The plagues of Uganda

When people think of Africa, they often imagine the vast plains, resplendent with a whole variety of flora and fauna. Many travel to the continent purely to come on safari to witness herds of elephants, lions and so on. In the past few weeks, the wildlife around Kampala has been a little bit more prevalent than I would like. In fact, it has got to the point of sleepless nights, worrying about what may be lurking around the corner. Grasshopper season is looming and there is a plethora of wild and wonderful bugs. So I started thinking about plagues and wondered how many we have been afflicted with round here. As I am not known for my religious knowledge, I had to resort to Wikipaedia for my research, so please forgive me if I am not strictly accurate. So just how many creatures and problems are plaguing me here in Kampala?

1. Water to blood – OK well I can’t say that this has really been a problem. I was in Jinja, at the other end of the Nile just this weekend and it looked in perfect order to me. However, you could risk a number of diseases from drinking the tap water. Swimming in Lake Victoria is not really recommended either. I am quite sure that I had contracted bilharzia in the triathlon, judging from the nasty reaction to the medication.
2. Flies – in the form of mosquitoes. I am still a tasty meal for all things biting and stinging. At the moment I am torn between breaking my neck from standing on a chair, on a table, on the bed, in order to rehang the mozzie net or to take my chances with malaria and being eaten alive.
3. Vermin – all I can say is that I have a morbid fear of rats. I always have done and I always will. They say that you are never more than 6 feet away from a rat in London, so I would dread to think of the proximity here in Kampala. If you walk down Bukoto Market Road, just outside my house, you will be sure to encounter piles of rubbish that people refuse to pay to be removed, some burning piles of rubbish (complete with toxic fumes), some open drains on top of the dust and potholes that come as read. So this surely must be a rat’s heaven. The new school has a fair few unwelcome pets, most worryingly, some poisoned rats were found inside the ovens in the food tech room. And there is no escape when you go home either. We found some droppings in the house a week or so ago and I have had disturbed sleep ever since. I am flinching at every bump, tap or squeak, convinced that it’s a killer mouse. The mice here are the size of rats and the rats are the size of cats – it doesn’t bear thinking about. One friend woke up with one on her bed and another one had a nasty shock when one landed on her shoulder. Now we are not sure whether the little visitor has left or not. It has rudely refused the poison injected cake we offered it and the evidence comes and goes. Today I received the strangest gift ever, when a parent brought me some sticky glue stuff, the idea being that the mouse runs over the glue and gets stuck (my class are fully aware of my rodent nightmares). All very well, but then that means that you potentially wake up to be greeted by a half dead mouse, or have to bash it over the head with a large, blunt object.
4. Pestilence – this would be diseases. To be fair, I have been pretty lucky on this front, having only had one sick day all year. Others have been struck down by flu, fevers and funny tummies. The most popular Ugandan sickness is an amoeba – how a single celled organism can cause so many problems is anybody’s guess, but they really are quite nasty. I have to drink about ten gallons of water a day to stop myself from getting a bog headache and going dizzy and as if that wasn’t enough, then the building site outside my classroom throws in non-stop banging and drilling for good measure.
5. Frogs – yes, they are certainly out in force around certain areas, creating a genuine frog chorus.
6. Locusts – are grasshoppers the same as locusts? If so, then more are coming! There are, apparently, one or two grasshopper seasons in Uganda. Locals say that they are a delicacy when fried and eaten with lots of salt, but I am giving this culinary delight a miss. As with all the wildlife in Kampala, they are super sized and come in both green and brown varieties. They don’t really bother me so much, except when they come into your room and fling themselves from wall to wall, making an annoying clicking sound. They are another reason for my lack of sleep as they make a total racket when chirping the way through the night.
7. Thunder and hail – it never rains but it pours here. I have to say that I do love the tropical storms here, particularly on a Sunday afternoon, when the temperature drops and it is the perfect excuse to lie in bed and read a good book or watch a DVD. The thunder reverberates off the mountains and the lightning flashes dramatically and it really is quite spectacular. It is not so pleasant in the middle of the week though, when your class all get sopping wet and the dreadfully designed new school allows the water to leak into the classroom, and of course the kids are hyperactive.
8. Darkness – this would be the famous Ugandan power cuts. Like the thunder storms, these often provide you with a great excuse to just curl up and go to bed early as there is nothing else you can do. They have even been blamed for the recent Ugandan baby boom – clearly the whole country believes there is nothing better to do during a power cut than to just go to bed and make their own entertainment! Again, the power cuts prove to be much more frustrating in the work place, when you lose the past 10 minutes work on the computer, the Internet consequently crashes and is usually out for the rest of the day. But you must remember that power cuts can be a good thing – on Saturday, the power cut meant I gave up trying to stay out drinking and just went to bed, hence saving a good few Shillings and a big nasty headache the next day.
9. Dogs – OK so I have made this one up myself. The streets are full of stray mongrel dogs that wander around at night. Then people have guard dogs that they treat very badly and are trained to bark and attack any passers-by, regardless of whether they are innocent or guilty. At night they howl. It starts with just one or two, then all the others in the neighbourhood feel that they should join in. Another sure-fire guarantee of a sleepless night.
10. Noise – I realise that this is not on the original list, but I am hardly going to talk about the death of a first born, now am I? The aforementioned animals are not the only source of noise in Uganda. Humans also need to take their share of responsibility. My first gripe is with the great din from the various religions – if the Muslim call to prayer fails to wake me at day break, then I can rest assured that the Born Again Christians will start singing and speaking in tongues at high volume shortly after. I have no problem with people wishing to worship their deity of choice, but just wish they could get on with it a little more quietly. So that is the mornings. At the opposite end of the day, the local nightclub kicks in, blasting out anything from the latest R and B to any old random choice – Cher has been very popular this week for some reason. The nightclub doesn’t even follow the usual form of Fridays and Saturdays but could go off on any old Tuesday evening.

So I reckon that that covers about eight of the original ten, with just a few local variations. As I sign off to go to bed, wish me luck with sleeping in this beautiful but somewhat afflicted country.

May Day holiday - where we didn't quite reach our destination

The saying goes that it's the journey that counts and not the final destination - and that is what I had to chant to myself this weekend as we had yet another breakdown, this time not my car, but my housemate's. As my car was suffereing from a dodgy battery, we decided not to take any chances and go in Romy's car. All was going very well until we started to hear a funny rattling noise. However, we breathed a sigh of relief when we discovered that the rattle was actually coming from an empty can of pop in the drink holder. So, I feel that I have already told this sorry story before, but about 3 hours into the journey the car comes to a sudden stop. We get out and do our best girly efforts to figure out what might be wrong (although in fairness I do believe that I will leave this country as a fully qualified mechanic) and only a few minutes later a car draws up to help us. Two men introduce themselves as Kenneth and Akim. They have a look with us, while a curious crowd of local kids gather to see what is going on. We quickly figure out that the temp guage had broken and the car was running dry and overheating, so a girl is sent off in search of water. We poured in a full jerrycan and then notice that the rubber tube has a big rip in it, so all the water was being lost. So Kenneth drove to the nearest town and came back with a mechanic, who quickly solved the problem.
So we bid our farewells to our knights in shining armour and set off again. All went well for about, well 5 minutes, then we were almost being choked by noxious fumes from the exhaust. And this tim it was starting to rain. The next minute, my phone rang and it was Kenneth calling to enquire how we were getting on. Not good, came the reply but I thought I could ask him for the mechanic's number. He went one better than that and also came along and waited with us while we diagnosed the problem. The prognosis was not good, so we decided to knock our plans on the head and stay in the nearest town of Tororo. We were taken to the garage and then they dropped us at a hotel, according to the guidebook it was the best in town. Well, am sure it was, but it drew a striking resemblence to a hospital to me and we later decided it may have once been a looney bin when we found that cutlery was a scarce resource. Maybe the only guests are people who are heading to Mount Elgon and never quite make it. Maybe they want to save anybody from doing themselves an injury with any sharp eating utensils following exasperating journeys through Uganda, heaven only knows. Later that evening we were joined by Kenneth and Akim, who were really sweet and even wanted to pay for our dinners, although we insisted on it being our shout, since we would probably still have been stranded by the roadside, had they not shown up to help.
The follwing day, we had hoped to get the car fixed up and continue to Sipi Falls, but when we got to the mechanics we found they had taken the engine to bits and were talking abolut a very labour intensive and costly job. So now we had to get ourselves back to Kampala. Our rescuers continued to help us and organised a recovery vehicle to take us and the car back to Kampala. We nearly died when we saw it - it was one of the trucks that are normally jam packed with cows taking their final journeys to meet their makers. However, being our only option, we gratefully accepted it. A few hours later we made it back home. So maybe we will make it to Sipi Falls another time, but it proves that sometimes the journey is more important, as we were so lucky to meet people who were more than willing to help us out in our hour of need.

