As we reached to turn off the alarm in our unexpectedly fancy hotel room, reminiscent of something from The Block, with its timber feature wall, hanging chair and flying bird mural over the bed, we pinched ourselves to remember we were in Africa! Home of Rafiki, Sumba, Mufasa and Kimba the White Lion! So exciting! Though it was an early start this morning, a solid sleep meant we were ready to tackle all that lay ahead today. We had an amazing array of foods to choose from for breakfast – everything from custom made omelettes to pancakes, fresh fruit and a curry dish with a surprise ingredient of bananas. From all reports, it was a taste sensation.

After a safety briefing on the dangers of phone snatchers, who actually pop their hands through the bus windows to get their mitts on your mobiles, we closed the bus windows tight and travelled a short distance to the main Watoto church in Kampala for their Sunday service. This place was huge! In its former life it was a cinema and then it was used as a military headquarters for Idi Amin. Put to far greater use now, it has become a place full of joy and hope. Before the service, we had an orientation and induction to Watoto, where we learned more of the vision and work of this great organisation. As the needs of the nation have changed, they have shifted focus to include the vulnerable and poor in the community, raising money to start an agricultural centre where they will train and equip Ugandans to work the land and have a sustainable income from the produce they harvest. They explained that agriculturally speaking, the Ugandans haven’t ever been encouraged or taught how to plan for their future needs. For example, they may grow vegetables for now and eat them, not really having planned to plant more to grow up in their place. They gave us the staggering statistic that they have rescued and re-housed over 3000 orphans since Watoto was started and had looked after over 4000 widows and vulnerable women. It’s a wonderful and valuable organisation.

We were told by Daisy, the smiley Watoto representative that briefed us, she hoped we would be getting “jiggy-jiggy“ at church this morning. Relieved to find out she was referring to dancing, we joined the throng of local worshippers in the super high energy service, with two big gospel choirs on stage and most of the congregation dancing and singing along. The people were so welcoming and friendly and made us feel like we belonged.

The rest of our day was spent travelling six hours to Northern Uganda by bus. Our team, spanning two mini buses (with an extra one thrown in to transport our copious luggage) bumped along the “freeway“ towards our destination of Gulu. As the song says: “the people on the bus go up and down, up and down, up and down…” If I was raising my kids here in Uganda I’d advise them that a wise career choice may be to go into speed-bump building (either that or become a mechanic specialising in shock absorber and suspension replacement). They’d do a roaring trade. Speed bumps here certainly pack a punch and they are everywhere. These triple-barrelled bumps seem just randomly placed along the main road north. Some stretches of road have more potholes than road surface so combined with the speed bumps, it made for a bouncy old journey. Driving here is not for the faint-hearted and we were grateful for our skilful chauffeurs dodging a plethora of weaving motorbikes, overtaking trucks and missing the array of cyclists bearing wide loads of timber, chickens in cages or other assorted cargo that looked mighty precarious on the back of a pushy.

At about the halfway point of our journey, we had a promised pit stop. We had been forewarned by those who’d gone before us to beware of the horror of the roadside long-drop – a “toilet” swarming with flies and with an odour that could kill a brown dog. “Keep hydrated” they tell us, “Drink more water” they cry. Our obedience to this directive meant only one thing: none of us could avoid what was coming. You can only cross your legs in a jiggly bus for so long. So, fully expecting the bus to be arriving at this ghastly ablution block at any moment, you can imagine our delight when instead, the buses bounced up the driveway of a newish-looking petrol station. We lined up excitedly, ready to take our turn in the cubicles only to find that behind the closed doors were nothing more than holes in the ground, masquerading as toilets. To add to that, not a skerrick of toilet paper was to be found. Those well-prepared women in our group had tissues on-hand to ration between us (thank you Mandy and Debbie!) but that didn’t overcome the obstacle of having to squat over a hole and avoid wetting your undies. There’s a degree of skill involved that I am yet to attain. Julianne deserves a special mention as she braved the cubicle with no light and managed to aim effortlessly, remain fully-clothed and bone dry and… she was wearing jeans. I, along with my less-skilled sisters who had to practically de-robe to get the job done, so to speak, were in awe.

