Spent 5 nights here.   

Uganda, with its better roads looks like people care about their property. Buildings are generally in good repair. Clothing is less dirty, fewer un-repaired rips. People smile more. It claims to be the one country on the continent that has actually effected a reduction in the incidence of new AIDS cases... believable considering the number of spent condoms I've seen discarded indiscriminately everywhere and the abundance of "safe sex" family planning signs throughout the country.

Kampala Uganda is a modern city in every sense of the word. I stayed in the historically important Grand Imperial Hotel the first two nights as I explored the city and studied the transportation possibilities. Then, I switched to the less expensive Hotel Equatoria for several more nights. Breakfast on their tin roof covered patio during a rain storm created an indelible memory: the smells of stormy weather, delicious fresh tropical fruits, real brewed hot coffee, the roar of rain drops on the roof and thunder; an unforgettable experience.

Entebbe Uganda

After exploring the city I decided to take a bus down to the city of Entebbe some twenty miles south, made famous by the Israeli rescue of passengers on a hijacked airliner in 1976. The bus dropped me off in the center of what seemed to be a sparsely populated town. Wanting to see more I hired a motorcycle "taxi" to take me closer to the airport where all the hostage rescue drama occurred. While I never did see the airport, the motorcycle ride provided plenty of excitement and gave me a chance to see the real rural Uganda. On another day I took bus on over to Jinja, the source of the Nile River about forty miles east of Kampala. The unspectacular river could have been skipped, but the big outdoor market offered a precious glimpse into the lives of ordinary people.

Jinja Uganda

While in Kampala I witnessed two fistfights: one between a minibus conductor and a passenger over a disagreement about fares and another between a guy and a kid who could have been his son. In both cases bystanders rushed in to separate the combatants. It occurred to me that with 20-40% of the people HIV positive, little fights like those could be lethal should blood be drawn.

Internet access in Kampala turned out to be limited and unreliable at all of the several cafes I tried. I did get some e-mail messages answered and this postcard started, but that's it. I finally gave up and decided to head west to one of the true outposts of civilization, Fort Portal only thirty kilometers from the Congo border.

Peace,
Fred L Bellomy

 

Kampala Uganda: Part of an anti-AIDs parade. They seem to be nurses.

 

Kampala Uganda: crowd gathers to watch an altercation between a Taxi bus conductor and an irate patron. Fists flew and people intervened until a quiet policeman convinced everyone to calm down. Later in Ggaba I watched other adults stop a guy beating on a teenage boy who might have been his son.

 

Kampala Uganda: One of the mini-vans used for inter-city travel through east Africa... sometimes called matatus. One of the mini-vans used for inter-city travel through east Africa... sometimes called matatus.

 

Kampala Uganda: Pile of cattle horns. I thought they were elephant tusks, a poacher's hoard when I took the picture.

 

Kampala Uganda: Boat building on the shore of Lake Victoria in a tiny town of Ggaba not far from Kampala.

 

Kampala Uganda: Large flock of Storks waiting for handouts from the local housewives on the shore of Lake Victoria in a tiny town of Ggaba not far from Kampala Uganda. These are huge birds; some standing as tall as a person.

 

End

 

One night here as I had run out of cash.

Fort Portal has nothing much to recommend it, but authentic African life. Hotels in the town itself are grim to say the least. I booked one for about $7 and then went looking for the famous Mountains of the Moon resort. I got there as it turned dusk, but the hotel looked pretty good at $27 even though I could not use my credit card and discovered I had spent almost all of my limited supply of Ugandan Shillings. "Do not worry," the guy at Reception tells me. I can pay tomorrow after the bank opens. So, I dash back to town on the back of a motorbike "taxi" and retrieve my things from the slumsville hotel I had chosen only two hours earlier (no refund, of course) and got a "special hire" taxi to take me back to the lodge.

The next day I checked both banks and two currency exchange offices and no one would honor either my credit cards or traveler's checks. Eee gads! I'm poor again.

