Well sadly our trip to Africa has come to an end. We have just arrived in Dubai airport after the first leg of the marathon back to the land girt by sea. Only a handful of us are coming straight home. We have farewelled half the team, including Sam and Toby, as they continue their adventures in far flung exotic locations all over the globe. 

Last night, the team got together to reflect on the last couple of weeks and we had to come up with our highlight from the trip. There have honestly been SO many, it’s hard to narrow it down to just one. As we went around the circle, one by one, I collected a new highlight with every highlight shared! 

Our team has gelled like family and it has been fantastic to share these experiences with them all.  It was sad to have to say goodbye to Fred and Stephen, who have been our trusty guides. We will definitely miss them. 

What I won’t miss about Uganda:

*having to brush my teeth with bottled water

*the toilets!

*the bone-rattling bumpy roads

*having to douse myself in mozzie spray every day

 Things I will miss about Uganda: 

*being greeted with “you’re welcome”

*the wide smiles and warm handshakes from the beautiful locals

*those gorgeous babies

*potatoes for breakfast, lunch & dinner

*the smorgasbord of sights & sounds

Thanks to everyone who has been reading along and thanks to those who have been praying for us. 

Uganda has left a special place in our hearts and we hope one day we’ll return to the Pearl of Africa. 

The first time our “Hello” was met with the customary Ugandan return greeting of “You’re Welcome”, we were a little confused. Had they misheard us? Had they thought we’d said “thank you”? Neither. These beautiful, gentle people, whose welcoming hospitality is as immense as their wide toothy grins, make it their priority to make us feel welcome in their country and in their homes. Despite their lack of resources and often difficult lives, they are happy and content, concentrating more on what they have than what they lack. It’s a shame our own lives, that major on convenience, luxury and acquiring an abundance, seem to cause us discontent rather than propelling us towards gratitude and contentedness; causing us to be appreciative of the endless resources at our fingertips.

We woke to the beautiful sight of the mountain behind our hotel shrouded in clouds and Molly informing us that today was actually her 22 and a half birthday. We had time for a quick breakfast before being picked up by the ever-jolly Alfred, our Childfund driver. The buffet brekky was almost a carbon copy of every other hotel breakfast we’d had since being in Uganda but this one had an added bonus. A selection from the tower of delectable pastries and cakes would have been the perfect choice with which to break our fast, had it not been for one thing…it was absolutely swarming with flies. My futile attempts at shooing away the pesky winged creatures was garnering disapproving looks from my fellow diners who seemed to have no qualms at all regarding piling their plates with the infested goodies.

Child protection being such an important issue here in Uganda, it was necessary for us to have a further briefing on how we were to relate to Umar. We were introduced to the Childfund team: Moses, Lawrence and Kate (who I thought was named “Kit” on account of her thick African accent.) They gave us the rundown before we piled into 2 cars and bounced through banana trees, coffee plantations and corn fields, along the undulating red dirt road, to arrive at Namalogo Primary School, where Umar is a pupil. Attracting more attention than we were expecting, our pale skin somewhat of a novelty to these kids, we were ushered into the Principal’s office. Introduced simply as The Principal, this warm man, in a funky shirt that Ross was trying hard not to covet, welcomed us with a groovy secret handshake and invited us to sign the visitor’s book.

He explained that at Namalogo, there are 19 teachers to 925 kids! Most classes have over 60 pupils in them, making marking schoolwork and homework almost prohibitive. With a variety of subjects, including English, their local language Lumasaba, Social Studies, Maths, Handicrafts, Religious Studies (either Muslim or Christian, depending on the family’s persuasion) and Sport, the kids get a well-rounded education between the hours of 8am to 5pm. He showed us some work books and readers provided by the Ugandan Government in the Lumisaba language, explaining that while English is still the official language of Uganda, the local tribal tongues are very close to their hearts; vital to preserve.

Once a year we are sent an updated photo of little Umar, along with his school report and info about his family. Lawrence was worrying us, telling us we’d have to identify Umar, differentiating him from his 60 classmates. When we were visibly rattled, he said, “OK, we’ll narrow it down and you can pick him from a lineup of 5 kids.” Yikes! We should’ve taken more notice of those annual snaps. I was terrified we’d get it wrong and insult the poor kid.

Following Lawrence and Kit-Kate, the 6 of us filed into Umar’s classroom to a superstar welcome of singing, cheering and general unbridled enthusiasm. The sea of curious faces was looking us over with scrutinising eyes, trying to fathom our foreign appearance. The teacher shook our hands before an awkward silence descended on the room. I was scanning every face, searching for a glimmer of recognition, feeling like the chicken in “Are You My Mother?” Lawrence left us hanging, milking his joke for all it was worth, before asking: “Could the real Umar please stand up?” Phew. Looking a little overwhelmed, this gorgeous boy with the wide, white grin followed us out to the playground. We shook his hand and he responded with the same secret handshake his Principal had employed. Must be the Namalogo School special. The school was right next door to a tiny mosque, whose booming call to prayer defied its size and echoed through the school yard.

