Four weeks ago, with our first term nearing completion, Evan and I decided to travel north to Uganda during our brief holiday to see Kampala and whitewater raft the Nile at Jinja. We were unsure what to expect since everyone we spoke with gave us wildly different narratives about the luxurious development or cramped, polluted squalor of Kampala. Jinja apparently was the industrial manufacturing ‘heartland’ of Uganda (as it turns out, everything in Jinja town appeared rusting, run-down, abandoned, or half-derelict).
Early on a Thursday morning, well before the sun’s rays beamed between my shoddy curtains, we dragged out of bed ragged and half-asleep. Down the hill and through maize fields we cut and criss-crossed our way in darkness to the bus station, arriving just as a bus destined for Kigali was rolling away. We hopped on, negotiated a cheap price to the Ryabega ten kilometers away on the main Kayonza-Kagitumba road, and sped off.
At Ryabega we needed to purchase tickets for Kampala via Kagitumba (Rwandan border town). Upon arriving we were immediately accosted by two salesmen, each from a different bus company. Both claimed their bus would arrive earlier and provide a better ride. The price was the same, so were baffled. Eventually I suggested to Evan we flip a coin (mistake!). It landed heads up, Jaguar was pronounced the winner, and the Horizon Coaches salesman walked away dejected. It was a decision we would ultimately regret.
We bought the tickets from Jaguar, thinking we had better purchase them to make sure we get on the bus when it arrived (mistake!), and waited. And waited. Then waited some more. In the meantime the Horizon Coaches bus had come, picked up a couple passengers, who, we could see, comfortably found seats. Damn, even the coin conspires against efficiency! Eventually the big Jaguar bus, mud-spattered and spewing choking diesel fumes, rolled in. The bus definitely had seen better days, and we instantly realized our error. What’s more, we hurriedly climbed aboard only to find there were no seats! I struggled to the back and half-stood, half-sat on two older gentlemen with my pack strapped uncomfortably to my chest. Evan got trapped in the aisle further to the front and was forced to stand. The bus sailed (relatively) smoothly to Kagitumba and everyone disembarked to go through border control.
After receiving our exit stamps from the Rwandan authorities we hoofed it across the border and up to the Ugandan border house. The parity in professionalism was clearly evident, but our foreign status, packs and white skin, for better or worse, seemed to expedite our experience. A worker pulled us out of line and into the house’s office where we each paid our $50 entrance visa. Afterwards we tracked down the bus which had driven a hundred or so meters down the road and managed to snag two seats, albeit at the very back of the bus – a decision we would also regret.
The roads in Uganda, well, they suck. Especially near the border with Rwanda. For hours that seemed to stretch to eternity we were jostled and vibrated into oblivion. My ass still goes numb just thinking about it. The bus was so cramped with people that you could hardly adjust position and the stench of sweat, body odor, and spilled soft drinks was at times stifling. If you opened a window to get air, you invited stinging clouds of dust; if you closed a window you risked suffocation. On top of all of this, the heat was oppressive in the bus and outside. The road to Kampala crosses the equator but it felt like we crossed into Dante’s the sixth ring of hell.
Finally, seven hours post embarkation, the bus crept into Kampala (we arrived during early onset rush hour…a real disaster!). We unloaded ourselves from the bus, squinted awkwardly in the hazy sunlight, and trudged off to find boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis) so we could drop our worldly possessions at the hostel. The hostel was quite nice and comfortable, the staff friendly, and the hot showers indeed luxurious. After recouping a bit of energy, we set off to check out some of Kampala…meaning the shopping malls. Yea, Kampala has shopping malls. At least two of them. And big.
We had a reviving dinner and ice-cold Fantas then made plans to rendezvous with a Rwandese friend from Kigali who studies at Makerere University in Kampala. There was some initial confusion, but Buonfice eventually tracked us down and we hopped on more boda-bodas for the trip to a popular student hang-out. It would be a long night.
To be continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment