CATCH UP PART II

On the Road to Find Out, Again.

Saturday Jan 4, 2014

Oh my, I suspect this is going to be an adventure in the practise of patience. Firstly, my flight from Calabar to Abuja, scheduled for Thursday January 2^nd at 3:55pm left four hours earlier, without notice. I was told to return the 3^rd  for an 11:40am departure. Arrived at 9:00am, couldn’t be checked in until 10:30 because the network was down. Then THAT flight delayed until 1:30pm.

Today just as I stepped up to the international luggage check-in counter system crashed for a good 30 minutes. Then I had to back track to obtain emigration and currency declaration forms that hadn’t been issued at earlier checkpoints. I’m now in the Abuja lounge, 12 Noon.  Thought  I’d confirm my reservation  in Entebbe but phone credit ran out and the desk officer at the Entebbe guest house wasn’t fast enough to confirm yes or no. Here’s to hoping a WhatsApp message gets through to Sarah to arrange for pick up at the airport from Entebbe Backpackers.  If someone from the Airport Guest House shows up, too bad, so sad.

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Ethiopia – Addis Ababa airport, first impressions:

Faces are longer, leaner, oblong with big toothy smiles. Women are slender and beautiful. Colouring is lighter. Coptic Christianity is pronounced. Women wear head scarves, carry Chanel and Fendi bags. The traditional wraps of Nigerian men are nowhere to be seen. There’s a definite Indian/Asian influence: thick black hair, squared jawlines, tiny Hitler-esque moustaches. There’s lots of white skin again. Sign boards feature English alphabet and Ahramic Egyptian script. And it’s cold. I wonder if I’ve packed appropriately. Those few long-sleeves that almost got hauled out of the lone small tote are going to be well worn methinks.

The journey from Ethiopia to Uganda finds me sitting beside Gerry, a  handsome, grey pony-tailed  gent from Marseilles, France. He’s with the UN, posted in the Democratic Republic of Congo’s conflict zone.  Gerry’s role is to provide supplies to UN peacekeeping forces. Procurement.

“Are women posted in these kinds of environments?”

“Why yes, of course.”

 Over the last weeks, Gerry tells me, some 70 people were massacred. Women tend to be shifted out of these violent zones to concentrate on substantive issues – human rights, gender.  Kaleigh should apply to this arm of the UN he suggests.

Sunday January 5, 2014 in Entebbe Uganda

“That mother-fucker, man I don’t give a shit! Yo, I swear bitches…”

Good morning Uganda. My hostel (hostile?) roommates are exuberant Netherland/Ugandans with wanting vocabulary skills.  These boyz are educated and monied. The especially foul-mouthed one is studying international law. Alrighty then.

From the few hours layover in Ethiopia and brief glimpses of Uganda so far it’s gobsmacking to realize how messed up Nigeria is. In these few places airports are large and clean and organized. Parking is automated metering. Energy is reliable. How can a nation like Nigeria, 160 million strong, be so pitiful? The nation’s capital airport is a fifth the size of Entebbe and Nigerian crowds converge into one mass of chaos rather than file into manageable lines. To quote something I read somewhere and believe truly: “there isn’t a patch of Nigerian soil that hasn’t been pissed on.”  And the refuse is so much that the country is one giant garbage dump.  Seemingly, I’m told, in Rwanda if you’re caught littering you’re fined. And unbelievably, but successfully, plastic bags are prohibited. 

As I sit in the shade of our private Entebbe Backpacker’s guest house, some bird cackles loudly, others songbirds trill.
The sun is strong but a cool breeze dispels heat. It really would have been a shame to have left this continent without experiencing other countries; sort of like visiting Austria and thinking the rest of Europe is so.

Sarah’s noon arrival, by the by, is delayed; her flight is now schedule to arrive sometime around 9pm. SO, I’m going to hire a motorbike, hop on back and find out what’s beyond these compound walls.

