Uganda

Hitching a Ride

 

CORDEN BLEAU

We crossed the border into Uganda with some sadness at having to leave Rwanda. Uganda is in the build up to a general election so we did not intend to stay too long and planned to be out of the country well before Election Day.

We headed for Lake Bunyoni for the night camp, just a short drive north of the border post. The lake itself lies some 300m above the nearest town in a breathtakingly beautiful setting. Green terraced hills and villages surround the lake, which has many islands. Fishermen and other local boatmen glided silently on the glassy surface in dugout canoes delivering goods and people to the many islands and villages. The evening air was fresh and calm and from the nearby village children were heard singing. We had no sooner set up camp, Janet was off to explore when my mind started to think of dinner. A local fellow Isaac approached me and offered to sell me some Lake Bunyoni freshwater crayfish. I agreed on condition he teach me how to cook them Ugandan cuisine style.

Two Heads are Better Than One

We had a deal and Isaac disappeared into the village to buy supplies, Lake Bunyoni crayfish, fresh tomatoes, onions, green peppers, and spices.

Before long, while Isaac and I were peeling, cutting, chopping, and frying ingredients and whilst delicious aromas filled the valley, he told me a little about his life. He is studying to become a teacher and works at the camp during vacations to earn some extra money. Dinner was served and Jan and I enjoyed a delicious meal. All that was missing was the French Cabernet.

I told Jan I am going to take cooking lessons when we get back to Canada.

PEOPLE POWER

African cities are difficult places to get around. Traffic is chaotic; there are very few or no street signs, apparently no building zones, and market stalls and people spill over the sidewalks into the streets Jan does the city driving and I do the navigating as she finds it hard to read the tiny print of the maps. Kampala traffic was no exception, and with potholed streets and only 2 working traffic lights, we manoeuvred our way across the city.

Dance of Joy

We tend to try to spend as little time as possible in cities, only staying for as long as it takes to conduct whatever business we have to do. In Kampala, we had to get our Ethiopian visa, so we decided to spend a few days in town. We were not sure what to expect since the travel guide had described it as a city where buildings with bullet holes from the last revolution could still be seen. We were surprised to find a modern bustling town, with malls, golf courses and high-rise apartments, all intermixed with the more traditional shanties, goats and litter strewn fields.

It is difficult to explain how these cities function. There are rules, but they are invisible to the average westerner. Traffic flows, items get located and business gets done all without any apparent direction being given by any officials. Everybody seems to sense what the next action should be and who should take it, as if led by some invisible force. We have named this phenomena “people power” and it always brings a smile to our travel weary faces when we acknowledge its presence, which we now can instantly recognize. We then simply go with flow and wait to be spat out the other side. The African way, “Hakuna Mutata” or “no problem” in Swahili.

Relaxing

JOY

Entebbe is famous not for its peaceful setting on the northern shores of Lake Victoria, but for the Israeli army raid that rescued passengers from the Palestinian hijack of an El Al airliner. Since Entebbe lies only 30kms from Kampala, we decided to make a quick detour and see this famous landmark. On entering the town site, we followed the sign to the “Uganda Wildlife Centre.” This remarkable institution is an orphanage for abandoned and injured animals. By a stroke of good fortune, we were introduced to the Director who gave us his best guide Jimmy to show us around the animal enclosures. This young Ugandan man is an inspiration. Jimmy is still studying, but his work is a work of passion. His love of and interest in the well being for the all creatures under his care is truly wonderful. He spoke to the chimps, had the rhinos follow him like pets, and knew the names and behaviors of all the animals, which he explained to us in detail with unreserved enthusiasm. The highlight was when he introduced us to one of the orphaned chimps they have named Joy. Joy is still in isolation since she has not been fully habituated to the other chimps yet. Janet approached the cage and Joy came to meet her. What followed next was pure magic. As Janet gently called her name and extended her hand Joy reached out, and human and chimp reached across the eons. Joy gently explored Janet’s fingers and upper arm, and as their eyes made contact it was clear to me that we do indeed have a responsibility to take care of this planet. We decided to sponsor Joy by making a small contribution to the centre. I urge you to visit their website and see what wonderful work they are doing under very difficult circumstances.