A very trying triathlon

The obsession around Kampala recently has been over the Lake Victoria triathlon. This involves a 1000 metre swim in the lake, followed by a 30km bike ride and a 10km run. Now I knew from the beginning that I was not going to be keen on the running section, so I asked a friend to make a team with me, but thought that the swim and the bike sounded quite reasonable.
Training began quite well, as a gang of us took advantage of the pool in the club and pedalled to nowhere in the gym. As the time drew nearer, I realised I should really hit the road for real on a proper bike. Now, after all my woeful problems with the car, I could not afford to splash out on a new set of wheels, so asked around to see if I could borrow one. I was a little too late in doing this, so 2 weeks prior to the event, I was still bikeless. Then I had a fantastic idea - I could borrow my guard's bike. It didn't look too bad from a distance, just like quite an old mountain bike. So I have bagged myself a bargain, I thought. For the small sum of 7000 Shillings to fix the brakes and I would be sorted. Then I went out on the bumpy roads. My first outdoor bike ride here was one with moments of sheer terror. As very few of the roads through the villages are actually paved, and it had not rained for a good few weeks, I ended up hurtling down the sandy and lumpy roads, dodging matatus and boda bodas. And did I mention the hugely uncomfortable saddle? Although I am the first person to admit that my friends do actually cycle faster than I do, the lack of gears meant that I was a long long way behind them. As I pedalled furiously in a vain attempt to catch up with them, I was greeted with a number of catcalls from passing Ugandans, ranging from 'You are the last', 'Pedal harder' to the most inaccurate of all 'You are lazy muzungu' (this was actually whilst flying down one of the hills with my hands squeezed firmly over the brakes). After this experience I realised I was in need of a sturdier bike and decided to rent one, which in the end felt much safer and more comfortable.
The day before the race, I went to stay the night in Entebbe with my triathlon partner and a faithful gang of supporters. We went out for a meal on the beach and after an exceptionally long wait (in the meantime being attacked by various flying creatures) I loaded up on a ridiculous amount of carbs in preparation for the following day's activities.
If there were a prize for registering early, then we would have won gold, as we arrived at the time given on the instructions. Why do I never learn? I tried to eat the breakfast given to us by the B & B, but frankly, I wasn't in the mood for a cold toasted egg sandwich, so decided to give it a miss. We all collected our t-shirts, posed for photos and dipped our toes cautiously into the lake.
A few minutes later, the moment of reckoning finally arrived. A whistle blew (or some sort of signal, to be honest it's a bit of a blur) and we all waded unto the water. As the race began, it was totally hectic, with everybody fighting for space and people accidentally grabbing hold of legs, feet and arms in a bid to get ahead. I went for it, front crawl, face down ... for about a hundred metres. Then panic hit me. I'm not sure whether any thoughts ran through my head, or whether it was just a shutdown and being unable to catch a breath, but I imagine it would be something along the lines of 'Oh my goodness, this lake is very deep, the floaty things we have to swim around are very far away and I think there's going to be a huge electrical storm very soon'. For a moment, I had to just stay still, treading water and recuperating. A very nice lady asked if I was OK and stopped by me for a moment to check I wasn't going to drown1 Eventually I got it together, but had to swim the whole thing breaststroke with my head above water, which is not exactly quick. Infact the only stroke slower than that is probably the doggy paddle. The swim was designed to take you in a triangle and as I was just about reaching the second point, the storm that had been threatening made an appearance. So wonderful, there I was, miles (well a couple of hundred metres) from the shore, in the middle of a lake, with massive waves and not even being able to see the flags we were supposed to be aiming for. I was heading off in the wrong direction until another teacher called me over and stopped me from being lost at sea (or even lake).
Then for the bike ride. As I ran in, I had hoped that somebody would have moved the kit I put out in advance to keep it dry. No such luck. I scrambled around and found that my shorts were still fairly dry and I would just have to deal with soggy trainers and a sopping wet t-shirt. I threw them on, hoped that the sun wouldn't start to shine too brightly, as I was still dripping wet and the sun cream refused to stick to my skin. All of this took at least ten minutes, which was actually being added to my time. A few minutes later and I was off. The bike ride took me through the Botanical Gardens, then basically a big loop around the airfield and through some small villages and back to the lake where we started. I would also like to mention that I definitely cycled more than the planned 30km, as I missed a turning and went right up as far as the entrance to the airport. When I was there, I wasted a further 5-10 minutes trying to negotiate with the airport security staff to let me pedal through, as I was sure the whole triathlon was passing through and wondered why they didn't jut realise I was part of that, until a little girl came running up to me to tell me that I missed a turn and should go back! Great - as if I needed anything else to slow me down, and then I had gone further than I needed to. I have to say that the most worrying moment was when I asked somebody the time and they replied a quarter to three - now this had to be impossible as I had set off on the bike at roughly 8am and was sure as hell I hadn't been cycling for 7 hours, even though my bum was getting a bit sore by that point. I visualised a clock and decided that it must have been a quarter past nine and that the lady I spoke to wasn't sure what the big and little hand on the watch meant (or her watch was broken, or her grasp of the English language was not too great - let's face it, they are all possibilities). My favourite moment of the race had to be the point on the big hill, where I was feeling a bit tired and the marshall gave me a push up! In the end, I made it through and was very relieved to get back to the sailing club and set my partner off on the run (poor thing who had to wait a ridiculously long time for me to return).
You will have guessed by now that I found the whole triathlon to be a bit of a struggle. So you may be surprised to hear that I am in fact a silver medalist - which is pretty amazing considering I had such terrible times. So I would like to thank the third women's team for dropping out at the last minute and allowing me to get a prize for my endeavours. Next year I'm looking to set up a category just for me and am going for gold!!

