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August 15, 2006

Into Africa

Moments after pulling out of the Kampala taxi park, our matatu gets stuck in a traffic jam. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes stick out in different directions, like a jig saw puzzle with the pieces put together wrong. Motorcycle taxis (or boda bodas) squeeze through the gaps, narrowly missing fenders while men pushing bicycles overloaded with bananas slowly pass our stalled procession. Inside the matatu, more people than seats available are crammed in tight, including me and Sinead both with our heavy packs balanced on our laps. As assorted body odors invade my nostrils, my comfort level deteriorates, but the smooth African rhythms pumping out of the stereo system bring me back and remind me that we have finally made it to Africa.

Taxi park madness

Kampala is unlike any city we have been to. At the center are two taxi parks, absolutely crammed with minivans called matatus, which ferry people off to both local and distant destinations. Upon first glance it looks like there could not possibly be any order to the parks, let alone any room for a matatu to even make it out, but somehow it all seems to work. Moving out from the taxi parks, the streets are busy with people, some with places to go, others selling all sorts of goods, and some just happy to hang around doing absolutely nothing. It is an interesting city to explore on foot, but every time it leaves me exhausted within a couple hours.

Walking past the stadium on our first day, we noticed it full of people with a steady stream pushing through the gates to get in. A sign outside was advertising a football match between Botswana and Uganada, so we filed in with the crowd excited by our luck. Once inside, we realized that we read the date wrong, and the football match had occurred two days prior. Instead, the mayor of Kampala was putting on a celebration, for what we aren’t sure, complete with live music, food, and games. We wandered through the stadium with murmurs of “mzungu!” (white person) following us everywhere. Having an entire stadium staring at us didn’t exactly put at us at ease, but we soon realized that if we smile and say hello, stares quickly disappeared and a huge grin would replace it.

Streets of Kampala

Before long a smiling local came up waving a 100 shilling coin, talking about a game that I have to try. “Don’t worry my friend, I will pay!” he assured me. All my traveler instincts told me a rip off was in progress, but I decided to see where it took me. It turned out that all he wanted me to do was play a ring toss game, and he was treating. A crowd of Ugandans crowded around a mat laid out with numbered blocks. If your ring lands on a block, you win money. True to his word, he treated me to my first toss, and then I was hooked. Much to the amusement of all the locals, Sinead and I repeatedly tried, but were unable to land our rings on any winning blocks. “Do not worry”, he told me, “it is a very difficult game, but you mustn’t let it upset you”. As the sun started to disappear, two tough looking younger guys came up to the man that had been so friendly to us and started yelling disapprovingly and pointing to us. They continued to scowl, so we chugged the rest of our beers and made a quick exit, confused as to what had taken place.

Without wanting to openly check our map, we wandered the streets aimlessly looking for a restaurant until the sunlight ceased to exist. The crowds became fewer, and some blocks were without power. Still shaken up by what had just taken place, our nerves started to act up. Dark faces blended into the shadows giving the sidewalks an empty appearance. Every so often a silhouette of a man carrying a gun would appear, which made us a bit uneasy until a friendly “hello” was directed our way as we walked past the bank or shop he was guarding. After a year of travel I should be used to all these experiences, but for some reason I feel as if our entire trip up until now has been practice, and now we are really starting out.

Ugandans are fairly well dressed and in an effort to blend in (not that it is possible), I would need another pair of trousers in lieu of my shorts. Clothing spills out of the shops and into the crowded alleyways and it becomes tedious wading through all the crap to find something decent. When I find a pair that might look good, the vendor proceeds to pull down every other pair completely unrelated to the one I chose (obviously thinking that I have no idea what looks good). Then comes the fitting – inevitably the 32 waist will be half the size it should be and the 33 will hang to my knees. The shop owner is already packing the pants into a bag to complete the sale when I tell him that I don’t like any. A guilt trip follows and I need to escape from the store before the price becomes so good that I have to buy them on principle. Finally finding a pair that fits and looks good, I begin the bargaining procedure and manage to get a price that doesn’t leave me feeling like too much of a sucker. The only problem is that the pants are too long. “Don’t worry my friend” the shopkeeper assures me, “I know someone that will take care of that for you”. I followed him across the busy street and down a narrow alleyway where buzzing sounds filled the air. Rounding a corner the alley opened up to dozens of sewing machines all with people hunched over them. We wandered past all the busy tailors to find our guy, who hemmed my pants for a dollar while I waited.

