Kickin' it in Kampala

One of the things about travelling in Africa is that it almost always takes longer than it seems it should. This is especially true when the trip doesn’t quite begin as planned, whether due to a driver waiting for the bus to be full or due to a fall from the top of the Land Cruiser resulting in a badly damaged shoulder and some slightly shorter toes (not mine). Miraculously, the Lord protects and provides, the journey continues after setbacks, and arrival at the intended destination is [mostly] certain, albeit likely somewhat delayed. And thus the 760-kilometre drive on [mostly] paved roads from Bujumbura, Burundi to Kampala, Uganda takes a solid two days. It sure feels like a solid two days when, packed-into the Land Cruiser like sardines, 11 passengers are attempting to avoid carsickness on queasy mountain roads, guarding their coccyges from impact when rogue transport trucks force our trajectory over massive potholes.

Driving in Kampala is an entire story all on its own. We were told that there is no longer any time day or night when traffic lessens. Thousands of motorcycle taxis are whizzing by, winding in and out of traffic, brushing vehicles, remaining [mostly] unscathed. Roundabouts are chaotic intersections in which, if lucky enough to gain entrance, one can never be sure of escaping fully intact. Speed bumps dwarf the nearby Rwenzori mountains and, shrouded in mist, appear suddenly and unannounced, threatening to send any inattentive outsider into orbit. In hindsight, that would probably be a quicker way of getting around town.

The purpose of being in Uganda was to raft the mighty White Nile near Lake Victoria, from which it embarks on its long and sometimes violent journey to Egypt. No one was disappointed except for Roy, an Israeli backpacker who spent most of the morning heaving over the side of the safety boat from motion sickness. Yes, to be sure, there was a lot of motion. Interestingly, the objective of our boat (and our guide) was to capsize in the middle of each and every rapid, and we would have succeeded were it not strongly suggested that we attempt to remain in the raft over The Waterfall. My hypothesis as to the reason why it’s moderately safe to do so is because there is such a massive volume of water pouring through each rapid, the chances of hitting a rock or being caught underwater are slim. But that’s just a hypothesis; it might be somewhat comforting to know that there were two mothers with us who enjoyed their experience tremendously.

Blessings to the Brose boys and Vinten girls as they begin their last semester at Rift Valley Academy. Thanks to all for having me along.