Christmas with the parentals - PART 2

After the excitement of the safari we returned to Kampala for our first Christmas together in 3 years. It was always going to be a little different though. We decided against buying alive turkey on the road and decided to just make whatever we could for Christmas dinner. I cooked up some roast veggies and Mum made a scrumptious lemon surprise pud and we had a very lazy day. Mum went for her first ever swim on Christmas day in an outdoor pool and in the evening we tried to watch the latest James Bond film on dvd on the terrace (don't waste your time, it is totally incomprehensible - I was very disappointed that the dodgy dvd shop across the road could not manage to find Only Fools and Horses for us). Then on Boxing Day, which is also Dad's birthday we treated ourselves to a lovely meal at the Emin Pasha - the very nice hotel with a lovely garden and so on in town.

One of Dad's favourite haunts in Kampala was The Surgery. He must've read up about it before arriving in Kampala because he was asking to be taken there on the second day, complaining of a gammy eye. He was immediately impressed with the quick service, because unlike in the UK, you can see a doctor within an hour's notice here, rather than having to book your appointment 6 weeks ahead of actually catching the 'flu. After a small wait, he emerges from the surgery, pleased that he does not have a tropical disease and retelling the expat doctor's claim to fame of appearing in 'The Last King of Scotland' (the rest of us have heard it all before). After the safari, he goes down with the notorious traveller's tummy and I although i had been telling him for several days that it sounded like an amoeba it took him the same amount of time to admit that I was correct, so sadly not enjoying the xmas dinner too much.

Just before Christmas we took a day trip to Jinja. Again the day was not uneventful. Before we had even got out of Kampala, I was pulled over by the police and heard those fateful words'Madam, did you know you had committed an offecnce?'Now the best way to get out of this is just to wait until they give you the cue to bribe them. I sneaked across 20 000 Shillings, but then unbeknown to me Dad had also given him the same amount. I was just living in fear that Mum was going to innocently whack out a whole stack of 50 000 notes and mistake them for the 5000s! After a serious wait in traffic we hit the open road and got to Jinja. After stopping for lunch, we took a bot trip out to the 'Source of the Nile' where the river meets Lake Victoria. It was a very small boat, so I felt a bit seasick afterwards, then we wended our way home. The journey back was going so well, until we hit a diversion sign. The only problem being that they only instructed you to leave the road you were on and didn't give any further directions - so we got very lost, to the point that we arrived at some government office that was unmentioned on the map and had to give the guard a lift, who then directed us home.