Entebbe: it’s green and clean, immaculately groomed, teaming with wealth. Lake Victoria is big and blue! – no murky brown waters here. Thai restaurants, live bands, real food, no traditional clothing; all appears westernized. Enormous pelican storks with a 4-6’ wing span stand some 4’ high in trees, at the edge of roads, everywhere.  And those laughing birds, I love their cackling, they remind me of Oliver’s chortle; gotta get their name. 

Funnily, when we return to Entebbe Backpackers I notice a Buddhist symbol on the outside wall. Say what?

“Yes,” says Jonathon biker, “Frank the owner is a Buddhist.”

Now wouldn’t that be an interesting life? Running an affordable  well kept hostel,  meeting international guests ,providing gainful employment for the locals.

Ahhh, blissed. Kissed by handfuls of perfect moments.

Tuesday January 7, 2014 in Entebbe Uganda

Despite it’s bad rep plane hijacking/grounding event years back, Entebbe is a peaceful holiday hamlet. Yesterday Sarah and I wondered (spelling intended) through unknown to us towering trees and flowering bushes of the Botannical Gardens. We saw and heard more variety of birds than could be counted while lunching shore side listing to a local band in practise mode. We met hostel owner Frank, a born-again Buddhist who showered us in spittle during an enthused doctrinal monologue.  And we chatted with a Spaniard who is taking a pause in his life, a documentarian who has just finished shooting footage following a day in the life of six forgotten Ugandans. 

Wednesday? January 2014 in  Kampala Uganda

Whatever day, it is delicious literally and figuratively. Our public transport from Entebbe to Kampala is a cinch.  We check in to The New City Annex hotel across from the National Theatre. Smack in the centre of town it looks sketch from the street and sketchier still at the top of a steep staircase reception desk. But we’re taken through narrow hallways, a white linen and bamboo dining space, up a different set of stairs and into a residential quarter that’s just fine and 70,000/night clean. Two twin beds, a private bath. Works for us.

Famished after settling in we head to Crocodile Café, which turns out to be in embassy area, and feast on fresh!!! Greek and tuna salads. The ol’ tongue tingles with ecstasy. Next door is an overpriced Ugandan/African craft shop. Such a small world, who should we happen upon but none other than UN/GSF programme manager ClaraR and her mom. We exchange pleasantries, ask for travel must do tips, browse a bit then walk to the Uganda Museum.

Here we play around with musical instruments. We learn that Uganda’s Oil and Gas sector is non-existent (a wall with such a heading and nothing else). BUT they have penis and testicle holders (ancient relics), they won a gold medal for male marathon at the London 2012 summer Olympics, they had ganga waterpipes back in the early iron age (more ancient relics).   We also are informed that we are in the place where homo sapiens originated; the womb of humankind.

We pit stop at a bar, take seats on a heap of pillows and  quoff Taskers beer and shooters. Sarah takes an Amerila and peppermint liqueur combo, I opt for something called “Brain Hemorrage” with red sambucca and two other liqueurs.  Then we boda-boda (motorbike) in the near dark to LAWNS, a highly touted restaurant known for its exotic game fare. Choco martinis to start followed by Springbok steak for Sarah and a sampler medley of Springbok, Kudu, Blessbok and Crocodile pour mois. Guilt and glory on one plate.

Now back in our A/C hotel everything seems so civilized.  A few important observations:

When riding three on a bike make sure the driver is small!

Have not yet once seen anyone peeing openly on the streets

Maribou storks are those enoromous pelican-type birds

Ugandan etiquette dictates greetings ALWAYS go as follow (rather than a straight up hello Canadian style or good morning Nigerian fashion):

How are you? = oleo teeah?

I’m good = balloongee

How are you? = oleo teeah?

