First week in Uganda

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I arrived at the Ugandan border with Rwanda and spotted three other white girls traveling in a group. They turned out to be canadian and, as a respite from being the only white person in sight, I decided to travel onward with them. In Kisoro we booked a shared taxi to the next (slightly larger) town, Kabale. On the 2+ hour ride to Kabale the three girls were irritable, impatient, angry, and frustrated (they had booked this taxi because they had not wanted to wait a few hours for the bus all the way to Kampala and thought - I have no idea why - they would find something better in Kabale). Despite their constant complaining and throwing fits (at one point they threatened to abandon the cab in the middle of nowhere because the driver was loading other bags on top of ours and securing the trunk with rope), I found it strangely comforting. Their behavior suggested that, despite having lived in Tanzania for a couple months, they were young and afraid. They turned out to be significantly older than me. I realized that I too would have acted identically not too long ago. There is something pleasant, in a time where I fear that I have become a static creature, always stuck in the same fears and with the same problems, to discover that I have in fact grown and changed recently.

The next day I travelled onward (alone, thankfully) to Lake Bunyoni. The first place I attempted to camp had been recommended by the Lonely Planet guide. I was greeted by a young man who, despite his perfect English, was completely unable to answer any questions relating to the lodge. I waited 45 minutes for the receptionist and gave up, going in search for something else. At the end of the dirt road winding around the lake I found myself at a small community charity which ran a number of schools in the area. Edirisa (meaning window in Swahili) allowed me to pitch my tent for a nominal fee, I ate a communal lunch with all the local teachers, and the next day a young woman who worked there took me around town. She was twenty and had only managed to complete the equivalent of junior high when her parents died and she went to work at Edirisa, sewing clothes to be sold to tourists to supplement the charity. As we walked she tought me bits of the local dialect (which has proved useless elsewhere in Uganda), we talked about waiting for marriage (she didn't want to get married until she was 25, surprisingly modern for a girl of her education level), and saving up money to start her own shop. She introduced me to her friends, took me to the market, and flirted with all the boys (I'm surprised she's managed to last until 20). It was an incredibly delightful day but I later discovered I had left my cell phone in the hotel in Kabale and was forced to return to recover it (Mom likes to call on Sundays and I didn't want to miss the call, I also figured the longer I waited the more likely someone was to abscond with it).

From there I travelled onwards to Masaka, near Lake Victoria. At a small backpackers outside of Masaka I managed to offend some volunteers living in the area (I supported the organizations that charge short term volunteers a fee for setting up volunteer programs for them, the young man I was talking to felt they should get everything for free (housing, food) since they were volunteering).

I next stayed at a small lake called Nabugabo which was apperently a weekend resort for locals, i was the only tourist on the whole lake, it was very quiet and pleasant. The place I camped had a family of donkeys, a resident pair of hawks, and an eagle which liked to perch directly above my tent. The birds were numerous and vervet monkeys filled the dense bushes. They were camera shy however, staring me directly in the eye, but at the sight of a camera disappearing instantaneously. I decided to hire a boat to go around the lake, hoping to get some better pictures of the lovely Ugandan crested crane. I spoke to a fisher man, we agreed on a price and I was to wait for him to pick me up at the campsite. A few minutes later, someone informed me the boat was here. There were two young boys, approximately 10 and 13 sitting on the boat. "Where is the owner?" "These boys will take you." It was a Tuesday, I was reluctant to support child labor, but I realized at least they were doing honest work instead of begging on the streets. I got in along with one of the beach employees who, as it turned out, acted as a translator: the boys spoke no English, rare in Uganda, but it made sense as they apparently had never attended school. I asked how old they were, they both responded 17, an obvious lie, perhaps meant to deter officials who might attempt to force them to go to school?

From Nabugabo I caught what I thought was a shared taxi onward to the ferry across Lake Victoria. I ended up having actually hitched a ride with a man who was (apparently) a well-known local journalist who ended up getting me free transport all the way to the camp site on the Sesse Islands as well as giving me a complete history of the issues of deforestation on the islands. The campsite had a resident family of monkeys and absurd numbers of the black and white Hornbill which, while being a lovely animal, makes by far the most annoying noise ever produced by nature all day and all night, giving the camp site the relative feel of living inside a poorly played tuba.

One day, while walking to the town, a young man in a motor-bike pulled up next to me and insisted on giving me a ride (I was walking up a hill again). After assuring me he did not want money, "for friends.." he insisted, I assented. After roughly a minute on the bike the man ran over a dog. For no reason whatsoever, he was not going at any speed, their was no one else on the road, yet he made no attempt to swerve or otherwise. Horrified I promptly debarked and spent the next hour in a relative state of shock.

I am now staying in Kampala where it is dreary and rainy. I took a long walk today and got completely covered in mud, a fairly normal state for me these days.

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