For the long ride north to Gulu - a rough five-hour haul that we oddly start at the height of Kampala rush hour - it’s clear that at least one road was overlooked during the build-up to Chogm. Bumpy, craterous, littered with debris, it’s a jarring introduction to the country that exists past the outskirts of Kampala. If I’d been impressed by the smooth ride into the country just a few days ago, I’m quickly coming to realize why Ugandan transport is so notorious. The tarmac is broken and buckled; cars swerve from side to side, dodging massive rocks, preferring the [View Full Entry]

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In what I’d like to consider an unfortunate coincidence, panic has swept across Uganda just days after my arrival. More than a dozen cases of ebola have been confirmed in the western Bundibugyo district in the past week - which, coupled with recent cholera and bubonic plague (bubonic plague!) scares, is further proof that you can’t spell Uganda without the letters H-O-L-Y-S-H-I-T. Already health workers and government officials are sounding the alarms. An article in the New Vision cites the cautionary words of President Museveni, who has “urged all Ugandans to stop shaking ha [View Full Entry]

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Just days after Queen Elizabeth and more than fifty heads of state descended on Kampala for Chogm - the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting - the city’s braced itself for a slightly less distinguished guest. I’ve rolled in at half-past nine on a muggy night, fifteen hours’ worth of cramps and complaints making the long ride from Nairobi with me. Far from the emotional departure I was expecting, the trip was little more than a test of endurance - a day of jolts and bumps and bone-rattling careers over a road that, at times, looked like it got worked over by [View Full Entry]

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These last days in Nairobi have taken a turn for the surreal, with Papa Ken’s mind unraveling, and an odd cast of characters popping in to bear witness to the inevitable demise of Backpackers. Ken shows up one afternoon, having been discharged from the hospital with what passes for a clean bill of health in Kenya. Despite the damage done to his brain and liver by years of alcohol abuse, the doctors had no immediate reason to keep him around. (His brother John, meanwhile, visibly worn down by the ordeal of these past two months, couldn’t continue to justify a hospital [View Full Entry]

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Back in Nairobi, I’m saying my goodbyes and tying up loose ends - a process that, after nearly five months in Kenya, will take the better part of the next week. There are endless commiserations with the staff at Backpackers, who have watched the place’s slow decline these past few months with the boundless, long-suffering patience of your average Kenyan. There are doctors’ visits and souvenir binges and free-flowing Tusker with the whores at Annie Oakley’s (“The Place To Be”). It’s a sad end to this long, unexpected odyssey. While countless adventures [View Full Entry]

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After three jet-setting weeks around the country details of which I'll get to, eventually, I swear], I’ve finally wrapped up my gig for Concierge.com - a five-star orgy of gourmet food, king-sized beds, and thin-lipped pensioners mumbling, “My, that’s a fine job!” into their gin and tonics. It was a swell time. Back in Nairobi, I even decide to relive those heady, luxury highs with a night in Ngong House - a creative, $600-a-night interpretation of the humble tree house. The rooms are decked out in hand-carved furniture, in batiks and bronzes and colorful Congol [View Full Entry]

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It’s a cool, gray, drizzly afternoon when I touch down in Nairobi, and for a few ecstatic minutes I stand in the rain, tugging on my fleece and puffing into my hands and thanking the Lord that I’m a few hundred miles from the muggy torpor of the coast. After the bank debacles and hungry nights of Mombasa, the return to Nairobi Backpackers feels like a welcome homecoming. It’s a feeling that lasts for all of twenty minutes. It doesn’t take much longer to realize that all’s not well, with a handful of new faces busying themselves around the hostel and [View Full Entry]

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Having squared myself with Islam and eaten more prawn curry than my waistline can bear, it’s time to finally leave Lamu behind. It’s an emotional scene on the terrace at Casuarina, watching the wind shake the trees and the tortoises mount each other like sex-charged stallions for the last time. Downstairs I say my goodbyes to the staff, sharing a sad parting with the Prince of Peace. He’s a sweet, smiling, self-conscious kid who, for the past month, endeared himself to all the guests with oddball flourishes like his baroque handshakes and, well, his habit of introducing himse [View Full Entry]

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In the morning I’m up with the first rays of dawn, and Shahari’s friend, Mahmoud - a room steward at Mike’s Camp - is waiting at the foot of the sand dune. We cross to the other side of the island and walk down a long, wide beach with crabs scuttling at our feet and disappearing into the sand. There’s a thin line of trash that forms a refuse reef at the foot of the dunes - styrofoam cups, old flip-flops, orange and red and blue plastic bags. As we trudge through the sand, Mahmoud frowns and presses a hand to [View Full Entry]

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All week I’ve been trying to cut corners, looking for a way to get to far-flung Kiwayu - and the luxe Kiwayu Safari Village - on the cheap. The hour-long speedboat ride would set me back Ksh15,000 each way - a round trip total of four hundred-plus US bucks - so instead I’ve prowled the waterfront and hung around the jetty, grilling local captains on cheaper options. In the end, I hatch a scheme that shows off a certain African flair for low-budget improvisation. By way of the Ksh400 ferry I’ll arrive on Paté Island, and from there, I’ll attempt to [View Full Entry]

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