My Road

Bukoto Market Road

If you step out of my house, you arrive at Bukoto Market Road. At first glance, there is nothing particularly unique about this road – it is the usual dusty, many potholed road that you find all over Uganda. However, having lived here for some time, I started thinking that this street can provide you with pretty much every service you could possibly need, it just isn’t that obvious to the untrained eye.

One of the first things you notice is the market itself. The stalls are filled with an abundance of tropical fruits and vegetable that people pay a small fortune for in Waitrose, from ripe and delicious avocados to sweet and juicy pineapple or bundles of green bananas known as matooke. There are small cages filled with squashed looking hens to provide eggs laid right there on site, fresh tilapia fish from Lake Victoria and butchers selling every last part of the animals for meat (to be honest, I try to avoid even looking at the butcher’s – it is quite gruesome to a veggie like myself and gives off a horrendous stench due to the lack of refrigeration).

As far as entertainment is concerned, you can drop into any one of the dozens of local bars along the road. I can walk to at least 5 within a couple of minutes. My favourite is the Beer Garden, which has shady areas for an afternoon tipple and some decidedly scary statues inside that can take you by surprise after a few Tuskers! More recently, The Upper Ends Terrace has opened up only a few footsteps from my house, and the waitress has been well trained in the art of chopping off the head when I order fish and chips. In November and December, local vendors drop by offering fried grasshoppers – a local delicacy. Should you wish to continue into the wee small hours, you simply walk next door to the nightclub, which blasts out R & B music most evenings. If premiership football is your thing, then there are countless small bars with Ugandans gathered around small televisions or big screens of their favourite English teams. If you get the munchies later on, then you can pick up samosas, a chapattis on the corner and of course the famous the famous Rolexes. To the uninitiated, a Rolex is not an expensive watch, but some fried eggs rolled into a chapatti with some chopped onions, cabbage and tomatoes and fried on a pan over charcoal. Kampala’s very own version of the kebab shop!

After all this food, then a bit if exercise is surely in order. Running and cycling down this road is always a bit hazardous, due to the number of matatus, bodas and potholes, but there is also a gym above one of the small supermarkets. I tried out a few of the aerobics classes in the Sunrise gym and it wasn’t too bad, but obviously not on the same scale as the Kabira!

There are a number of local clinics, where the medical equipment and hygiene levels resemble something out of the dark ages. One of the shacks has a sign advertising counselling for rape victims and I also spotted a clinic offering HIV tests. In the UK, I understand that you are strongly advised to go through counselling before even taking an HIV test and even having being tested can have adverse effects on your health insurance and all kinds of things. Sadly, in Uganda, HIV rates are high, and not everyone has access to testing and treatment. I can’t imagine having to go through such a traumatic experience as that in such dismal conditions – and yet it happens on my doorstep every day.

Anything and everything can be fixed in Uganda. Nobody throws anything away unless it is absolutely done for, and even then, somebody would probably be willing to try and sell the parts for a few hundred Shillings. At the top end of the road, you can witness a total lack of regard for health and safety as you see a metal workshop, with sparks flying across the open street and the workers rarely wear any sort of protective clothing. Electricians tinker with appliances so ancient looking that you wonder whether they were originally powered by steam. Roadside mechanics can fix up your car at bargain basement prices if you’re willing to take a chance on their level of expertise and the quality of the parts. Numerous hardware stores are fully stocked with every type of not, bolt and screw and sell the widely advertised paint. Tailors use old fashioned Singer sewing machines to make and repair garments.

Bukoto Market Road can also take you by surprise. Who could guess, that in the midst of all this, are a couple of art galleries that sell paintings that go for hundreds of dollars? Just off the road, there is a studio where a collective of artists sell their work. Inside the galleries, the artists have depicted and interpreted Ugandan life for us, in vibrant colours and larger than life.

If you do decide to stray from this road, there are a number of public transport options available. If you’re feeling flush, you can take a private hire, which is better known to us as a taxi. For short journeys, boda bodas (motorbike taxis) provide a more economical option and are the perfect way of dodging through the busy Kampala traffic. If you want to use a helmet, you have to bring your own, but Ugandan ladies have no problem with riding through the streets side saddle. If you have time on your hands and don’t mind getting up close and personal with your fellow passengers, then you can take a matatu. These battered and crowded minibuses can take you to the furthest reaches of Kampala for about 10p. Again they are not known for their great safety record, as the drivers are somewhat kamikaze and fail to use their indicators. Don’t expect to see an organised timetable or route map though – if you wish to know where they go, you have to ascertain this information from the conductor, who yells the directions of the window in rapid Lugandan.
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If all of this has persuaded you to pay a visit, then you will be happy to hear that there is a hotel, so you can stay as long as you like. I don’t imagine the nightly rates are too high and you could probably secure a booking even in high season. I’m not sure I can vouch for the comfort levels and bathroom facilities – I haven’t been inside, but it does look pretty basic, but I am sure it would offer a very interesting experience!

