Friday September 3, 2010 – The long long road to Jinja, and a busy night at Adrift

Friday September 3, 2010 – The long long road to Jinja, and a busy night at Adrift


Up early. Too early. I made the mistake of trying to sneak out of the tent on wake-up to watch the sunrise. “Hi mommy – you awake”. Then there was an impala buck standing beside our tent looking lost and snorting repeatedly – Sarah thought that was absolutely hilarious. Between that and the ensuing singing it did not make for a slow, or quiet morning. Poor Elizabeth is not feeling well again, sore throat as well this time, and an early morning dose of sister was not what she needed. But we breakfasted on chocolate porridge (Nutella and oatmeal) and tea, watched a family of wart hogs with 4 tiny piggies rummage through the garbage and check out the campground, and loaded ourselves and our gear into the truck and headed off on a big day drive. Not helped by the fact that I insisted that the game drive out of the park was in fact a game drive, but we saw some lovely impala in the sunshine, and a big big herd of buffalo, which couldn’t decide whether to cross the road after I stopped and stood there and looked at us for the longest time before deciding they should turn tail and retreat. As we got to the edge of the park the numbers of game decreased, and cattle increased, and then we were through the gate and into cattle land for about 10 slow dusty km before hitting the tar road and heading east for Masaka, Kampala, and eventually Jinja. A 6 hour drive predicted. 300 km approx.
Roadworks. Did I mention roadworks. Well we had a good time for a while, beautiful new tar, but alas all good things come to an end, and the stages in creating beautiful new tar are not nearly so fun. Construction, dust, graders, gravel, more dust, ruts and bumps. They have the most incredible speed bumps. The standard when entering a town is a series of small hump that just rattles the car if you are going to fast – like hitting a cattle grid too fast. But the momma speed bumps lurk in wait- not marked or painted like they do in Rwanda. Killer mountain speedbumps that one drives up and over, cresting for a moment at the top. The low slung cars take them at an angle so as not to lose their undercarriage. The type we need on Dufferin St in Guelph. Fortunately we didn’t lose anything significant on them, but there was the odd one that almost caught us.
It gets greener and greener as we head east, with large plots of banana, and gets much more tropical in appearance. The road after Masaka, almost all the way to Kampala, goes through a lowland area, and in and out of large papyrus swamps where people apparently grow a lot of potatoes based on the number of piles of them in small markets by the side of the road. And every drainage ditch is now a speed bump. At some points I had my headlights on and the dust was so thick I couldn’t tell if there was a car ahead of me. Which there sometimes was, on the wrong side of the road even. The whole stay in your own lane until it is safe ot pass thing doesn’t really apply here the same way it does at home. But the horn is used just as a notification or warning, and no one seems to get mad. Although the guy whose truck got sideswiped by a bigger truck when they both tried to squeeze through a 1.5 lane wide area didn’t look too happy. As the drive goes on I have to catch myself and make sure I use the safer North American passing techniques, rather than just assuming that somehow it will all work out.
The roads are intermittently lined with markets – some are for food – a line of wooden stands with tidy piles of tomatoes, avocado, melons, bananas, onions, etc. In several towns there are thriving businesses to provide snacks to travelers – vendors in numbered labcoats wave fruit, meat on sticks, roasted bananas and flock to the open windows of the long distance buses to provide for their passengers. When we are presumably near to a lake there are people selling fish by the road as well – what look like large tilapia and the occasional big catfish. We’ve seen people driving with the fish attached to their front bumper – pretty dusty but a t least the car doesn’t smell like fish! For lunch we stop at the Equator – where they have another set of white concrete hoops (I don’t make the girls pose in them), a bunch of craft shops, and the AidChild Café and art market – upscale crafts and upscale lunches – on a lovely verandah with cushy chairs with unfortunately overlooks road construction at the moment. Famous for their flush toilets – a necessity for the travelling muzungu. Closer to Kampala the roads are lined by stalls selling basketwork, or wicker stools, or wicker bookcases in all colours. There is a town where the royal drum-makers lived, and where traditional cowhide drums are made, mostly for tourists and hotels though I assume these days.
Closer to Kampala the traffic intensifies, and we are back into a mix of semi-industrial shops and houses lining the roads. And the hordes of minibus taxis. We cleverly bypass Kampala itself with a ring road that works brilliantly, as long as one misses the cows grazing in the centres of the traffic circles, but get caught back into it for a while exiting on the east side towards Jinja. But eventually it clears and we are driving through countryside with sugar plantations and tea estates lining the road. We pass through a large forest reserve, and then eventually reach Jinja – passing over the Nile at the Owen’s dam bridge, and over an overflow run, with a myriad of water birds, turn off the tar and about 4 km later we’re at the Adrift Camp. And glad to be here as well. 4:30, after a 9:00 start.
The Adrift Camp is the centre for their white-water rafting, kayaking, bungee jumping, and jet boat activities. An open bar/restaurant, a series of tented camps and lodges, and several lawns for self campers. And lots of hot water for us all. We check out the dorm for Elizabeth – totally scary – 4 story bunkbeds withough enough space to sit up. She opts for the tent with Sarah and I. So we set up camp, and settle into the restaurant for the evening. The main guy who runs the rafting is named Josh and comes from Pembroke. Go figure. A young woman who grew up in Rhodesia seems to be the camp manager. Calling it Rhodesia tells a bit of her family background – they now run lodges up in the north in Kidepo park near Sudan. This is a main tourist spot – the overland truck from Mburu is here – and we all recognize each other, another truck pulls in just as we are settling for dinner, and then another pulls in at 9:00. It’s a hopping place. And our tent is way too close to the hoppin! Elizabeth skips dinner and bails early, I start her on antibiotics as she is really feeling punk and the big rafting day is tomorrow. She and Sarah head off to bed and I stay up to watch some of the festivities – the tradition appears to be that those who have rafted have to climb into a kayak hanging upside down from the rafters and then drink a shot while hanging upside down themselves. The choice of the shot appears to be colour based – as in I will have a pink shot, I will have a blue shot. It seems like the local liqueurs are all the same except for in colour. Eventually I cave as well and go back to the tent to listen to the music and hilarity – I think there is some additional game going on but I can’t be bothered to check it out. Sarah wakes up and sits there in the tent for a while grooving to the music before falling back to sleep. At 12:00 the bar closes and within a short time all is dark and silent other than the occasional sound of a tent zipper closing or opening.