Weekend in Kampala

Saturday, February 4th, 2012

Kampala - Bus and Snacks

To get to Kampala at a reasonable hour we woke up at 6:00 AM and called Joseph as well as another boda. When we got into town we stopped outside of Julius’s house so that he could show us to the bus park - although here they’re apparently called ‘coasters.’ 

The ride to Kampala cost 10,000 Sh, which is about CAD $4.30. The deal is that the bus does not leave until it is full. It does not matter the time, it just goes when it’s full, and you pay about 30 minutes before you arrive. The ride itself is about 2-6 hours, depending on traffic. We were lucky this time and it was only about 4 hours. 

Heather and I quickly got some snacks for the ride, including some muffin type things and some stale crackers and water. Later, after getting on, we scampered out to go to the bathroom, which was 200 shillings each. It was quite dirty, so for the rest of the ride we were both saying, “Don’t touch x, y, and z with your feet because they’re dirty from the bathroom!” We weren’t sure you even had to pay until the man outside, who we thought was a janitor or something of the sort, stopped us and told us we had to pay.

It was another half hour or so before we actually left. Otherwise it was completely uneventful, except for the man who came onboard for about twenty minutes and tried to sell us his dodgy looking medicine. People were outside of our windows trying to sell their wares, and despite her weekend-long curiosity about the Strawberry Fanta, Heather didn’t buy any. 

An interesting thing about the buses is that they use up every bit of space. When everyone has settled in the side seats, they pull down another seat that looks like an armrest on the right side and people sit in that seat. This results in absolutely no walking space. You want to get out? Sorry, you can’t. You’re trapped until the end of the bus ride. Not that it really makes a different anyway -- where are you supposed to go? The bathroom? Nope, there isn’t one. May as well just sit.

Like Kara, we also had a chicken friend, but luckily it was far behind us and not next to us. But we did also have sacks of something on the floor that made it difficult to walk even when the seats were up.

Julie and Lydia

When we arrived at the New City Annex Hotel, the same place that we stayed for our orientation, we were at reception when the woman said, “Oh, the other two girls just checked in.”

The three of us just laughed, “No, no- it’s just us this time,” thinking that she just meant some other mzungus. 

Later, when we were eating in the hotel restaurant downstairs, two figures appeared out of the corner of my eye. “Hi!” I said excitedly, because there to my right were Julie and Lydia. The woman hadn’t been wrong after all. In fact, she had a good memory. 

They sat down and chatted with us. They had left for Kampala at 6, versus our 8, and had arrived at 10 versus our 12. They were on their way to eat at an Ethiopian restaurant (to our dismay - we had already ordered) and then they were going to the Mango Palace, a historic tourist destination where Idi Amin tortured people. 

It was so awesome to see them, and such a surprise, too!

Plane Ticket Fail

After lunch Heather, Leila, and I went to the ticket office for flights around the corner. Despite having to get our bags checked in security, write down our phone numbers (We didn’t know ours, so Heather ended up just writing a random number down. I hadn’t realized so I said, “Wow, I’m so impressed that you know your phone number,” for which I received a glare.) and other information, we still found the office closed. 

Everything was closed. It was a Saturday, and apparently, against our initial thoughts the travel agency was closed. You’d think that they’d be open on a Saturday, when most of their potential clients would be available to book tickets, but no. 

We had to go to the bank quickly for Leila, and then we boda’d up to the other travel agencies, which ended up being so close and Leila went to the Mango Palace with Lydia and Julie. The travel agencies that Heather and I went to were all closed as well. 

It was the entire point of coming to Kampala in the first place, so we were slightly annoyed. So, like good Canadian girls, we decided to treat ourselves to frappes. 

Fraps (and shopping)

While the other three girls went and educated themselves about Ugandan history, Heather and I got a frappe at Bimbo, an American-style restaurant that serves cold drinks, ice cream, and pizzas and burgers. 

We both ordered frappes. Mine came out first. It was lukewarm. “We have no ice,” said the waiter, a tallish guy around our age with a lisp. 

“Okay,” I replied. Sure, I had hoped my frappe would be cold, but if they have no ice, they have no ice.