Our final day was spent in Entebbe, looking at the Botanical Gardens, which were in all honesty, a bloody mess, as nobody had bothered to clean up after a big party the day before, so we had to treck through the masses of litter that had been left behind. A bit of a shame really, as the guide book had promised that you could swing like Tarzan on the vines and would have really liked to have had that image in my head. In the end, we went back to my hotel, packed up and I said a tearful goodbye to Mum and Dad before heading off to Mombasa the next day.

Africa with the parentals - PART ONE!!

The day finally arrived when my parents came to Uganda. They seemed to be the last people off the plane and I had started to wonder whether they had chickened out of coming to Uganda and just stayed in Amsterdam for the holidays where they connected. Eventually they did turn up though, complete with many-pocketed trousers and the matching hats I had heard much about.

We spent the first couple of days settling into Kampala, getting them used to the heat, the mozzies, the currency, the potholes and Kampala traffic. Mum enjoyed bartering for a few bargains in the craft market, while Dad attempted to buy some very embarrassing shirts, but eventually settled for a Muzungu t-shirt.

After the weekend we set off on the big journey to Queen Elizabeth Park. I managed to bagsy the smoothest roads, leaving Dad the Raleigh driving experience between Masaka and Mbarara (I already knew the state of that road from the trip to Rwanda at half term). We stopped at the Equator for some piccies, then carried on with the driving. We made it in one piece in spite of the numerous trucks and buses hurtling down the middle of the roads and avoided being ramrailed off the road completely.

Arriving at Katara Lodge was unbelievable. the view across the plains is enough to fulfill the dreams of any filmaker or artist. The rooms were also fantastic, with a bath with a view over the plains and lovely fluffy white towels and white bedlinen, all immaculately presented in the wooden cabin. I have to say that I was very impressed with Alex's recommendation.

Over the next few days we went out on game drives, coming within a few metres of elephants, lions, cobs, buffalo, various types of antelopes and so on. I never imagined that I would be able to drive so close to all these animals. We had a very experienced and interesting guide who managed to find all of the animals for us, so we were very happy with ourselves for that.

On the other hand, we did have a truly African experience one afternoon, whilst taking the 'community walk'. I had an idea that this was going to be interesting the moment I asked the guide if we needed to take anything particular on the walk with us (thinking of insect repellent, sun screen and the like) only to be told to make sure that I had a notebook and pen. So we set off to the local village for a short tour. He explained the histories of all the Ugandan tribes explicit details and expected us to write it all down for later. I tried to explain that we wouldn't know how to begin to spell the words in Lugandan. In the end, Dad and I dropped back and let Mum get on with it. Every so often he would ask if 'Madam Margaret' was listening carefully. On we went and I giggled to myself, letting the rest of them get on with it, as Dad huffed and puffed his way up the massive hill in the tropical heat that they were given no warning of and we were shown such exotic crops as carrots and potatoes - astounding. Patience would only last so long and by the end of the day Dad had given him a full training course on how to be a good tour guide!

Now perhaps the most dramatic event of the holiday would be the fire. As I already mentioned, the lodge was built entirely out of natural materials and borders straight onto the national park. So on our second evening, as we sat eating our dinner in the restaurant at the top of the hill, we spotted some small 'burn off' fires in the distance. the only problem was that after a while it was not so distant anymore. I popped down the stairs to get my car keys and passport in case of emergency and spotted that they were getting closer. We suggested they call the fire brigade ... except that there is no fire brigade in the middle of nowhere in Uganda - only the local men with buckets of water. As the fires burned brighter and stronger emotions started to run high. I became a little hysterical, claiming that I did not bring my parents to Africa in order to burn them alive. Mum was getting a little agitated by the fact that the room was by now, filled with smoke, and insisted that we all packed our bags and brought them back up the hill. I decided it was more crucial to make sure my clothes were OK, since I have to travel several hours by plane in order to get to a decent clothes shop. The staff continued to troop up and down the hill with buckets of water and eventually put them out. Mum was still a little concerned though as the room was filled with smoke. We were offered staff accommodation (which was probably THE NICEST staff accommodation in the whole of Africa) but declined it as there wasn't an en-suite bathroom and decided she would risk being burnt alive in her sleep after all. So we went to bed in the room that was now cleared of the smoke and I slept very soundly until the door started banging first thing in the morning and mum leapt out of bed and declared that the fires had started again. So we repacked again and dragged the suitcases up the hundreds of steps up the very steep hill yet again, to have an early breakfast and head off in search of tree climbing lions.