I’m fine = jane dee

And a few other important comments:

Thankyou = waybalee

   Lady = knee yabo

   Guy = see yabo

Well done = jaybalee

Have a good day = seeva balloongee

Ok = kayla

Goodbye = wayraba

Day? January 2014 in Kampala Uganda

Boda-boda’d to Jaguar Transport to purchase tickets for our journey from Kampala in central Uganda to Kibale bordering Rwanda to the south. Wandered through peopled chaos wonderfully reminiscent of India. As it should be – after all East Indians played a big part in building a now defunct rail rout in these parts.

At the bus depot, we spot a pygmy (little person of the south) carrying a large suitcase for a towering tall woman (likely of masai heritage or from the north near Sudan).  We’ve seen many people seven feet and taller.  We check out Ugandan Arts and Crafts markets. A limited budget and with little luggage room to spare, window, err stall browsing has to suffice.

Honestly, this country is so civilized compared to Nigeria. A few, though, have told me that political instability is a frightening possibility with Sudanese violence spilling over the northern border and Congolese bloodshed pushing in from the west.

Having slept little last night Sarah catches an afternoon nap. I walk through neighboring streets, check out Namkut, a local Walmart style supermarket, then stop for a bevy overlooking a busy Kampala street, pulling up a chair to the table of a solo gent. He eventually shares that he’s a Ugandan diplomat, second in command to the Ambassador of…, formerly posted to India, Russia and U.S. (Washington). 

Dinner is another extravagant affair at Mediterranean, a high-end Italian $50USD for two feast. It’s time to pull in the spending reigns and travel true backpacker style.

Thursday January something

Farewell Kampala at least for the next short while.  We stock up with food supplies from Namkut, a WalMartish supermarket. Arrive at Red Chilli resort mid-afternoon. This place is beyond stereotypical hostel.  Edgy décor, local print bed linens, large pool, bars, wifi, decent familiar food. If one were to find any fault it’s that there’s no real sense of being in Uganda, Africa. Even the music is western: no PSquare, Flavour or WhizKidz Nigerian imports.

More than once, boda-boda (motorbike) or taxi drivers mention how they like Nollywood flicks – “they make me laugh.”  I haven’t really picked up a sense of Ugandan culture. Hopefully that presents as we move from cosmopolitan urbanity to rural outlands.

Facial features are beginning to define place, though.  Nigeria almond eyes, pronounced cheekbones and tiny ears; Ethiopian oblong faces, toothy smiles, short stature; round Ugandan faces, lips not as full as neighbours to the west.

The white population is strikingly visible. Hostels are full of all ages; plenty of 20 to 30 somethings, several families with small children, noticeable numbers of travellers my age – couples mostly.  I’m sitting in a comfy wicker chair in the bar area overlooking the pool, manicured lawns and distant suburbs. Mozzies flit in and out of the screenless windows.  Earlier today an African tourist flopped and splashed in the wading pool, hurling herself in a determined-to-swim fashion that was delightfully comical.

(Sidebar: Far from here, I’ve just received word that Uncle Phil passed. Sending loving thoughts to Robin and Dorothy and Meg and Anne)

Back from the BIG FIVE Safari

Giraffes, hippos, elephants, water buffalo, plenty of antelope with twisty antlers, grey-hooded kingfisher, cobalt-blue guinea fowl, huge horned bills. For hours of travel. On the road by 6:30am.  Ferried across the Nile at dawn; a beautiful sunrise. Savannah catches my breath, stretching as far and wide as the eye can take in. Warthogs, hairy and tusky, are first up, followed by baboons, those enormous mariboo stork, antelope and woot woot!!!majestic giraffe. To think of them in their tiny enclosure at the Toronto Zoo is so sad. Their strides cover large stretches of terrain. It would have been incredible to see them bound but their large looming bodies against the grasslands and occasional savannah scrub will suffice.  Multitudes of antelope large and small, some this coiled antlers, others with curved.  Water buffalo herd upon herd. Hippos submerged, pink ears flapping, white heron-ish birds ride bareback, the occasional snort as this school bathes at the Nile Albert basin.  More waterbuffalo. More antelope. A couple or three enormous!!! Elephants (small tusks suggest they’re in their early 20s; they live into their late 70s). Ears fan.  Then as horse to trough, our safari driver non-stop gases it to the ferry. DoneO.