Volcanoes and the post

Birthdays often make you think of family and friends at home, and what better way is there to be reminded of loved ones, than with a special letter or parcel? The internet is all very well, but it doesn't quite have to same effect as a handwritten message in a specially chosen card. Having finally persuaded my mum to post me a card and some goodies (she hasn't had much luck with the post in the past, although I think she must have upset somebody in the local Post Office at some point, as other people have posted me some treats and not had such trouble), I eagerly awaited the promised card and goodies from England. I am told that she popped the package in the post on Wednesday and that all being well, it should arrive by ... well ... May would be great and not too optimistic! Then what should happen? This blasted volcano erupts and spews copious amounts of ash all over Europe, grinding all flights to a halt. So where on earth, I wonder, could my parcel be? Has it left England yet? Is it lost in transit, or will the some corrupt folk working for the postal services treat the whole thing as a great excuse to pilfer all the goodies that are supposed to be winging their way to people across the world? Will my mum ever trust the post ever again? I highly doubt it!

On the other hand, when I looked at my Facebook page at the end of the day, I was delighted to see messages from old and new friends far and wide. I actually realised that I have messages from people literally all over the world - covering all of the continents. I am literally only missing friends in Antarctica! So although it isn't quite the same as a real letter, we are lucky to be able to stay connected to friends and families across the miles.

How I was converted to camping

The world can be divided into two types of people – those who like to stay in a tent and those who prefer the comfort of a hotel. Up until now, I have been a firm believer that camping is absolute madness, entrenching myself in the camp of non-campers so to speak. Why sleep on the floor and risk getting rained on in the night when there’s a perfectly good hotel with fluffy towel, a hot bath and a squishy bed to lie on? So here’s how I was converted.
When I travelled in Colombia, there were several options, from the fincas or farms we used to stay at to the luxurious boutique hotels in Cartagena. They were affordable and, to be fair, we were spoilt rotten. However, when I arrived in Uganda, I discovered that there were 3 options: a luxury lodge, a local cheap hotel or a tent. I have tried them all. If you stay in a lodge you are treated to 3 sumptuous meals a day, crisp white sheet on the bed and fluffy towels to wrap around you after taking a long hot bath, then you can sit out on a balcony overlooking the wildlife crossing the plains. Well this is all very well, but I had better stop my romantic visions of Africa, where you float around the lodge swathed in white linen, as my budget does not allow it and white linen is the most impractical material possible for this environment. On a teacher’s wage, this is a rare treat – if I want to stay in comfort, then I had better go and find some sugar daddy to fund it, but as I am not really attracted to the overweight, 50 year old bigoted SAffers you find in Bubbles every night of the week, then I had better find an alternative.
So that brings us to the next option of a local hotel. I have stayed in them and can’t really say I recommend it. On the way back from a trip to see the gorillas we didn’t make as much progress as we had hoped (did I ever mention that Ugandan roads are in a poor state of repair? Well that’s another story!) so we stayed in a town called Mbarara. Mbarara is a fairly typical Ugandan town – hot, dusty and hectic and not the greatest in terms of tourist attractions. We consulted the guidebook and noted three listings, so we went to investigate the first, which was also the cheapest. It was right on the main road with no secure parking, so my first thought was ‘Will somebody steal my indicators/headlamps?’ This may seem like a silly concern, but somebody has infact stolen my indicators in the past, so it is not such a crazy notion. Problem number two, and there is no better way of saying this, but it stank of wee. A swift glance into the room told me that the beds were ancient, the mozzie nets were rendered useless by the number of holes in them and the floor had a number of dubious stains on it. The floor also had a smattering of cockroach carcasses and I wondered if it was also infested with rodents. You will not be surprised to hear that I didn’t hang around for long and insisted that we splash out on the more expensive, but overall cleaner and more pleasant hotel on the outskirts of town. So there we have the local hotel experience and I can say it’s not for me.
In the end we are left with camping. My prior camping experience had been mainly limited to the Lake District. Although very beautiful, also very rainy and cold at night, even in the midst of an English heatwave. Besides that, I had camped on a Machu Picchu trek, which was also very cold, but at least the porters put the tents up, cooked for you and I had an Arctic conditions sleeping bag. Then the most off-putting camping experience of all was being forced to camp on school grounds with 120 seven year olds in the Anglo in Bogota, which was also distinctly chilly. Clearly, unless you are to go above the snowline in the Rwenzori Mountains, or to the nippy Lake Bunyoni, freezing to death is not much of a concern in Uganda. What’s more, I have met some of the best equipped people here. Who knew that you could not only have a calor-gas stove, but also a toaster attachment? What could be more comfortable than an air bed that is inflated in seconds by a small pump powered by the cigarette lighter in the car? What is even more reassuring than all the fancy gadgets though, is the peace of mind that you are sleeping in your own clean sleeping bag, in your own clean tent and that you are not going to be attacked in the middle of the night by various beasties. Of course, the other great thing about camping is that you don’t have to pay any extra for a room with a view, you simply pitch you tent in a good spot and as soon as you unzip the door in the morning, you have the best views imaginable. I have to say that some of my Canadian and South African friends here are the best endorsers of camping and that they have opened my eyes to new experiences and I am thankful to them for that!
Having said all of this, should anybody offer to pay for me to stay at any of the luxury lodges instead, I would be there in a flash!