Back to the buses, we feasted on lunches we’d packed and sat back to watch the kaleidoscope of images passing by our windows. Long stretches of bushy vegetation were punctuated by little villages with shops and houses along the main road. Hand-painted signs adorned tumble-down shop fronts and each little village had a bright red booth where a money-lender sat. Though their poverty was confronting, it was heart-warming to see so many people congregating in groups, chatting, smiling, laughing. Everyone was outside. I wished the bus could slow down at points so we could have more time to look around. Lots of mums walked around with babies strapped to their backs, their gorgeous brown eyes peeping out from their swaddling. I saw babies being bathed in plastic tubs as dinner preparations were being made around family fires and clotheslines with cheerful bright patterned clothes, strung between sticks, fluttered in the breeze. The further north we drove, the more villages we saw with traditional grass huts. Our guide, Fred, gave us a great running commentary as we travelled and jumped off the bus at one point to get some cooked cassava, a root vegetable grown here, for us to try. We stopped briefly at a village to let the other bus catch up. (Apparently Toby had needed his own roadside pit stop behind a tree.) As we waited inside, our bus was surrounded by a colourful multitude of walking vendors, their wares atop their heads in baskets. Limes, lemons and bunches of bananas were ours for a price and through our open windows were calls to buy. Men with baskets of soft drinks on the ends of long sticks were also in the mix as were keen pedlars of “meat on a stick”. I could have partaken a warm Coke or even nibbled on an almost-ripe lemon but I’m not sure I’d be game to give the mystery meat a go.

As we reached the bridge that was the border to Northern Uganda, Fred warned us to put our cameras away. Guards he told us were “armed to the teeth” were seated at the border and were ready to confiscate any camera or phone they saw taking happy snaps. Our friendly waves were met with a steely glare and we crossed with caution, phones firmly in our pockets. The river we were crossing was none other than the River Nile. It was a bit of a thrill to look down and see rapids and waterfalls galore, hippo watching with eagle eyes. A couple of people swore they saw one but the jury was out as to whether it may have just been a big, shiny hippo-shaped rock. The wildlife sightings didn’t stop there as baboons were climbing roadside trees and ambling along the road, playing chicken with the constant stream of dusty traffic. Goats, long-horned cows and dogs also roamed around freely.

Kirsty initiated a fun-filled game of “if I went to the moon I’d take…” which helped to while away the time and was a nice change from Spotto. Eventually arriving in Gulu, we peeled ourselves from our sweaty perches in the vans and were shown to our hotel rooms. Our smorgasbord dinner was delicious and we had a great team-building session afterwards getting to know one another a little better in the process.

Let’s face it, he prospect of a long haul flight is enough to send a shiver down the spine of even the most seasoned of travellers. Our family of 6 was joining 29 others from our church at Narrabeen, about to climb aboard a jet, bound for African skies.

Our mission, should we choose to accept it, was to visit the headquarters of a Christian organisation called Watoto, established in Uganda in 1986, by a Canadian couple, to help rescue the abundance of orphans and widows left behind as a result of the twin tragedies of the HIV epidemic and ongoing civil war. We would be helping to build a water bore and a greenhouse. A small contribution in the scheme of things but I guess every little bit helps.

Our gorgeous friends Adam and Keryn had offered to drive us to the airport, battling the Friday afternoon peak hour traffic to deposit us safely at the departure gates. Despite protestations from certain young males in the family at our seemingly early pick-up arrangements, we arrived right on time. Most of our fellow-team-members were already in various stages of check-in when we joined the queue. One team member, Kathy, had struck a glitch when it was discovered she’d inadvertently booked her daughter Alexis in, under her shorter name, Lexi. We all held our breath until it was resolved and Lexi and Kath we’re safely buckled into their economy-class seats.

Molly, Maisy and I were pleased we’d jagged the back row of a section. True, it was right in front of the toilet and the violent evacuation noises of middle-of-the-night flushes did punctuate our dreams with sudden fears of earthquakes, but overall, we were chuffed to be able to recline without worrying a soul. No sooner had that seatbelt sign been extinguished and we were languishing in guilt-free full-recline. It wasn’t quite a flat bed but hey, we were happy.