Coming my Way?

THE MAGICAL NILE

The Nile River holds a number of impressive records. Its length, the volume of water etc. makes it one of the great rivers of the world. So great, in fact that it spurned bitter rivalries in the early 20th century between a number of British explorers (Burton, Speke, and Livingstone) who all spent most of their lives trying to be first to discover the illusive “source of the Nile.” Dr. David Livingstone died whilst still searching, and Burton and Speke intrigued Victorian British intellectuals for many years with their rigorous defenses of their own particular theories. Sir Henry Morton Stanley in fact solved the riddle not by finding the source but by eliminating some of those that had been proposed.

It turned out that Speke was in fact right and that the source of the White Nile is at a place called Ripon falls on the northern shore of Lake Victoria at Jinja. Here water from the second largest lake in the world starts its 6500Km journey north to the Mediterranean. During its journey, it crosses mountain ranges, dense tropical jungles, deserts, swamps and is eventually joined by waters from the Blue Nile, which is sourced from Lake Tana in the highlands of Ethiopia. It provides food, transport, electrical power, and life sustaining water to many different peoples and cultures before it enters into the Mediterranean at Alexandria.

Shoehornbill

That is also our destination so it was an emotional moment as we watched a blood red sun set over this incredible body of water from our campsite just north Jinja. It is estimated that it takes three months for a drop of water to make the journey from here to the Mediterranean about the same time we estimated it would take us. We experienced a full range of emotions as it slowly sunk in how far we had traveled, how far we still had to go, and how different the northern part of our trip would be as we followed this mighty river to our final African destination.

Large rivers always attract attention. Exploration, industry, agriculture have been the most common reason in the past however for the current generation it appears to be recreation and adventure. Both Niagara and Victoria Falls are visited by hordes of people seeking adventure by going rafting, micro-light flying, or bungee jumping. The source of the Nile is no different. We had talked to a number of fellow travelers who all recommended the white water rafting. “It’s intense” was the most common phrase we heard repeatedly. In fact the rapids are all grade 5(+) and the largest commercially rafted “hole” is part of the course. “You will flip, it’s guaranteed, but you will experience the river and the guides are all very professional.”

The last major white water we had experienced was our near fateful trip down the Nahanni River in Canada. All the memories came flooding back and I was reluctant to tempt fate again. Yet Jan was keen to go white water rafting, so we registered for a full day 30km trip the following day. As we entered the water, I was full of nervous anticipation as our guide explained to us what we had to do to navigate the rapids named “Silverback, The Dead Dutchman, and The Bad Place.” We practiced following her commands as well as flipping and getting back into the raft, her voice forceful and in charge, but with enough lightness so as not to make us so anxious that we would still enjoy the ride.

Border Closed

It was not long before the gentle waters turned into a bucking, churning mass of bubbling power as we plunged over the Bujagali Falls. The raft bounced around, bodies flew into each other, and everywhere there was water. There were lots of exclamations and cheers as we regained our breaths and realized we were still in the raft. It was thrilling, the water was wild, and we were tossed about at the mercy of the huge waves. We approached a class 5 rapid again and this time we were given the option of going to the right, or the left. “The right almost guaranteed to flip” we were informed. High cheers again as we stayed afloat, smug in our confidence we then saw the next class 3 rapid. As we approached we paddled and suddenly we were all thrown out to the mercy of the river.

After regrouping and back in the raft we drifted and paddled slowly down the river. More rapids lay ahead. After nearly 30kms, I was so tired that I could no longer pull myself into the raft.

Finally, we arrived at “Bad Place,” a notorious rapid, and guaranteed to take one on the white water ride of your life. Jan choose to watch from shore as the rest of us decided to raft this bad place rapid.

Equator, Our 1st Crossing

It happened so quickly. The raft was sucked down into a huge hole, in which it came to an abrupt halt in the vertical position. I found myself upside down under the water with someone lying on top of me. Unable to move, I just let the water carry me. It turned me around about three or four times and when I could orient myself I realized I was careening backwards at a tremendous speed. The next instant I felt the water rip open the zip of my neoprene booty and tear the protective footwear right off my foot.