This entry finds me sitting at the Red Chilli Murchison Fall’s camp, in the communal area overlooking a spot of Albert Nile and Murchison Park in the distance.  Mariboo stork soar above thevalley, white-yellow butterflies flutter among the scrub. The occasional dragonfly flits by…on safari they escort our vehicle in droves.

The air is dry. Gritty. Cactus trees tower above palm fronds. Sausage trees bear fruit that look just as you’d imagine.  Seemingly a hard nutty inside eaten by elephants, hippos and baboons, is a kind of distilled fruit that gets them tipsy.  Odd pine forests dot the shoulder leading to this camp. Some of them look like bottle brushes. One tall solo stalk of bristle. Thorny bushes look dangerously nasty. And the birds- so very many varieties, trill and tweet, circle and hop. A family of mariboos are nesting in a tree near our tent; baby bird heads peak out every now and then.

(Official names of animals spotted:

Antelopes - Eland, Common Duiker, Uganda Kob, Bohor Reedbuck, Oribi

Olive baboon

B&W Colobus Monkey

Giant Forest Hog

Grey Crowned Crane

Day Two

Murchison Falls adventure is over. LOVED the boat journey down the Nile: lots of hippos, enormous crocs, families of African elephants and so many  exquisite birds under the African Sun.

Nicely roasted and weary from the sun. a quick beer and into the shower.  Walking back to the tent, wearing a skimpy towel, clutching toiletries in one hand and clothes in the other I find mystelf in a face off with a HUGE female warthog. Ohkaaay….I drop the smellies and back away. Two women from Spain peak from their tent, watch Lady Pumba dive for the bag, sniff and tear it apart. She gives a good snort at the small wrapped bar of soap, heads towards the tent door, pauses, then turns around and traces her steps towards the Spanish tent. The women voyeurs scream and zip their flap fast. My tattered plastic toiletry bag is saliva sticky with bite tears but everything is intact.

The stars are magnificent but I can’t make sense of any constellations. I think I spot Orion’s Belt but can’t be sure. The moon is coming into fullness. Starlight is best seen just before dawn.  From the marbioo nest a few tents away, two babies peep over the tree top as adults coo and natter. I manage to record their calls. In the dining area a largins bat sweeps up to the rafters. It’s body appears to be the size of a grapefruit. I’d LOVE to see a fruit bat with a wing span of nearly two feet….

Two mornings of early starts makes it easy to fall into bed and deep slumber. We bid goodnight to our fellow adventurers: Christian Stray from Norway; Danes Cecilie and Tina, and Germans Sonja Knispel, Enya and Arnold.

Sunday Something

We’re on the road again by 8:00am, passing countless baboons and antelopes of many variety. Our drive takes us through impoverished villages.  Children run barefoot.  I think of the Ethiopian and Ugandan olympans renowned for their speed and finesse and understand why. Architecture varies from red brick with one-sided sloped roofs to thatched roof mud huts to tin and wood shanties.  I’ve yet to taste Ugandan food. It’s all been western, well, other than the wild feast at LAWNS.  Hopefully that opportunity presents as we move south/west.

