He smiled that warm white-toothy smile that I have grown quite accustomed to in recent months, and congratulated me. He very quickly moved on with his evening and not another word regarding the incident was uttered.
Now, many days later, and a whole host of additional adventures had, I am back in the stunning mountains of Bududa. After more than 9 days traveling there and back again, those familiar mountains have come to feel like home. The feeling of relief and appreciation I felt when Therese finally pushed open the cast iron door to our home and the lantern’s warm light filled the room was sublime. Our overland travel was hard and uncomfortable. It was a true adventure, and in the paraphrased words of my man Mark Twain, the experience was great, partly because it was worth doing but chiefly because I know that I shall never have to do it again. Perhaps there is no better way of summarizing a close encounter with a hippo in the dark moonless night of the African bush.
A Trip Within A Trip: Part 1 Mud Huts and Elegant Beasts
So there I was…along with about 70 Ugandans on a muddy slope pushing a coach bus up a hill that was stuck in a rut about a foot deep as the sun was setting. I wasn’t going to push but Mike was pushing and since we were the only two white people the locals put it together and figured out that we knew each other and they jovially pressured me into pushing. As darkness set in it was becoming more and more dangerous so after only one push I stood up on top of the bank to watch the scene unfold. In my head I was incessantly praying that no one would get hurt and also completely perplexed by what was going on and how I got there.
To tell the story of how I got there is a daunting task. Mike and I recently returned to Bududa after long, tiresome and epic 10 day journey throughout Uganda. If I had a whole day I would not be able to tell all the stories we have accumulated from that trip. We saw so many crazy things and wonderful places that putting it into words is challenging. Looking back on it I am very grateful that this trip came together. I feel like I have experienced way more of Uganda than I expected to or if I had spent all my time in Bududa.
A few weeks ago Mike and I were contemplating hiking Mt. Elgon, since it’s practically in our backyard. We heard from other visitors that the price for hiking recently went up so we went to the national park office to find out the details. We found out that it costs $90/day/person and that doesn’t include the cost of food, renting equipment, hiring a porter and the campsite fees. After sitting down and adding up the price for both of us on a 5 day hike we quickly realized we couldn’t afford it.
Shortly after this disappointing realization we went on a trip to Lira in the north and meet a lovely Ugandan couple, Soloman and Esther. Soloman is the head master of a vocational school near Lira and Esther runs Children of Hope Uganda, which is an NGO that supports local orphans. While we were there Soloman mentioned that he would like to take his family to Murchison Falls National Park and he was wondering if we wanted to make the trip with them. Of course we wanted to go, how could we turn down seeing a national park in Uganda with a wonderful Ugandan family? We weren’t sure if the timing was right and there were other places in Uganda we wanted to go and see. After consulting a calendar and map we not only decided to join them but also make it the first leg of a journey that would take us on a giant loop around Uganda. The planning came together quickly. Even though we didn’t have all the details figured out we set out to see Uganda, confident we would figure out the rest along the way.
Meeting up with Soloman and his family was the first leg of our trip but it was not our first stop. When we left Bududa we traveled through Mbale and then onto Butebo. There we met up with Henry and his family. Henry is a tailoring teacher at the vocational school and since he lives far away he also stays in the boy’s hostel and looks after the boys there. He is a wonderful man with a big heart and a big family. He is part of the Ateso tribe, which lives in an area north of Mbale. He has 5 brothers and sister and all of his brothers live very close to him since they all inherited a piece of land from their father. Unfortunately we did not meet Henry’s father because he passed away only a few weeks before. We did meet his mother and out of all the Ugandans that I have met she gave me the warmest welcome and longest hug. For most of our visit we were surrounded by a posse of 15 children, only 4 of which were Henry’s and the rest were his nieces and nephews. Henry’s family does not have much when it comes to wealth and material things, nevertheless they were extremely generous and grateful to have us visit. We were surrounded by dirty children and fields of crops, we slept in a mud hut with a thatched roof but the way they treated us we felt like guests of honor.
The journey from Henry’s to Lira was surprisingly uneventful and easy, except that we took a piki ride that was an hour and ten minutes long, which at that time was the longest piki ride we had endured. We got another warm welcome by Soloman and his family. They have three children; Calvin (9 years old), John (3) and Lorna (1 ½). Since Esther runs an NGO that helps orphans they also have taken in about 4 orphans who take care of the cooking, cleaning and digging in exchange for food and housing. By Ugandan standards they are well-off; they have a private car and running water, although they still lack electricity. Before setting off for Murchison Falls the next day they treated us to good food, showers and a cozy bed to spend the night in.
On our way to the national park we stopped at a local place to get food and stuffed ourselves to the brim with matoke, rice, beans and chicken. But the odd thing was that as we were eating we were watching a news report on the television about the hurricane that hit the east coast of North America. It was weird enough to see television but to see our country and the places we lived was crazy and it pulled on our heart string a little bit.