About 5, 10 minutes later, Heather’s frappe comes out. It has ice. Wait, what? But the guy told me they had no ice! So we drag him back and spend the next five minutes trying to explain that they must actually have ice, because they made my drink first when they supposedly didn’t have ice, but Heather’s had ice and hers came out second. So there must be ice, and I wanted some. It was the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had with a waiter before (not to mention a ridiculous problem, and a ridiculous one to care about, but I really wanted some ice… It only made sense), and both Heather and I were laughing by the end of it. Even the waitress who eventually sorted out the problem was giggling a bit. 

I must admit, it’s very funny. What’s also funny is what you care about, and how much you care about those things you care about. When is it ridiculous? When do you leave it? And when do seemingly stupid things suddenly become extremely important?

After frappes we went into the mall. On the side of the road some guy came and tried to sell us sunglasses. “No, we don’t want them,” we said, but the guy was insistent. Finally Heather said, “Five thousand” (Shillings - CAD $2.15) And after a few minutes of bargaining he actually said yes. We didn’t want sunglasses, but we both bought them at 5,000 Sh. I wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity. Also, there was another guy trying to get in on the deal, and he wasn’t happy when the price we set was 5,000 Sh. However, he still sold them to us at that price. I was happy he did, because he had a nice pair of fake Dior sunglasses that I liked.

It wasn’t a long walk, but by the time we got to the mall we were already craving frappes again. We set ourselves down in the coffee shop in the middle of Garden City mall and got another set of frappes. They were amazing, far better than the ones at Bimbo. 

Frappes are actually a lot better in Uganda than in Canada. For one thing, they use actual milk and real ingredients. They don’t taste like preservatives. They don’t feel slimy from the whipped cream. They aren’t hyper sweet. They’re just straight up amazing.

Anyways, after we went to the book store. I told Heather that I felt at home there, and we spent a fair bit of time just looking at the books. Heather had to convince me not to buy anything. I had to save for my trip to Tanzania. 

Later, the two of us went to Woolworths. “This is home to me,” said Heather, looking over the clothes.

Dinner and Dance

For dinner we went to a very nice Indian restaurant on the top of the Garden City Mall. After, we went dancing. Watching everyone dance, knowing exactly how to move, while the music confounded our ears and our limbs, was the first time Heather and I felt truly like ‘Others.’ The music was so different from what we were used to, and so was the dancing, and people were looking through us as though we weren’t there. Usually, mzungus draw attention to themselves like a fire in a forest whether through their dress, mannerisms, language or, as it most common, the color of their skin. When this happens people usually wanted to speak to us, to get to know the foreigners or to see if one can get something from them. When we were dancing, or not dancing but sitting against the wall, as it were, it was as though we were not there at all. Non-people, because everyone there was there to socialize with each other. Or, at least, so it felt. It was interesting and worthwhile, I suppose, because everyone should know how it feels to feel like an Other once in a while.

However, it changed soon when a group of friends all living in Kampala invited us to their table to chat. That was fun, and soon as they tried to drive the crowds out they began to play American music. Like a charm, the crowds began to peter away and we began to dance the way we knew how.

Later, when we danced again, we learned to copy the way people moved and bobbed and danced, which made it easier and much more fun, for me at least. 

Sunday, February 5th, 2012

The Bus Home - Transmission Failure Etc.

Our last day in Kampala was a lot of fun, but on our way home we had a bit of a transmission failure. It was dark and we had to find a minibus that would take us. We were supposed to pay for half but then Heather and I went to the bathroom, not realizing that the guy would be gone when we came back. Anyhow, our first option of transport was a cattle car. Leila knew it was safe because the woman she had been sitting next to on the bus had gotten on it, and she said it was fine. However, we accidentally paid the wrong people as there was a huge swarm around us trying to get us to pay, and we weren’t able to get on. A minibus finally came around and let us on. We were so relieved. When we finally got to Masaka and Joseph picked us up we were so excited to see him. He managed to take all three of us and our bags on his motorcycle. 

Now, don’t worry (I’m talking to you, Dad…). This sort of thing doesn’t happen often. We have taken buses before and since and that has not happened again. Even at the time it was nothing even close to dire. There were other options we could take and we got home just fine. Everything was alright, and we weren’t the only ones who needed an extra ride, so it wasn’t as though we were left completely lost. It was really no big deal in my eyes, just a delay.