Taking in the view

Uganda lays claim to the source of the Nile, which flows out of Lake Victoria and carries on all the way north to Cairo. On this mighty river, a popular activity is to pile into a rubber raft and launch oneself through grade five rapids. Having never been white water rafting before, I was a little nervous, but Peter, our guide, quickly reassured me: “It is my first day on the river, but I have been watching the videos all morning, so I think I know what to do”. Our boat consisted of the Austrian ambassador, his bratty teenage daughter, and a couple of their friends. Whilst other boats cheered and sang, we received lectures from the ambassador on how if our boat flips, we have failed as rafters and complaints from his daughter who continually told our guide to “shut up!” and stop bothering her.

“PADDLE HARD!” Peter shouted as the raft dropped over the edge and headed straight into a massive wall of water erupting in front of us. “GET DOWN!” We all fell to our knees clutching the safety rope as the raft plowed headfirst into white water. It felt like someone turned a fire hose on my face and suddenly the raft was no longer below me. Everyone was ejected in different directions with Sinead ending up underneath the overturned raft clawing to get out. I managed to completely let go of the rope and as I was jostled down the river, through occasional breaks in the spin cycle I watched the rest of my boat mates in similar predicaments. We all eventually made it back to the raft, it was flipped upright, and the fun began again. Out of the twelve rapids we hit, we only flipped twice. The rest of the time the raft managed to plow down waterfalls and though rapids with us safe and sound, albeit a little shaky. The adrenaline flowed all day, and at the campsite that night, the party went into the wee hours of the morning with everyone still on a high from the day’s excitement.

Travel in Africa is uncomfortable at the best of times, but with a hangover it’s almost unbearable. With pounding heads we waited as our boda boda driver chased down a broken pump and spent 15 minutes pumping no air into the tires. Once satisfied with his handiwork, we climbed back on the deflated motorbike and made it just in time for a matatu bound for Sipi Falls and already overflowing with people. Legally, matatus are licensed to carry 14 passengers which corresponds to the number of seats. Our driver was obviously unfamiliar with this law as he piled 24 bodies (and one chicken), still honking his horn for more as we sped down the road. Three hours and two crowded matatus later we arrived at the falls.

Sipi falls is absolutely beautiful. Three falls spill one after another over tall cliff walls into the lush green vegetation below. The land here is so fertile, with coffee, matoke, avocado, maize and all sorts of bananas fighting for space. Staying in a quiet guesthouse on a hilltop overlooking the falls was all the peace we could ask for after our hectic time in Kampala. The moment we stepped out of our matatu, Dennis appeared out of nowhere and started outlining our activities for the next few days, stating that he would be waiting the next morning for us with or without our consent. Sure enough, the next morning he was waiting outside the gate of our guesthouse. We hadn’t planned on taking a guide, but it was easier to go with him than to try and shake him. Unfortunately torrential rain cut our hike short so Dennis broke off a couple of banana leaves for us to use as umbrellas and we darted into the nearby school where a competition was taking place.

Spot the one that is out of place

Every year primary schools compete in music, dance, poetry and drama. We waited outside the packed schoolhouse trying to find out if there was room for us inside as a group of children surrounded us, staring blankly in a creepy Children of the Corn fashion until we were beckoned to come inside. The afternoon meandered through amazing musical performances on instruments that I have never seen before. All carved out of wood, various string and percussion instruments filled the air with melodic African music as the children sang along. After the music came the poetry category and a selection of children from each school presented a poem on Lake Victoria. The crowd was very unforgiving. As soon as a slip up was made by the kids, the back of the school house erupted into jeers making it difficult to hear the end of the poem. The afternoon was such a great experience, but in the end it was ruined by the headmaster who after hours of us being there, leaned over to me and asked me my name, and proceeded to write out a receipt. It was a free event and to be presented with a receipt just because we are white felt completely unfair. Since nobody else in the schoolhouse paid, we got up and left feeling dejected and unwelcome.

Despite this one incident, and constantly being overcharged for transportation, we have found the people of Uganda to be among the friendliest that we have met on our trip. People constantly point us in the right direction and are always approaching us for conversation. Not to mention all the kids that run down the road as we pass waving and shouting "Mzungu!". Now that we have had a taste of an African big city, it is time to head out and see some wildlife.

Click Here to see the photos

Posted by brett at August 15, 2006 01:52 AM

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Posted by: Nic at August 17, 2006 12:51 PM

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