As we drove back to our campsite after a hearty barbecue I felt emotionally and physically weary. The Local Ugandan kayak guides were chatting away just as if it had been another day at the office. We shared a few beers and talked local politics, I felt camaraderie with them. We had done something special together. When we finally reached camp, the final remnants of adrenalin left my system and I collapsed, pleased that we had got to know the mighty river and her power a little better.

NOT QUITE WHAT WE PLANNED FOR THE DAY

We awoke at Sipi Falls with plans to circumnavigate Mt. Elgon around its northern rim and enter Kenya at a small border post later that day. The small dusty track was really bad and the air so hazy that the view was virtually blocked out, so we decided the extra risk and aggravation was not worth it. We did an abrupt u-turn and headed for the surfaced road back to the main Uganda-Kenya border at Malaba. By this time, we considered ourselves border-crossing experts. We knew the ropes well and figured that we would be through in no time at all.

Morning Mist

Several hours later we approached Malaba boarder crossing and saw about a kilometer line up of large trucks parked along side the road. No problem, we drove off the road passing them all but once at the actual crossing we were going nowhere. More trucks were completely blocking the border crossing and all roads. Police and army personnel were everywhere.

“The border been closed for three days, you can’t get through.”

No explanation given and it was not a good sign and a bit unnerving not knowing what was going on.

Turning around we headed for Busia border crossing number 3. This was the last Uganda –Kenya border crossing we could try.

Several hours later and after bouncing over a dusty road, we arrived at a similar scene, trucks blocking the Busia border crossing. We were greeted by a man who introduced himself as an agent and wanted our passports and car documents.

“No way, we want to speak to an official,” we said.

“You will need an agent to get into Kenya” he replied.

Still not wanting to hand over our documents to this stranger, we walked the distance to the immigration office with him following right behind us.

Nile

The immigration officer stamped us out of Uganda and directed us to customs.

We entered the custom office to be told it is closed, “The border is blocked you can’t get through.”

It was time for us to have a little chat with the agent.

He informed us that a Kenyan truck driver had had an accident with a military vehicle (we could relate to that) in which three Ugandan soldiers were killed. The Kenyan driver had been taken to the police station where he mysteriously died. The Kenyan truckers were blocking all the Uganda Kenyan border crossings demanding an explanation and the release of the trucker’s body. It was an angry crowd.

The agent called a friend who could complete our carnet. He was coming but later, he was on lunch and still needed to have a “sleep.”

The agent suggested I walk across to the Kenya immigration office and get my passport stamped. I left but he called me back.

“Take Tom’s passport also to be stamped” he called.

“But Tom’s not with me” I replied.

“No problems just take it.”

I handed the two passports to the Kenyan official.

“Where is the other party?” he inquired.

“He is busy” I answered. He stamped both passports and I made my way back through all the trucks.

Finally, the Ugandan custom official arrived to do the carnet. Tom needed to show him how to complete the form and with it all signed and stamped we now had to go to the Kenyan customs office.

A little haggling by the agent and a gate was opened to allow me to drive through to the Kenyan custom office.

A little more haggling and we had cleared the Kenyan customs and we were handed a little handwritten scrap of paper with a number written on.

Now we had officially left Uganda and entered Kenya but were still in no man’s land with no apparent way out.

Farewell to Uganda

Back in the drivers seat I followed the agent who was running in front of the cruiser. Across a field, past shanty stalls, mud houses and people. A police officer stopped me saw my piece of paper and waved me through with his gun. Now I was faced with a tiny narrow opening between two houses not a road just a simple passage.

“I’ll never squeeze through there,” I said to Tom.

With Tom directing and after several tries I was through and apparently in Kenya.

More police and yep they were Kenyan. They examined my piece of paper and let us pass. Eventually we joined up with the main road and turned south for Kisumu.

“I am ready for a hotel tonight,” I said and Tom agreed.