We tried, probably in vain, to log onto the US Embassy web site and report ourselves in county, list our itinerary and provide contact information. Big Brother likes to know just where his chickens are and JGI, for obvious reasons, wishes us to comply. Besides being an impossible website to navigate the system was unbearably slow due, we were told, to the heavy rain. After more than an hour Connie may have successfully registered. My turn later.
So it was off to Kampala in the mini-van with Debbie handling the driving. She’s not the world’s best but to her credit, we survived the rain slicked roads, a really bad crash (not us) and the worst traffic I’ve seen since a late afternoon snow in Denver. Besides the cars and lorries there are hundreds of ‘boda-bodas’, motorbike taxis that follow no predictable path and obey no rules. Stephanie says riding one provides all the thrills of bungee jumping with a higher degree of death or grievous bodily harm for only a few shillings. We heard that five people die every day on boda-bodas in Kampala. If I didn’t get my share of danger on the ride in, crossing the street scared the rest of the crap out of me. A nanosecond’s hesitation and you are history.
We took this journey to get US dollars changed, buy motorcycle helmets, pick up the new motorcycle, reclaim the Land Cruiser, shop for groceries, get measles vaccinations so we can approach the chimps later on and so Steph and Debbie could attend a meeting. It took the entire day, several helmet shops and $300 for groceries. We drove back in the repaired Land Cruiser with the new bike in the back and the three of us crowded into the front seat. Stephanie had a stiff neck when we started and my back is sore now, a situation that doesn’t bode well for our six hour trip out to Kalinzu on Sunday. At least we won’t be in Kampala! It has three million people, miserable roads, multiple roundabouts, unmarked railroad crossings, one traffic light and scared the pee out of us three muzungus. The really bad news is that Emma wants us to go back in with her tomorrow!
We went to the Hotel Victoria for the Friday night braii with Carol, Debbie, Ben and Liz. The place was crowded with whites – expats, aide workers and a couple of UN peacekeepers in crisp, tailored BDUs. It felt like Africa in Speke’s day, 150 years ago.
Eric didn’t join us. We saw him at the Surgery where he was diagnosed with bilharzia, a parasitic disease picked up from swimming in Lake Victoria. It seems everyone at dinner has had it and the cure is as painful as the disease. No swimming for us! 