Moaning ex-pats

I got out of bed the wrong side this morning. I know this may be hard to believe, since my new found love of yoga should be sending me into constant state of zen, but it's true. I probably got out of the wrong side of bed because I had to sleep on the wrong side of the bed because my foam mattress has a gigantic dent in it on the side where I normally sleep. Nevertheless, this morning I was one grumpy mzungu.
I got up and got dressed for the gym, muttering and chunnering that I didn't like the shorts anymore and everything else was in the wash. I set off to leave the house and found that the guard had popped out, probably to buy himself some food, and internally groaned some more that I would have to open the gate myself. I arrived at the club, then got in a strop that I was asked to sign in and that the girl in reception had the audacity not to recognise me, then met a friend for coffee and got agitated that in spite of waving for at least 30 seconds and shouting one of my 3 words of Luganda 'Sebo' (or is it Swahili - god I am so bloody ignorant sometimes), nobody came. I strutted over to the pool while I awaited my coffee - and can you believe it, no popcorn. A few minutes later, a very efficient waiter brought me some biscuits and a smile. And at that moment, as the sugar hit my bloodstream, I realised it was time to smile and snap out of it. I have a genuine fear of becoming one of those horrendous expats that inhabit this fine city.
Here are a few examples of things we have all complained about in our time in Uganda - both myself, friends and those horrible creatures who have lived here for far too long (and I am referring to the ones who were not born here, not our generous host nation).

Shopping

Yesterday I had a notion that I would like to bake a few cookies or cakes to welcome back friends from their holidays. After googling Miss Nigella Lawson's top recipes for scrumptuous, calorific treats, I spotted cherry chocolate buns and gingerbread. It sounds delicious and my mouth was watering at the thought of such fare. Then, in the supermarket, I realised that they would not stock the golden syrup required and that the recommended Waitrose Morello Cherry Jam was a more than distant dream. If I went to another supermarket, then I would be in with a chance of getting some marmalade, which was the suggested substitute. A big sigh ensued, followed by some reason. Most people here eat one meal a day, of either posho (a kind of porridge made from a grain), matooke or rice and beans. I am not trying to say that we are wrong to crave certain foods, but that we do actually have quite an abundant choice and that we do not really lack anything. I can walk into the supermarket and find Heinz beans or ketchup, Cadbury's chocolate, Kellogs cereals, Doritos, pasta and pesto and many more familiar foods. WE ARE NOT THAT DEPRIVED!!

Wines

Wine comes with further whines.'Oh, I'm so sick of this South African wine'. Oh well, this deserves a typical Ugandan response of 'Sorry'. If you don't like it, drink waragi and then see how great your insides feel in the morning.

Restaurants

I teach in an International school and the students come from all over the world. They may be very wealthy, upper class Ugandans or they may be Europeans or North Americans, whose parents are working here for embassies or various charities or NGOs. For sure, most of the Europeans and North Americans would not be sending their children to such a school in their home countries and are only doing so here because their companies are footing the bill. Anyway, the other day I overheard a conversation between a couple of students regarding where they like to eat. Here's a snippet:
Child A: What's your favourite restaurant?
Child B: I really like Mambo Point (yummy pizza place)
Child A: Really ... well I guess that's good for a quick bite, but I mean real restaurants.
Child B looks crestfallen.
Child C: I used to like the restaurant at the Serena (posh 5 star hotel, new wing built for the Queen for the big Commonwealth conference a couple of years ago), but think it's gone downhill recently, so I have to say I much prefer the Emin Pasha (posh boutique style hotel, where Prince Charles stayed at same Commonwealth conference)
At this point, it took all I could muster not to bang my head against the wall and yell at the kids for being the most spoilt brats ever to walk this earth. I was also filled with self-loathing for choosing to teach in such an institution. I see my left-wing ideals don't go as far as to actually teach those in any kind of need when I am presented with the cushty option of teaching a minute class of 14 on a very light timetable. Bloody champagne socialist that I am becoming.