As we drove closer to the park we crossed the Nile where there was a waterfall, Karuma Falls. Mike and I stepped out of the car to take pictures and walk across the bridge. On the other side of the bridge we met up with two unhappy police officers, dressed in full military fatigues and assault rifles. They were talking to Esther in their native language so we were clueless as well as a bit worried. They let us go after a few minutes and Esther explained to us they were unhappy with us walking across the bridge since it was illegal and they thought it wasn’t safe for us to do so. Obviously we are savvy and sensible enough to know what we were doing and be safe, but still the only thing below was a quick watery death.
The drive through the park was beautiful, you could see for miles and everything was luscious and green. Along the road in the park we saw tons of baboons. They are used to the cars and sometimes they sit with their hand out waiting for you to give them food but usually we make to much noise and they run off into the jungle. We also saw buffalo on our drive, and we got a little to close for comfort. Most of them were sitting in a giant mud puddle cooling themselves off but one took on the role of gate keeper and stood in the road staring at us. Eventually it let us pass without causing a scene which we were all happy about specially when a few days later we heard a story of a buffalo getting mad and rolling a car over. It’s always nice to hear stories like those after the close encounter so that the experience is more exciting than terrifying.
About four hours after we left Lira we got out of the car to gaze upon the stunning sight of Murchison Falls and the hike around it. The amount of power, water, and beauty this waterfall had is beyond belief and comprehension. Just before the falls the river is about 150 meters wide then all of that water funnels into a gorge that is 20 meters wide and 60 meters deep which creates a magnificent display of white water. When we went white water rafting a few months ago our guide explained that at Murchison Falls “water goes in and doesn’t come out” and that description is not far off. We took our time taking it all in and getting it captured on camera, which was good and bad because we got some amazing pictures but then our battery died and we were unable to take pictures the following day.
Murchison Falls National Park is the largest park and protected area in Uganda at 3,840 square kilometers. It’s biggest attraction, and namesake, being Murchison Falls, but in addition to that it is also home to many species of mammals, reptiles and birds. The parks history is almost as turbulent as the falls for which it is named. Senseless rebel activity by the lunatics of the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) in the north spilled into the park, closing it for most of the beginning to the 21st century. Poaching dwindled its numbers but in recent years the rebels have been pushed out into the Congo and the numbers have begun to rebound. The best way to see the wildlife in the park is on a “game drive” or safari accompanied by a local guide. Once we found Sam, our guide, all eight of us packed into the car and we drove around on safari for 4 hours and it was incredible. We saw elephants, giraffes, a leopard, more buffalo, warthogs, hippos, heartbeast, the African kop, and many species of birds including the beautiful carmine bee eater and the African fish eagle. The only things we didn’t see that are in the park are lions and Nile crocodiles, and honestly we weren’t at all disappointed.
After the safari we said goodbye to Soloman and his family. From there they went back to Lira and we had the rest of our journey ahead of us. What happened next is a bit hard to believe but we are both alive to tell the tale and lucky that the build up of adrenaline wasn’t needed for a flight or fight reaction.
To tell the story of how I got there is a daunting task. Mike and I recently returned to Bududa after long, tiresome and epic 10 day journey throughout Uganda. If I had a whole day I would not be able to tell all the stories we have accumulated from that trip. We saw so many crazy things and wonderful places that putting it into words is challenging. Looking back on it I am very grateful that this trip came together. I feel like I have experienced way more of Uganda than I expected to or if I had spent all my time in Bududa.
A few weeks ago Mike and I were contemplating hiking Mt. Elgon, since it’s practically in our backyard. We heard from other visitors that the price for hiking recently went up so we went to the national park office to find out the details. We found out that it costs $90/day/person and that doesn’t include the cost of food, renting equipment, hiring a porter and the campsite fees. After sitting down and adding up the price for both of us on a 5 day hike we quickly realized we couldn’t afford it.
Shortly after this disappointing realization we went on a trip to Lira in the north and meet a lovely Ugandan couple, Soloman and Esther. Soloman is the head master of a vocational school near Lira and Esther runs Children of Hope Uganda, which is an NGO that supports local orphans. While we were there Soloman mentioned that he would like to take his family to Murchison Falls National Park and he was wondering if we wanted to make the trip with them. Of course we wanted to go, how could we turn down seeing a national park in Uganda with a wonderful Ugandan family? We weren’t sure if the timing was right and there were other places in Uganda we wanted to go and see. After consulting a calendar and map we not only decided to join them but also make it the first leg of a journey that would take us on a giant loop around Uganda. The planning came together quickly. Even though we didn’t have all the details figured out we set out to see Uganda, confident we would figure out the rest along the way.