I have to say that the tree climbing lions are quite possibly the cutest things I have ever seen. Sleeping peacefully in the trees, they looked like cuddly over sized teddy bears.Nobody could ever suspect that these gorgeous looking creatures could harm anybody. This did not stop Mum from grinding her teeth as I leaned out of the window to get a closer look though - but it was so worth it for the photos. Sadly the quest to find the tree climbing lions was not so easy - an 80km drive over a dirt road, followed by many hours driving round numerous feckin fig trees was exhausting and I was about to give up and drive back, but am glad we persisted.

On the final day in the park I set off to track chimpanzees while Mum and Dad had a lazy morning. Again, I was very lucky as we saw many of them only a few metres away. There were loads in the trees and some were very close to us on the ground and they were only distracted by the sound of my phone going off when the typically disorganised school was ringing me to ask where i wanted my salary to go that month - grrrrrr.

On the way back we stopped in Fortportal. It's a very different landscape there, in the foothills of the Rwenzori mountains and was good to show my parents a different aspect of Uganda. We went on a tour of some caves and saw some beautiful crater lakes. We stayed in a very nice hotel with very slow service, but TIA. Then the trip back was sooooo much smoother, with lovely tarmacked roads.

Waltzing Matilda, Waragi and frisby

Oh where do I begin? Let's start a few months back, before Christmas, when the running hash ended in Bubbles and we found a friend chatting to her friend who runs a sugar plantation in Tanzania. Why not come down, he asks, why not we reply. So last week was a long weekend in Uganda and a few of us decided to make the journey.
On Saturday morning we got up at the crack of dawn to make sure we could make the most of the day. I had 8 people's luggage crammed into the tiny boot of my car and we were all ready to go. Except for one thing - this is Uganda - and the other car was not ready, so we had many cups of tea, some breakfast and waited for another 2 hours. Eventually we got off and were making good progress. we had a leisurely break at the Equator, taking lots of silly photos and a cup of coffee. The first hitch was a bird that flew straight into the windscreen and killed itself. I was too squeamish to deal with it, so heather picked it out and threw it away. On we went, through the rain, but still making good time. Until ... BANG ... a horrible noise was coming from the engine. So being girls, we did what we knew best and turned up the music to ignore the noise. This was OK for a few minutes, but then the car was really starting to lose power. We pulled up by the roadside and called the others to come back. But none of the three men we brought had a clue what to do. We tested the water and the oil, which both looked fine and rooted around, eventually reaching the conclusion that the problem had nothing to do with the spare tyre and that we hadn't got a clue. We tried to set off again and had to drive at a snail's pace, again increasing the volume on the music as the banging was getting louder. As we reached a small town we decided to drive into a garage. Aaaahhhh - we discovered an oil leak and the mechanic told me my car was broken and I should just leave it there and buy another one (because clearly, being a muzungu, I can do that no problem). We refilled the oil and set off again, this time even slower, then after a few more kms we came to a complete stop. We all poked our heads under the bonnet again and quickly realised that none of us had a clue. So what to do at a time like this? Well, as it was Australia Day weekend, Stacy gets out Waltzing Matilda and we all have a dance around to that. Ange gets out the waragi and red bull and she is a happy lady. Next thing, the Swiss boys get out the Frisbee, which starts up a game with the local kids, entertaining everybody around. By the time we left, pretty much an entire village worth of kids had gathered for the game. Meanwhile, the rescue operation was under way. Neil was coming up in his car, with a driver to come and tow us (the grand distance of around 80kms - oh dear god). As he had just been expecting to meet us at the border, he did not have his passport with him, so he asked a very friendly customs officer if he could pass through to help a friend, and lo and behold, he made it through with a hand written letter. He has a quick look at the car and tells me it's F*&^$# and I try my best not to burst into tears on the roadside. We pack up and tie the cars together and start being towed along. The ropes break a few times and we have to stop to retie them. Then we get to the border. At this point I do get a bit of luck, as we manage to persuade them to give me free insurance, since the car can't actually be driven anywhere. Unfortunately though, they don't let the other car through as it has no registration paperwork. So now there are 10 people, 1 broken down rav 4 and a land cruiser. It's a bit of a crush to say the least.
We eventually arrived and saw fit to crack open the beers and start up the barbecue. Clearly we were in need of a fair few after the trials and tribulations of the day. At this point, I should also mention that there was a great big inflatable swimming pool in the back garden ... so you can imagine what happened later on. I managed to avoid being thrown in (mainly coz I ran inside and locked myself in the loo), but did manage to fall over on the slippy step and take a big chunk out of my leg. So the day was not getting any better - medical assistance was quick and efficient, in the form of a big bandage and a bottle of whisky to calm my nerves - which were more than a little frayed by this point.
The next day we woke up to pouring rain, so we were forced to go to the pub and have a few more beers and play games. Stacy is now hooked on poker and keeps asking if we can go to the casino. I discovered a talent for darts and the others continued with drinking practise. Later on, the weather brightened up, so we were able to take a walk through the acres of sugar cane fields, then took a drive down to the river. I think I was having better luck that day, as there were no crocs or hippos in sight - I probably would have been eaten alive had they been there. So we took in the views of the pretty river, then went to see some of the locals setting burn off fires, where they literally burn off most of the leaves, so the air was filled with smoke and ashes - the photos look cool if I can ever actually upload them, that is!
My luck was not to last for long. As a pretty much life long vegetarian, who does not even like to walk past the butcher counter in a supermarket, then what I am about to talk about is very disturbing. I had heard the guys mention that they often do a bit of hunting. This is quite understandable, as it is many miles from any large town and it clearly is the best source of food available locally. However, i was not so rational when I was told that there was a dead impala on the porch ready to be butchered. What I then witnessed was a large deer like creature, minus the head and the fur, but complete with legs and full body outline, lying on the counter. It was then hacked into small pieces (probably better known as steaks to the carnivores amongst you), then being carefully placed in the freezer box to be taken up to Kampala. All very disturbing.
On the Monday we set off back to Kampala, and we were very lucky that our friend was kind enough to lend us his car and driver and take us all the way home. Am also very grateful for Neil's help in sorting out the wreck that is my car, that is still in Tanzania. So keep your fingers crossed for me and my little motor!

