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Published: April 2nd 2010
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I arrive late in Kabale, one of Uganda's larger towns, slap bang in the middle of a major power cut. I find out later that the shortages have been going on for five days! My preferred hostel, a cosy little place called the Home of Edirisa, and recommended by the LP is, surprisingly, not full and I grab a good night's sleep before packing a ton of biscuits and plenty of water and heading down to the nearby Lake Bunyonyi; my reason for stopping in this area. I've timed my visit to coincide with the market days of Rutinda - the lakeside village where I can catch a canoe transport across to the island retreat Byoona Amagara - which facilitates cheaper public transport to the lake. There are a ton of people at tiny Rutinda but barely any stalls. Somehow an abundance of produce is wheeled out from nowhere, as if pulled forth from a magicians hat, and manages to fill the many vans and cars that have journeyed here.
Byoona offer a free lift by canoe. So in I hop, to be ferried slowly, peacefully, for almost an hour across the lake. Upon arrival I find the least
muddy patch available to erect my tent in the camping area. My options are limited not so much by the terrain on offer but by the necessity of pitching up by a tree. Since Kampala the uncompromisingly insolent back pole of my tent has been utterly unusable and I am now forced to attach the rear guy-rope to some supporting structure to prevent the rain cover from sagging and getting me soaking wet in one of Uganda's endemic showers.
I head straight for the bar/restaurant/lounge area. The place is not overly busy, but there are a fair few people floating about and it's easy enough to get socialising in this chilled out environment. This is essentially all there is to my stay. Idle chit chat, varying amounts of beer per day and plenty of lolling around. I barely leave the communal area. The relaxed vibe of this retreat brings a steady stream of interesting and engaging backpackers and it's a real pleasure to have continuous, personable company again. By the time I leave I actually feel like a bit of an old hand having watched a number of people come and go. I had planned to utilise the
renowned library on the island - a disappointing rarity in Africa - and am finally able to swap a couple of my more chunky books. However, in five days I only get through Animal Farm, such is the quality of the conversation to be had with like-minded guests. In fact it's hard to find fault with the place and there's pretty much nothing I don't enjoy; from the beautiful views in the showers right down to the radioactive ketchup-jam that is served with the food.
With the sun bursting imperiously forth for a couple of days I take a break from such strenuous activity to go swimming, enjoying the childlike pleasure of simply jumping in the cool, fresh water and unashamedly showing off to the others my horrendous farmer's tan and pasty torso that's so white it's almost translucent. On the final day I also go for a proper exploration of the island. It takes barely an hour to fully circle. I realise how small the place is yet my feelings throughout have been of blissful freedom, not confinement.
Back in Kabale, Edirisa is buzzing, having filled up with backpackers. Also present is Chameleon, who is
apparently a big music star in Uganda. I've never heard of him but find it funny when I mention that he is here to an American Peace Corps volunteer who almost breaks down with joy. Apparently she's a big fan! To help embolden her against being star-struck I go up and ask for my picture with him as he leaves and we have a brief chat. When the full entourage return later they socialise with the hostel guests. I find it funny that they choose to hang out in this place and try to picture an equivalent celebrity frequenting a lowly backpacker ghetto back in the UK. The group have the affected swagger of ganstas, with plenty of bling, shades, caps, suitably baggy clothing and waistlines hugging their ankles. I can't help but chuckle when one stops to politely ask one of the hostel staff if he can be allowed to smoke inside. Everyone follows Chameleon's crew to see his concert that night, into which we are escorted for free - being white still has some unearned advantages in Africa. The Chameleon struts around stage bellowing into the microphone in imitation of any generic American rapper. The crowd go wild,
yet the place has been laid out as if for a classical concert in a park and most people are sitting down in front of a stage that looks like it would be more at home as the tent of a rustic French country fete. Despite the comical incongruity of it all I still thoroughly enjoy myself and appreciate a shout out from the big man when he spots me in the crowd. To be honest I’m surprised he remembered my name through the haze of hashish at Edirisa.
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Anthony Austin
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Reading with admiration - not a little envy and fascination. Take care Anthony