November 28th-December 1st, 2023
Since the mountain gorilla permit cost $700 USD, I wanted to
make sure that I arrived to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest with time to spare, in
case of any travel problems. From Queen
Elizabeth Park, I took a matatu to the small city of Mbarara. I was lucky in that I had the front seat for
the trip, thanks to Jason at the Elephant Home pulling a favour with a friend. It was one of my more comfortable taxi van
rides I’ve had in Uganda. It was a
beautiful drive, climbing a small mountain range with great views back at the large
trees sparsely standing throughout the green plains of the national park and
the surrounding area.
As we began to descend from the hills, tea plantations were
everywhere as well as a tea factory.
Rain began to fall as we approached Mbarara. I loved seeing the boda bodas with a
specialized, elongated umbrella mounted between their handlebars and a square
piece of plastic that created a rain shield for the driver and passenger. Such a simple yet elegant solution.
I was dropped off at a gas station before reaching the town
center and the driver told me that I could get a bus to my destination, the
small city Kabale, which was to the west.
As soon as I exited the matatu, I was swarmed by guys asking me where I
was headed. Getting wise to the ways of
matatu pushers, I told them I first needed a toilet and then I was going to
wait for the bus. After taking care of
the nature call, I asked the man behind the counter in the service station if,
and when a bus was coming to Kabale. He
said in about an hour. It was mildly
raining so I stood with my bags by a gas pump, sheltered from the
precipitation.
A matatu man came up and told me that they were leaving
soon. Earlier, when I first arrived at
the gas station, I had made the mistake of telling him that I would only take a
matatu if I could sit in the front seat.
“Sure” he said, as we started walking towards the van. He handed me a ticket and wanted my 35,000
shillings (about $15) immediately.
Again, getting wise to the “rules of the road” here, I declined paying
as I didn’t want to commit to a vehicle that wasn’t going to leave for another
half an hour, which is often the case. I
also noticed that there were already a couple of men occupying the front
seat. I told him no and gave him the
ticket back. I’m not going to pull the “mzungu
card” and make someone move back to the seat, so I returned to the gas pump. I’ll wait for the bus.
A young man wearing a long burgundy coat with a bus logo on
the front and back asked me where I was going.
He proceeded to tell me that the bus from Kampala to Kabale was full,
and that my best bet was to take a matatu.
Hold on, whose payroll are you on?
“I’ll wait and see, thanks.”
Surely someone would be getting off in this city. I decided to ask one of the women who was
working at the pumps about the bus, and she told me it should arrive in less
than half an hour and that it would pull into the gas station. Okay, I’m waiting.
I was approached by yet another matatu man whose van would
be leaving after the first one, and his front seats were empty. Yet again, I told him that I was waiting for
the bus. “It’s full, you won’t get
on.” A bystander piped in and told him
“Look, he wants to take the bus!”. That
was nice of that guy. It’s nice to get
some honesty once in a while.
The first matatu, finally loaded up to the tits with all
kinds of things strapped on the roof including plastic patio chairs, rolled
over to the pump to fuel up…of course, that’s their normal operating
procedure. You’d think that they would
plan ahead and get gas before loading up with passengers, but logic doesn’t
always rule in this country. I’m glad
that I hadn’t accepted that ride as it was jam packed with humans inside. Five minutes later, the bus appeared. I wandered over and bought a ticket from an
employee as he exited the bus. It was 20,000
shillings ($8). He told me to wait
before boarding the bus as many of the riders got off for a toilet break. While waiting, the young man in the purple
bus jacket came over and asked for 30,000 shillings to get on the bus. “I have a ticket thanks.” He didn’t even have a ticket book and was
just trying to fleece me out of some money…bastard.
The real ticket guy returned, and then took me onboard to
find a seat. It was actually almost
completely full…but I’m glad I held out with the matatu pushers as this would
still be a more comfortable ride. The
bus was a bit strange, and definitely stinky.
It was a combination of human body odor, some strange food and who knows
what else. Additionally, the bottom of
the windows was at eye level, even if you sat up straight. Still, better than being sardine canned into
a van.
Arriving in Kabale, as usual I was approached by boda boda
drivers and a guy with a car. My
accommodation was about a kilometer away and since I’d been sitting all day, I
decided to walk. The Riverside Resort
Hotel was pretty nice. It seemed that I
was the only one staying there since the staff knew my name as I walked in
while I tracked mud all over their pristine, tiled floor.
After settling in, I grabbed my laptop and headed out to the
patio that overlooked some beautiful gardens.
I interrupted a staff meeting that was happening in the restaurant. One of the staff brought me a beer, which was
10,000 shillings, the most expensive I had had in Uganda, and it was warm as
piss. Yuck. I asked him if he could put some in the
fridge for later as I caught up on my blogging.
The next beer was a bit colder, but then my third, that I ordered during
dinner, was warm again… Huh?!? Wouldn’t you think to put more than one in
the fridge when the customer states that they like cold beer?!? It doesn’t seem like Ugandans care for cold
beer…but as I headed off to bed, I gave the waiter a pointer that mzungus
prefer cold ones, hopefully the message got through for the next visiting
tourist.
The following morning, James, one of the staff, escorted me
part way back towards the main road and explained where the taxi stand
was. I needed to go about 40 kilometers
to a town called Muko before taking a boda boda on the unpaved road to Rushaga,
where my accommodation for Bwindi was located.