To make matters worse, an old gray stray dog has adopted me and is nipping at people as we wander around. The poor thing, all skin and bones looks hungry and wild. Why he has taken to me is a mystery. Everyone thinks the mutt is mine and gives it wide birth. When he follows me into the bank, "my dog" and I are chased out until everyone realizes the situation and tries to get rid of the dog. When I come out of the bank, still with no money, there is my persistent K-9 friend ready to once again protect me. At the suggestion of helpful on-lookers, I tumble into the bed of a pickup truck and after the truck bounces a short distance the dog takes off racing toward "home." I get out and am finally free of my local best friend.

My two emergency one hundred dollar bills have been rejected in the past, but I try the best of them again one more time with the owner of a tiny store others say is buying dollars. He grumbles at the condition of my money, but gives me some Shillings at a poor exchange rate. I don't complain, but realize that I will need to very carefully budget my cash and decide to leave the same day for Mbarara to the south.

There is no choice. I must take a matatu, a 14-passenger mini-bus into which usually is crowded 17 to 18 people. The fare is cheap, about $6 so I buy two tickets and am given the entire front seat next to the driver. The five-hour drive is actually quite pleasant (for me), though the people in the back are packed like lovers at an orgy. Shortly after we cross the Equator marked by a circular sign, a large family of monkeys dashes across the road just inches ahead of the van's passing, followed in only a few minutes by a surprisingly swift snake that darts as far as directly under our passing wheels. He may be in snake heaven now, considering all the Christian missionaries active in these parts.

The driver and conductor are constantly packing and unpacking our sardine can mini-bus and on several occasions make excuses for the soft mzungu using two good seats in the front. At one point a particularly rambunctious teen tries to climb over the seat onto my bag and the driver physically bars his way with his arm and says something in Ugandan which included the English word "gentleman." For about an hour of the journey we served as an ambulance transporting a very ill older woman.

Peace,
Fred L Bellomy

 

End

 

Three nights here.

When we get into Mbarara town I tell the driver I want a very good hotel, one which will accept credit cards. The van stops in what looks like a dilapidated industrial area and there is an animated conversation between the driver and someone standing along the road, a rather distinguished looking gentleman. They point almost directly across the street and straining I spot the motel sign behind some parked trucks. It doesn't look bad.

What I find when I walk in is year and a half old first world establishment much like a Travelodge Motel in the U.S. It is luxurious and only 55,000 Shillings per night, about $28, but they cannot accept credit cards! The guy at Reception says I can get money on my credit card at the bank the next day and lets me register. The next day I cash another of my dwindling supply of traveler's checks after I am told no bank accepts credit cards in Mbarara.

Mbarara is not much to speak of, just a typical small African town, though it does have three first class resort lodges. Not many tourists come here. The only access to the Internet is by cell phone connection at the only hotel, which does accept credit cards by the way, but the rate is $20/hr. When I finally accept the fact I have no choice, I use the service to send a single message so someone will know I made it this far, just in case the unthinkable does happen.

Some of the names of establishments here are unusual. Consider "Starlight Hotel and Butchery," for example. While I still have not chanced the food in the roadside "hotel" restaurants (which are never places to sleep, by the way!), I have been trying some of the indigenous foods available here in the hotels and home grown fast food restaurants... like Steers which serves hamburgers tasting nothing like a Big Mac or pizza that would be unrecognizable in a Rusty's. Grasshoppers are considered a special treat, either raw or deep fat fried. I saw a couple girls pulling the legs off a sizable pile of the bugs in preparation for cooking. They seemed to take great delight in the expressions I made when I realized what they were doing.

After three comfortable nights in the motel, complete with fancy meals I make arrangements to leave by bus, again booking two seats and waiting three hours for a bus with space. This time I am assigned the two seats next to the door and an entire gang of "conductors" hangs around my space, literally with their butts in my lap the entire trip! Not pleasant.

While waiting I meet Richard, a young Kenyan businessman who tells me what he knows about the border crossing. He has some well thought out political opinions as well and seems to know a good deal about the troubles in Rwanda. At the border there is no difficulty at all; my passport is processed in seconds without cost and Richard then assists me with changing my $40 worth of Ugandan Shillings into Rwanda Francs. He proves to be a most streetwise and helpful companion. (cont.)

Peace,
Fred L Bellomy

 

End