Jambo!! New Year in Watamu, Kenya

The day after my parents left I hopped on a plane to Mombasa in Kenya. A couple of hours drive north up the coast took me to the village of Watamu. I had not really known what to expect and I was not disappointed. When I arrived the sun was just setting over the beach of white sands and clear blue water. The girls had the wine chilled and poured me a welcome glass before we ran into the water for a twilight dip. On the first evening we went out for Italian food – a real treat as there’s not much of it in Kampala really. After satisfying our appetites we decided to go down to the local bar, where we danced with Masais and watched the acrobats perform! We have some classic photos of Masais in traditional dress complete with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and a mobile phone stuffed down the front of the skirt. There’s not too much to tell you about the days as they were just the usual sun holiday – chilling on the beach and swimming in the sea. I missed the Christmas treat of camel rides, but think I can live without it anyway.

For New Year’s Eve we had grand plans of going into the bigger town of Malindi. When we got there we soon found out that the better parties were going on in Watamu – where we had just come from! So after dinner we hotfooted it to the nearest offie, stocked up on vodka and bottles of bubbly and went home. Now we had no real plans, since the party at the British hotel (which was full of, to quote an Aussie friend, pompous arse pommes, and I will not disagree with her) cost well over a hundred quid and the other alternative was equally pompous arse Italians (or Spaghetti people as the locals referred to them) who were afraid to get on the beach and sully their precious Gucci bikinis. So we made our own party, and just before midnight, followed the crowds down to the place where they were going to set off the fireworks. As midnight struck, we were the only muzungus on the beach and were surrounded by Kenyans, whilst all the tourists refused to stray from the safety of their hotels. We swigged the bubbly from the bottle and watched the fireworks. Later on in the evening, as things were starting to get a little more messy, we strolled into the Italian resort, dancing g barefoot, rather than in 3 inch heels and dived into the pool fully dressed to the horror of those around us!

I had hoped to go on a dolphin safari trip where you get to go snorkelling and possibly swim with dolphins. Sadly for me, the boat drivers chose that time to go on strike. Instead I witnessed mini-riots on the beach, with the boat drivers and the police exchanging sharp words in Swahili. Since this was cancelled I decided to take myself off souvenir shopping and picked up a couple of paintings and some kikoys and kangas ( different types of Kenyan sarongs basically). I had also ordered some flip flops, but when I went to collect them I found they had been sold to Spaghetti People!