I don’t know why, but the standard Toyota van matatus seemed to be far
and few between in Kabale. Instead, the
taxis were small five seater cars…well, five seater according to the car’s
manual.
The second car in the line-up of disheveled automobiles was
headed to Muko. It was almost full, but
that usually means that they can fit one or two more bodies in it. I was initially put in the back seat and with
the sun beating down. Even though we
weren’t leaving yet, they wanted to shut the door but the window was closed and
the sun was beating down. I asked whether
I could lower the powered window. I was offered to move to the front seat as
likely the back window no longer functioned.
Speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve yet been in a taxi, be it a van,
car or motorcycle, where the speedometer still works!
I sat beside a young woman, I’m guessing in her early 20s,
but I find it hard to tell with Ugandans as they age quite well. Starvia was very pleasant, and I enjoyed
talking to her during the hour plus drive that the 41 kilometers took to
Muko. We stopped at this big street
market with hundreds of locals milling about.
Starvia mentioned that it was not very common for people to see a mzungu
in a taxi like this…most Westerners took a private car. I told her that since I was travelling for 3
months, it would be too costly to take a private car everywhere. Plus, I’d miss out on some of the cultural
experiences one has while moving about with public transportation, even though
time consuming, tiring and uncomfortable.
Pulling away from the market, we picked up some more women
who sat in the backseat and I did a quick count. I couldn’t believe that there were ten human
beings in this car! Four in the front,
and six women in the back. It’s a five-seater! I felt sorry for the ladies in the back. The car had a manual transmission and I
thought it was funny that the driver had to reach across both legs of the man
beside him in order to change gears!
About twenty minutes later, everyone apart from three
passengers got out of the car and then in jumped a super energetic, happy guy
into the backseat. He asked me where I
was going and he was excited to hear that I was headed to Rushaga which was his
destination as well. My spidey senses
were heightened at first, but it turned out that Gavis worked at a lodge near
the one I was staying at. He was just
returning from some days off. He
suggested that we share a boda boda and that when we arrived at Muko, he should
do the bargaining with the motorcyclists.
I was still a bit skeptical, but in the end, Gavis pulled through and
became a new friend.
We hopped on a motorcycle taxi driven by a guy named Brian
(I thought I heard “Blan” from Gavis’ pronunciation). It was quite a ride, and a beautiful one at
that, along the unpaved 25 kilometres of road that led to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. It was up and down as it hugged along the
hillside while I enjoyed some spectacular views. Along the way, Gavis tried to sell me on his
lodge and that I should stay there. I told
him that I was unsure if I had already paid a deposit or would lose some money
if I cancelled my booking at Nshongi Camp that I had made through Booking.com.
Eventually arriving at Nshongi, that Gavis claimed was owned
by his uncle, we walked down the 40 plus steps and were greeted by some
friendly staff. Gavis definitely knew
everyone and I don’t know whether it was due to his influence, but I was
offered a free upgrade from the dorm room that I had booked, to a private
room. Nice! It turned out that there was only one German
couple staying there that night. There
would be a Spanish couple there the following night and then I was the only one
on my last night. It’s definitely low
season here.
My upgraded room:
The staff at Nshongi were great, especially the main guy,
Paphra, and an effervescent 21-year-old named Eunice. Eunice made me laugh and had quite the
joie-de-vie. Her energy and happiness
were infectious. Paphra was a solid dude,
and I was surprised when I found out that he was only 23 years old. Some of the other staff members were Agnes,
Bosco and Moses. I didn’t catch the name
of the last two or three guys who primarily worked in the kitchen.
I had an interesting conversation with Eunice. Most Ugandans are shocked when they find out
that I’m an unmarried 52 year-old with no kids and non-religious. There is a cultural pressure in this country
that one must get married and have kids.
Part of the reason is that as your parents get older, the kids and
grandchildren will take care of them. Some
marriages are arranged marriages by the parents. Families tend to be big too, with 4-5 kids
being on the small side, 7-8 more normal.
Eunice stated that she only wants to “produce one”, were her exact
words. She didn’t like the idea of being
married for the rest of her life so she wanted to have a “4-5 year contract”
with the father of her child. It was definitely
an interesting way to look at it, and I respected her independent thinking.
Gavis asked me to come and check out the lodge where he
worked, called Bweza. He sent a young
guy named Isaiah to escort me over there as the trail was not overly
obvious. After a ten-minute walk, we
arrived at the fancier resort and I was introduced to the owner Wycliff,
followed by a couple from Nashville, Bill and Nancy, and I joined them for
lunch. Bill and Nancy, in their early
60s, were a lovely couple on a short two-week trip. They had gone gorilla trekking that morning
in Bwindi, and were going for a second trek in a different forest the next day
with Wycliff.
I ended up spending the entire afternoon at Bweza, as the
view was much nicer than at Nshongi. Isaiah
escorted me back, which I was grateful for as I may not have made the correct
turn on a few forks in the path.
Near Nshongi Camp, there were some local kids playing
football (soccer), on the dirt road which hugged the side of a hill. It reminded me of Himachal Pradesh, in the
northern part of India, where I saw kids playing cricket in a tight space on a
hill where the ball could get easily lost in the bushes. There was one boy standing by the side that
seemed to be doing a running commentary of the action, which I found amusing.
My stay at Nshongi Camp was fantastic, mainly due to the
awesome people working there. We took a
group photo on the morning I was leaving, with many of them asking when I would
be back. Sadly, probably never, but I
couldn’t say that.
Keep doing the good work guys.
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