Poor Rossco was sitting in front of us, wedged between a couple of strangers, one of whom was one of the biggest humans I’d ever seen. Not only was he tall, but his head was huge, his body was wide and his hands were hulking great claws. Whenever he nodded off, which was often, he’d lean on his unsuspecting neighbour (that was Ross) and tilt his enormous melon so it blocked Ross’ tv screen. His other favourite choice of sleep position was to head butt his own tv with his ample arms spread across the two seats in front of him, again depriving Ross of his viewing pleasures. This Croation giant was also directly in front of me. From time to time his aforementioned hulking hands would grab the seat behind his head, playing havoc with my touch screen. The claw would make a sudden and uninvited appearance at random times throughout the flight, encroaching on my movie, pausing it and occasionally flicking me over to flight cam. While I admit I found it quite hilarious the first few times, as my sleep deprivation got the better of me, I had to physically peel his oblivious interfering fingers from my screen.

We couldn’t fault the Emirates flight attendants. They were friendly and helpful without exception. The real cutlery, toothbrushes, socks and eye masks were a bonus – not usual for cattle class – and they plied us with so much food it was ridiculous. We even got Tim Tams and chocolates after dinner and were encouraged to “take a few”, to which we willingly obliged. How generous. A bit too generous it seems as poor Sam and Toby, sitting about 20 rows behind us, knew nothing of this so-called box of Tim Tams and completely dipped out. Pity we’d already eaten our stash. Sorry boys.

A three-hour lay-over in Dubai had the team reunited, sipping on Dubai’s finest $10 flat whites, comparing sleep times and sharing stories of blockbusters they’d enjoyed over the past 14 hours. Embarking on the next 5-hour leg of our journey we were sharing the plane with a bunch of African nationals, no doubt heading home to Uganda after being abroad. Their colourful hats, high-rise head scarves and bright, cheerful clothes renewed our excitement for where we were headed. A bit more sleep, a bit more food and before we knew it we had touched down in Entebbe International Airport. A far cry from the glitz and glamour of Dubai’s mega airport, with its multi-levels, subways and fancy lifts, the Ugandan equivalent was a much more laid back affair. Still in my winter woolies, it was a sweaty wait for our bags. Ross and Toby visited Uganda 4 years ago and were delighted to be reacquainted with some of the team members they’d met last time. One of them was Steven, who upon spotting Ross & Tobes, ran over and wrapped them in a warm hug. Steven, along with Fred, were to be our Ugandan hosts. They introduced themselves to us and greeted us all with open arms and luminous smiles, welcoming us to the “Pearl of Africa” and ushering us into mini buses to transport us to our accommodation. After the unorthodox method of loading the entire team’s luggage through one of the side windows was complete, we were on our way.

It was raining lightly and extremely sticky as we wove our way through the chaos of the city. As we bundled along the bright red dirt road there was so much to see. Molly wrote down some observations: four men on one motorcycle, a woman carrying bras on her arms, motorcyclists crowding under a petrol station shelter to wait for the rain to pass, a child by himself behind a barred gate, hand-painted shop signs, Coca Cola buildings, a small water park, a man squatting on an elephant sculpture, a man standing on three-storey scaffold pulling up a bucket by a rope, crowded clothing markets that go on and on.

There were small fires burning in front of shops, incinerating leaves or rubbish, billowing acrid smoke into the air. Strips of run-down shops lined both sides of the street – a jumble of corrugated iron, rough sawn logs and dirty weather boards. Some houses were brick, some were rendered and some had been put together by piling logs atop one another haphazardly – no ventilation issues there that’s for sure. Lots of buildings were empty, either abandoned or not yet finished, while others were surrounded by scaffolding that was really nothing more than a network of twigs. Builders back home would shudder at the crazy methods going on; an OH & S nightmare waiting to happen. Great hunks of raw meat hung from dubious dusty butcher shops, colourful bunk beds and rows of used popcorn machines were being peddled outside on the footpath. It was a hive of activity; just so much to take in.

A quick stop at the mall, to exchange some Aussie dollars for Ugandan shillings, pick up some snacks and a SIM card or two, was seen through bleary eyes after having been in transit for over 30 hours by now. We were weary travellers indeed. Dinner at the hotel was a smorgasbord of African delights but most of us sat munching in a semi-comatosed state. Toby  took it one step further, actually falling asleep at the dinner table. Our one-track minds were firmly focussed on nothing but getting those heads of ours onto the pillows… pronto!