The dustry roads cake our faces, clog our noses, aggravate our throats. Some three and a half hours away from Murchison Falls area we arrive at (ZUMA?) White Rhino Sanctuary.  Our minibus takes us deep into grasslands. Our guide is armed. For our protection or the Rhinos, I’m not sure. We drive a few more minutes, traipse through dry scrub and yellowing crisp grass. Voila! Four females laze in shade. They’re docile. Vegetarian.  Those horns on the tips of their noses sell for $65,000USD per gram. A gram! Insane. So each of these Rhinos has an armed guard. Poaching has decimated their numbers. We’re priviledged to be walking amongst the last 13 White (vide..wide mouth) rhinos in Uganda. It’s remarkable really to realize they’re mere meters away. They can move at 45 km/hr. Two of the adult females are pregnant and are a week or two away from deliver after a 16 month gestation period.. We watch, snap pics, wander a few more yards to another group of six more languid ladies.  It seems rather anti-climatic. Not quite a “trek” but an experience nonetheless, that few will ever know.

It’s now broaching midnight. We leave for Kampala town centre and on to Kibale bright and early tomorrow.

Queen Elizabeth National Park (QENP)- Day One

We travel 35kms along red dusty roads passing dilapidated village , filthy barefoot children, men wearing too-large-for-them suit jackets , baggy pants, tilly style hats and sporting hand hewn walking canes as tall as themselves. Amagare driver, Deo, is suffering malaria but puts up a good front. We leave very basic accommodations in Kibale around 7:30, pit-stopping at Julius (Childs!) stand. I vid him preparing Uganda’s famously yum Rolex – a chapatti wrapped omelette. Check out this YouTube link…

Rolling hills, deep valleys, clear skies, the sun grows stronger the higher it climbs. We take the “must-do” equator photos then head into  QENP crater route, driving deeper and deeper into wilderness and stunning beauty. We stop and step out of the car to take in the vista. Baboons eye us. Deo warns of their aggressive nature. They start hollering. We dive for the car.

Three hours later we’re into the thick of wilderness not visited by tourists in months. Car paths are overgrown. Route signs are hidden behind towering stalks. We get lost quite literally in the middle of nowhere. Some seven to eight hours later we can say we’ve seen very little in the way of wildlife other than baboons, water buffalo, water bucks, sundry birds and a fantastic giant brown owl.

Exhaustion finds us at a gorgeous resort – “The Bush Lodge” on the shores of Kazinga Channel, which links lakes Albert and George.  The place is lit by candle light. We’re seated at a table for two and served a four course meal (canned tom soup and some other pretty rough fare).  Arriving in the dark we have no idea how close we are to the water or what are accommodations really look like. Falling into bed we listen to snorting hippos

Queen Elizabeth National Park – Day Two

We wake to sounds of snorting hippos, leave by flashlight, pass a hippo at the resort gate and head out for an early morning safari, questing for elusive lions.  The night before we watch antelope behave skittishly to the scent of a lion hidden in a bramble of growth.  Dusk stops us from seeing much else.

This morning we pass the enormous brown owl, still perched as it was hours earlier. The savannah is quiet. Deo is determined to find, and delivers he does; a splendid male some 10 meters from our jeep. He grooms himself. Rises. Stretches his hind legs. Muscles taught, body lean, he scrapes his hind paws against the earth like Mango cat after taking a dump, then wander off into a clump of scrub.  It’s remarkable to observe life in the wild – so interconnected. Waterbuck and buffalo and warthogs and elephants commune in the same area as the nemesis lion despite thousands of hectares. Watering holes- prime real estate in these parts.

“Is it raining?”  The armed guard hiking with us, for our safety, smiles and points to the tree canopy above.  Ummm. Noooo.  Above in the tree tops a chimp pees over Claus and me. Joy! It’s certainly a good giggle. Claus is a strong 76 year old German American. We’re standing at rivers edge just a few feet from a school of hippos. Their noisy loud guttural groans echo. Sarah snaps a fantastic collage of hippo faces. The chimps meanwhile snack on a fig fruit with gummy interior. It makes them tipsy and they LOVE it. We find them by following their hoots and hollers,  picking up pace along a jungle path potted by elephant and hippo prints, dotted with huge patches of grassy dung and the occasional chimp poo that looks a lot like a human log. The chimps swing and climb and jump and fart and scream at each other. Perfect moments strung one to the next to the next.

