Heading East
We have been sponsoring a little boy, Umar, in Uganda, through ChildFund, for about 6 years. When we decided to come on this trip, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to visit him. It was all arranged months ago but the finer details only came together a week or two before we left Australia. This morning, it was Sam’s turn to feel a little crook in the tummy. Toby was very tired and neither of them was keen to come. I admit, when we’d organised to meet Umar, we hadn’t known it would be a five hour drive away, that just so happened to be the very next day after a 7 hour drive. None of us really felt like another whole day on the road but ChildFund had gone out of their way to organise this visit for us and they were sending a driver to pick us up at 9am. Ross decided at the last minute to go and get a ‘showbag’ of rice, beans, oil, sugar and soap for Umar and his family, aiming to be back before 9, but despite good intentions, our driver Moses, had shown impeccable punctuality and had arrived to find Ross was still not back. We also had to check out of the hotel for one night; checking back in the following day, so all our bags had to come and be stored at reception. We were all a bit tired and grumpy; nerves a bit frayed.
Moses was surprisingly unperturbed that Ross hadn’t shown up yet and waited patiently as we got ourselves sorted. He introduced us to our driver, Alfred, who was a very friendly and jolly chap and we loaded into the ChildFund 4-wheel drive. Ross and the girls sat opposite each other in the very back, Toby, Sam & I squeezed along the back seat and Moses and Alfred occupied the front. It was tight but nothing our previous day’s experience hadn’t prepared us for. Our destination was Mbale, five hours’ drive to the east and before we entered the fray, Moses prayed for us all to be safe, which was a good thing, as traffic in this place is insane. It seems that every hour is peak hour amid the chaos of the Kampala city streets, with great swarms of boda-boda (motorbikes), coming from every direction, their riders zigging and zagging with wide loads and un-helmeted heads, nudging daringly in front of trucks laden with people standing in the back and darting in packs. Driving here is not for the faint hearted. We were pulled over by the same uniformed traffic police that checked our load yesterday. Temporary STOP signs are erected to alert drivers to yield but just in case you miss the sign, violent-looking, whopping great spikes are spread across the road to make doubly sure you stop. What’s wrong with the humble witches’ hat? The traffic policeman, resplendent in his pure white uniform, black beret and big black belt with shiny buckle, requested Alfred’s licence and gave us the all-clear to move on.
Banners fluttered across busy intersections in Kampala, advertising “World Egg Expo” and encouraging Ugandans to “eat an egg a day”. I wondered if it would keep the doctor away. As we left the hustle and bustle behind, Moses gave us some inside information about Umar and his family’s way of life. Circumcision is a major deal in his tribe and every two years they hold a big ceremony where all the 18 year-olds have to undergo this painful ritual that initiates them into manhood. If they refuse to partake, they are excluded from all adult conversations in the tribe. Our boys winced as they listened on with crossed legs, thanking the Lord they live in Australia.
The journey to Mbale, with the steadfast Alfred at the helm, was mostly through rural areas, punctuated by little villages with main streets crowded with shops and people. Traditionally, the women stay at home, doing all the back-breaking farming work, household chores, cooking and child-minding while their better halves spend their days hanging out in town, sitting together on bikes or plastic chairs, chewing the fat and drinking coffee. What a life. Gee, if it weren’t for that pesky circumcision ritual, any bloke would jump at the chance to live here.
At one village we stopped at, men in matching red Coca Cola lab coats crowded around passing cars, waving big bouquets of meat-on-a-stick, proffering drinks and vying for shillings from unsuspecting passers by. You’d need an iron stomach to take a risk on one of those tasty treats, as appetising as they looked. In another village we were met by a pack of young boys that stood single-file along the highway holding plastic bags of freshly picked tamarind; their back-up supply in a neat, roadside row. They tempted us by chanting loudly in unison:”tam-a-rind, tam-a-rind, tam-a-rind“ but alas, we weren’t cashed up so were forced to pass.
There are far fewer huts in the east and more boxy, homemade-brick dwellings. Most families seem to have a cow or at least a couple of goats in their yard and there are chickens everywhere. Though not salubrious by any stretch of the imagination, some of them have curtains on the windows and potted plants outside, suggesting they may be a little less poor than their fellow-countrymen up north.
Soon we were travelling through the Mabira Forest – one of the biggest national parks in Uganda and I wondered aloud what wild animals may be lurking amidst the greenery. Moses confirmed it would mostly be monkeys and the occasional elephant; enough to spice up anyone’s afternoon bush walk. The forest soon gave way to fields of waving green sugar cane. It was just like driving through parts of the far north coast and Queensland.
The Africans’ obsession with colour certainly extends to their school uniforms, evidenced by legions of children in bright purple shirts and dresses, hot pink tunics and fluoro green uniforms. It sure beats the standard Australian maroon, grey, blue and brown.
The 4-5 hour drive (which actually ended up being a 6 hour drive!) had left us somewhat famished so we stopped briefly at a roadside diner to grab some lunch. Where Kampala and the other parts of Uganda we have visited so far are overtly Christian – with businesses sporting names like “the Jesus Our Saviour Butchery”, “God Is Able Fashions” and “Glory General Hardware” – here in the east there seems to be a much greater Muslim presence. The diner was staffed by women wearing veils; not something we’ve seen since we’ve been here, and some of the bakery selections had names that just may have been lost in translation, for example, the “Cheese Ticks”. Thankfully, Sam was feeling a lot better and he and Molly shared some naan bread with curry sauce. I ordered one of the “lemon muffinz” which the kind sales assistant popped in the microwave to freshen up but accidentally over-nuked it, serving it to me in no less than a molten state. I’ll always remember those tastebuds I farewelled on the road to Mbale. The signs in the toilet also amused us, the Ladies implored to “PLEASE FLASH AFTER USING THE TOILET” and the Gents steered away from the shower area: “DEAR SIRS, PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T URINATE HERE!!!!! THANKS”
Meeting the gently spoken Lawrence at the Childfund Mbale office, we were briefed on the dos and don’ts of meeting Umar tomorrow and given a rundown on the work that is being done by this great organisation, before checking into the luxurious Mt Elgin Hotel that had been booked for us.
Now check-in was at 2pm and we arrived at 4ish. The smiley girl at reception apologetically informed us our rooms were not quite ready and asked us if we’d please take a seat for 15 minutes. By now you would think we’d have realised, this was 15 minutes African time. One and a half hours later, the keys were placed in our hot little hands and our rooms, with spectacular views of the mountains beyond, were ready.
As we wandered around the tropical gardens and beautiful pool area, I was lamenting that I’d forgotten my swimmers but after later realising there was a charge for using the pool, I didn’t mind. Our dinner at the in-house Masaba Restaurant, with stunning views of the mountains and waterfall, was delicious, even if it did take 2 and a half hours. Got to love that African time!
