On the way from Dubai to London I met Eric. He had come from Texas with me on the delayed flight, and missed his connection to Entebbe. Luck had come with me once again. Eric and his family have worked as missionaries in Kampala for two years. He gave me advice and his number in case I needed it. Because he is a missionary he also has mad connections. His number is a good one to have. When I arrived in Entebbe and had to fill out customs forms I gave myself a long thin paper cut. I could feel it before I saw the blood, and stuck it in my mouth. After a fairly long line I managed to obtain a three-month one-entry stamp (I didn’t an official visa like the rest of my friends). Eric told me not to exchange my money at the airport because of exchange rates, but oh well I did anyway. Two days later I still have money left over from my $40 I exchanged after buying dinner, breakfast, three water bottles, beat juice, sunnies, and Listerine.
When I exited the airport I repeated the name of the hotel over and over again so I could see it on the sign. Out of the array of signs I found one to my great surprise, with my name printed on it. The Addison Kramer written in bold black lettering sent my heart into a flutter. Holding the sign was Mark; a tall built Ugandan man in a sharp grey suit, and purple tie. He offered to wheel one of my suitcases for me as we fought our way out of the crowd to the parking lot. After a trip out and back to the parking lot (he couldn’t find his proof of parking ticket) we started the half hour drive to Kampala.
Unlike my friend who had come in at midnight the night before the sun was out and shining on my drive, and Uganda was more beautiful than my naïve American mind could have imagined. Lush green grasses and trees grew everywhere, and contrasted with the dirt that was almost as red as Colorado’s. Lake Victoria wrapped around Entebbe so that it could be seen from various points in the city. Part of the city near the airport even jutted out into the lake like a small peninsula.
Along the sides of the road were small plots of corn, shops, goats, cows, police dressed in dark blue camouflage with assault riffles, and the infamous Boda Bodas (motor-bike taxi’s) I had heard so much about. The drivers of the Bodas ignored traffic laws, and hung out on the side of the road like a biker gang. On the drive Mark talked with me about the trees, peoples lives, the corn, the cows, and told me that I should never under any circumstances take a Boda, but instead take a taxi which in fact functioned more like a bus. He also told me about the license plates. White plate in front, yellow on back means it is a regular car that pays taxes. Blue plates meant it was a government car that didn’t pay taxes, and red meant that it belonged to an NGO that didn’t pay taxes on the car. I also saw a Colorado window sticker on the drive, which made me really excited.
Once at the Hotel they moved me in with Courtney. We chatted then I took the most glorious shower of my life! The shower was out in the hallway, and is a large room with blue tiles next to the one small room with a toilet, the sink for which was in the hall between the shower and the toilet stall. After showering I put on fresh close for the first time in two days. We chatted, then decided to head out to dinner. We walked down one of the blocks on the main road, and after seeing nothing to eat decided to try one of the restaurants closer to our hotel. When we got back to the corner to turn we realized not a single car had moved. This traffic had to be close to as bad as LA’s. We wandered into a small restaurant where we had the most delicious fish I have ever eaten in my whole life, and having spent three years in Vancouver that’s saying a lot. We ordered fish and chips, and much to our surprise the chips came out not with battered fish, but which a grilled whole fish (grilled eyes included). Courtney and I came back to the hotel and tried to watch Castle, but I fell asleep.