Meeting up with Soloman and his family was the first leg of our trip but it was not our first stop. When we left Bududa we traveled through Mbale and then onto Butebo. There we met up with Henry and his family. Henry is a tailoring teacher at the vocational school and since he lives far away he also stays in the boy’s hostel and looks after the boys there. He is a wonderful man with a big heart and a big family. He is part of the Ateso tribe, which lives in an area north of Mbale. He has 5 brothers and sister and all of his brothers live very close to him since they all inherited a piece of land from their father. Unfortunately we did not meet Henry’s father because he passed away only a few weeks before. We did meet his mother and out of all the Ugandans that I have met she gave me the warmest welcome and longest hug. For most of our visit we were surrounded by a posse of 15 children, only 4 of which were Henry’s and the rest were his nieces and nephews. Henry’s family does not have much when it comes to wealth and material things, nevertheless they were extremely generous and grateful to have us visit. We were surrounded by dirty children and fields of crops, we slept in a mud hut with a thatched roof but the way they treated us we felt like guests of honor.
The journey from Henry’s to Lira was surprisingly uneventful and easy, except that we took a piki ride that was an hour and ten minutes long, which at that time was the longest piki ride we had endured. We got another warm welcome by Soloman and his family. They have three children; Calvin (9 years old), John (3) and Lorna (1 ½). Since Esther runs an NGO that helps orphans they also have taken in about 4 orphans who take care of the cooking, cleaning and digging in exchange for food and housing. By Ugandan standards they are well-off; they have a private car and running water, although they still lack electricity. Before setting off for Murchison Falls the next day they treated us to good food, showers and a cozy bed to spend the night in.
On our way to the national park we stopped at a local place to get food and stuffed ourselves to the brim with matoke, rice, beans and chicken. But the odd thing was that as we were eating we were watching a news report on the television about the hurricane that hit the east coast of North America. It was weird enough to see television but to see our country and the places we lived was crazy and it pulled on our heart string a little bit.
As we drove closer to the park we crossed the Nile where there was a waterfall, Karuma Falls. Mike and I stepped out of the car to take pictures and walk across the bridge. On the other side of the bridge we met up with two unhappy police officers, dressed in full military fatigues and assault rifles. They were talking to Esther in their native language so we were clueless as well as a bit worried. They let us go after a few minutes and Esther explained to us they were unhappy with us walking across the bridge since it was illegal and they thought it wasn’t safe for us to do so. Obviously we are savvy and sensible enough to know what we were doing and be safe, but still the only thing below was a quick watery death.
The drive through the park was beautiful, you could see for miles and everything was luscious and green. Along the road in the park we saw tons of baboons. They are used to the cars and sometimes they sit with their hand out waiting for you to give them food but usually we make to much noise and they run off into the jungle. We also saw buffalo on our drive, and we got a little to close for comfort. Most of them were sitting in a giant mud puddle cooling themselves off but one took on the role of gate keeper and stood in the road staring at us. Eventually it let us pass without causing a scene which we were all happy about specially when a few days later we heard a story of a buffalo getting mad and rolling a car over. It’s always nice to hear stories like those after the close encounter so that the experience is more exciting than terrifying.
About four hours after we left Lira we got out of the car to gaze upon the stunning sight of Murchison Falls and the hike around it. The amount of power, water, and beauty this waterfall had is beyond belief and comprehension. Just before the falls the river is about 150 meters wide then all of that water funnels into a gorge that is 20 meters wide and 60 meters deep which creates a magnificent display of white water. When we went white water rafting a few months ago our guide explained that at Murchison Falls “water goes in and doesn’t come out” and that description is not far off. We took our time taking it all in and getting it captured on camera, which was good and bad because we got some amazing pictures but then our battery died and we were unable to take pictures the following day.
Murchison Falls National Park is the largest park and protected area in Uganda at 3,840 square kilometers. It’s biggest attraction, and namesake, being Murchison Falls, but in addition to that it is also home to many species of mammals, reptiles and birds. The parks history is almost as turbulent as the falls for which it is named. Senseless rebel activity by the lunatics of the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) in the north spilled into the park, closing it for most of the beginning to the 21st century. Poaching dwindled its numbers but in recent years the rebels have been pushed out into the Congo and the numbers have begun to rebound. The best way to see the wildlife in the park is on a “game drive” or safari accompanied by a local guide. Once we found Sam, our guide, all eight of us packed into the car and we drove around on safari for 4 hours and it was incredible. We saw elephants, giraffes, a leopard, more buffalo, warthogs, hippos, heartbeast, the African kop, and many species of birds including the beautiful carmine bee eater and the African fish eagle. The only things we didn’t see that are in the park are lions and Nile crocodiles, and honestly we weren’t at all disappointed.
After the safari we said goodbye to Soloman and his family. From there they went back to Lira and we had the rest of our journey ahead of us. What happened next is a bit hard to believe but we are both alive to tell the tale and lucky that the build up of adrenaline wasn’t needed for a flight or fight reaction.
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