Maids

This is a common one, which again, I am guilty of bemoaning. Complaints may be about the fact that clothes go bobbly and worn more quickly than usual, not liking the way beds are made, the floor is mopped and so on. Well wakey wakey - I am very aware that I have not had to scrub my own loo for the past 4 years or do my own ironing and unless you are landed gentry, then you will never have this priviledge in a western country.

Activities

One day, I actually said 'Oh no, my private tennis lesson is cancelled because of the rain. Well I suppose I'll have to go for a manicure and pedicure instead'. Once again, when did I become such a princess?

So if all of this bothers me so much, why am I staying another year? Well, I like to think that I can instill some better values in the children I teach and help them make the right choices when it comes to treating other people. I also know that I have a bloody good life here. Yes, some things are frustrating and we all have our bad days. But they are the days when we should opt to lie low, read a good book or chill out at home. We all CHOSE to come here and unless you develop acceptance you will never be content with your choice.

Why I stopped writing and why I should start again ...

Almost an entire year has passed and I have to confess that I have been very neglectful of my blog. Why has this happened I ask myself? Well here is a list of excuses I have made - let's have one for every month of blog neglect:

1) I have to go for a swim.
2) I have to go for a bike ride.
3) I have to go for a run (OK I have to stop this, otherwise I will end up with a list of 12 different exercises!)
4) I had one too many drinks on Saturday night, which makes my brain too fuzzy to write on a Sunday!
5) I have to go to the shops.
6) I have to go to the shops again to try to buy the things that were out of stock when I went yesterday
7) The sun is shining, so it would be a shame not to go to the pool.
8) I have too much work to do and am too tired to write anything.
9) I got engrossed in a good book.
10) I got addicted to House, then Californication.
11) I sometimes feel like my life is not adventurous or exciting enough to write about.
12) I started to panic about how people would judge me for what I am writing.

So of all of the reasons listed above, only the final two approach the truth. Let's start with the eleventh reason. When you first arrive somewhere, everything is new and exciting. You see your new country in full technicolour - the first taste of matooke throws your tastebuds into ... desperately searching for whatever the opposite of ecstacy is ... aaah nausea, disgust, abbaration (thank you Roget's online thesaurus); the first boda ride down a potholed road makes your tummy churn with anxiety as you wonder whether it's a good idea to cling on so tightly to the driver; encounters in the shops and other service areas can fill you with disbelief and despair ... and so on. So what happens when the novelty wears off? You are left with a void. I've already talked about the crazy roads, the 2 hour long wait in a restaurant, and you all politely giggled in the right places at the same time as breathing a big sigh of relief that it wasn't your life.

Now for number twelve. Hmmmm - so many people have blogs here and some share them and some prefer to keep them quiet, using them simply as a personal diary. Some people write a blog to keep friends and family updated on their day to day lives, some like to make bold statements about politics, religion or society and some people just seem to have a public moaning forum. The intention of my blog was always the former, but as the craziness of Kampala life turns into the run of the mill, I started to dry up a little. There is also a need to take care in what one says in these situations. What starts as a funny anecdote can reveal deeper feelings and beliefs and can also cause offence. Many of us also try to convey a positive view of our lives overseas - we share pictures from safari, outstanding natural beauty and adventures. We don't share photos of the supermarket, our offices or the more boring aspects of our lives. Nor do I wish to be tarred with the brush of sounding like a 'spoiled moaning expat' - but more about that later. I want to write a blog not a bloan (cross between a blog and a moan - ok that didn't really work!).

So what now? Well I am going to make a promise to myself to try to be a better and more committed blogger. Why? Partly because I said I wasn't going to write group emails anymore and partly because, when I actually sit still for long enough, I actually enjoy the process of writing them. And what, you may ask, is making me sit still for longer than a nanosecond? Well, there's a rat in the kitchen right now and I'm too scared to leave my room!
Stay tuned - I'm going to try really hard to actually write this thing n

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.