Travelling back from QENP becomes a zen kind of practise, capturing observations and experiences and letting them go almost as quickly to move on to document the next…

Bicycles, bicycles and more bicycles,

   sometimes walked up steep inclines.

Women working road construction sites as traffic controllers

   Tres progressive.

Banana and tea plantations

   Mass production

Aunt Jemima head scarves

Flower gardens

Lots of barefoot, tattered and dirty clothes poverty

Squatters at the side of the road

   Watching the world drive by

Tethered goats

   Not so free ranging

Driving surprisingly does not include constant horn honking

   the Nigerian norm.

Men and boys wear suit jackets and baggy pants and tilly-style hats

Boys and men holding hands

Red brick houses

Most women have close shaved heads

   Weaving is rare

Stalls intonate a healthy second hand garment and accessory trade

   our castoffs, their treasures.

Tea break

Eucalyptus trees and Sarah’s story about stoned koalas falling out of trees, sometimes on top of unsuspecting hikers.

Dust and respiratory conditions

Burning brush to encourage new growth for the wildlife

   Rather than to flush out rats for eating – Naija style

The sweet taste of a fresh coffee bean

   When squeezed the pod oozes a whit syrup; two beans inside

In these parts it’s not about fashion, it’s about functionality.

   Few worry if colours or patterns work well together

Girls and women walk the dusty roads in chunky-heeled second hand shoes

Or flip flops

Or no shoes at all

Billiard table everywhere

   Under thatched roof stalls

At the edge of villages

Cracked mud houses

Brand-painted stalls (MTN, Coca-Cola, AirTel)

Fresh dairy shops

Butcher stalls

People wave as you pass

If you stop to take their picture no one asks for money.

The poverty here is greater than anything I’ve seen in Nigeria.

A bus passes; the sign in its front window:

“Jesus is the answer.”

My question to that:

Why is Africa so poverty stricken?

Discussions around  Catholic priests and celibacy

   Ugandan priests diddle on the side

Of course there’s no condom use

   It’s forbidden by the Church

So priests have unprotected sex

   They get sick with HIV/Aids

   and die.

Uganda’s current president

   25 years in power

Used child soldiers to overthrow the military

On the road to Lake Bunyoni we pass children, quarrying.

Their tiny bodies covered in grey grit.

Child labour forced by their parents

   to earn a few more shillings

Toiling from dawn til dusk

For 5,000 or $2USD per day.

I’m haunted by the girl maybe 10 years, sitting at the edge of the road with another child, the quarry behind them. Both are grey skinned. Sooty skinned. Dark black eyes stare blankly, lifeless, void of innocence, imagination, dreams.

It’s worse than anything I’ve ever seen: India, Peru…

My gut aches.

My eyes well 

I cannot speak for the rest of the drive.

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Now, I find myself in a sublime setting. Paradise. A private banda overlooks rolling hills, I hesitate to call them mountains, and  softly lapping lake Bunyoni.  Insects and birds call to the night. There are no screens, simply one magnificent opening, an enormous deck and the view beyond.  Tucked south are islands inhabited by pygmies, politically correctly referred to as the small people.

Birds wake us at 10:00, actually hopping into our hut. We spend the entire day dipping and dozing, dine on fine vegetarian food, have grand chats with New York Mia, and MsMegan (from Dundas - ? really? And she knows Dan Radoslav? Seriously?).

Mia is an air traffic controller working with the UN in the Democratic Republic of Congo. She’s seen at least a dozen corpses littering the streets; cars pass around the bodies, pedestrians step over them No one pays heed. In the last month the airport where she’s posted has been attacked by insurgents three times. She is not allowed to walk anywhere, travel is only by secured vehicle to and from work. It’s an insular, soul-crushing experience. Mia wonders why her creative spark seems to have sputtered out? I suspect she’s suffering from PTSD and doesn’t yet know it.