Eleven year-old Umar, who was only a little guy and quite shy at first, came with us to the Childfund field office for yet another briefing. To say this field office was off the beaten track would be an understatement. It was in the sticks. Dodging goats, cows and crowing roosters, we joined the banana-toting boda-bodas to rattle to our mountainous destination. The modest, stand-alone office was right next to a school that happened to be out on lunch break. A couple of carloads of muzungus in their neck of the woods was enough to cause mass hysteria. Jumping up and down, yelling “Muzungus,” at the tops of their voices, these little orange-uniformed Ugandans crowded around the cars as we stepped out. Ross caused the biggest stir of all, standing atop the steps, holding his camera up for an all-in selfie. The adoring crowd was going crazy! Now he knows how Justin Bieber feels.

Kit-Kate gave us some more statistics, revealing that Childfund supports 500 children out of this small field office alone, with many other similar offices all over the country. Like Watoto, they provide families with education and business training, including a small start-up capital to get them launched. Their focus is on children, hence the name, and they aim to empower children by including them in decision-making, allowing them seats on the council. Parenting education is also a major focus. It was great to be encouraged by all the great work going on and to see how our sponsorship is really making a tangible difference in Umar’s life.

Eventually Umar’s mother Rosemary and father Habbet arrived, along with his older sister, Haffa. They were SO lovely and we were completely humbled by their appreciation of our support. Rosemary and Haffa knelt on the ground as they affectionately grabbed our hands and the tears in their eyes made me choke up too. There was a communication barrier so Kit-Kate had agreed to translate. The problem was, they would talk for ten minutes, everyone laughing and reacting to what was said and Kit-Kate would summarise, giving us a couple of brief sentences. We got the gist though so that’s the main thing. I was very excited and keen to give Umar the gifts we had brought from Australia, asking Lawrence whenever there was a lull in the proceedings whether it was time. After what seemed like ages, he finally relented and we presented Umar with his gifts. His favourite by a mile was the soccer ball which he clung to like his life depended on it. Ross and Tobes had a kick around with him and he warmed up to us, laughing and enjoying our company. He’s such a champion.

After all our gift giving, Rosemary, who continued to shower us with double-sided hugs, announced that she too had a gift to give. Ducking out to the back room, she emerged with a beautiful handmade handbag for me. I was so touched by her kindness and tried to hold back the tears. We shared an afternoon tea of mystery flavoured muffins, apples, bananas, Coke and Fanta before an emotional farewell. Umar accompanied us back to Mbale where we parted so he could return to his lessons and we could brace ourselves for the long journey back to Kampala to be reunited with our team. It was so great to meet little Umar and we feel so privileged to have been able to do so.

We have been sponsoring a little boy, Umar, in Uganda, through ChildFund, for about 6 years. When we decided to come on this trip, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to visit him. It was all arranged months ago but the finer details only came together a week or two before we left Australia. This morning, it was Sam’s turn to feel a little crook in the tummy. Toby was very tired and neither of them was keen to come. I admit, when we’d organised to meet Umar, we hadn’t known it would be a five hour drive away, that just so happened to be the very next day after a 7 hour drive. None of us really felt like another whole day on the road but ChildFund had gone out of their way to organise this visit for us and they were sending a driver to pick us up at 9am. Ross decided at the last minute to go and get a ‘showbag’ of rice, beans, oil, sugar and soap for Umar and his family, aiming to be back before 9, but despite good intentions, our driver Moses, had shown impeccable punctuality and had arrived to find Ross was still not back. We also had to check out of the hotel for one night; checking back in the following day, so all our bags had to come and be stored at reception. We were all a bit tired and grumpy; nerves a bit frayed. 

Moses was surprisingly unperturbed that Ross hadn’t shown up yet and waited patiently as we got ourselves sorted. He introduced us to our driver, Alfred, who was a very friendly and jolly chap and we loaded into the ChildFund 4-wheel drive. Ross and the girls sat opposite each other in the very back, Toby, Sam & I squeezed along the back seat and Moses and Alfred occupied the front. It was tight but nothing our previous day’s experience hadn’t prepared us for. Our destination was Mbale, five hours’ drive to the east and before we entered the fray, Moses prayed for us all to be safe, which was a good thing, as traffic in this place is insane.  It seems that every hour is peak hour amid the chaos of the Kampala city streets, with great swarms of boda-boda (motorbikes),  coming from every direction, their riders zigging and zagging with wide loads and un-helmeted heads, nudging daringly in front of trucks laden with people standing in the back and darting in packs. Driving here is not for the faint hearted. We were pulled over by the same uniformed traffic police that checked our load yesterday. Temporary STOP signs are erected to alert drivers to yield but just in case you miss the sign, violent-looking, whopping great spikes are spread across the road to make doubly sure you stop. What’s wrong with the humble witches’ hat? The traffic policeman, resplendent in his pure white uniform, black beret and big black belt with shiny buckle, requested Alfred’s licence and gave us the all-clear to move on. 

Banners fluttered across busy intersections in Kampala, advertising “World Egg Expo” and encouraging Ugandans to “eat an egg a day”. I wondered if it would keep the doctor away. As we left the hustle and bustle behind, Moses gave us some inside information about Umar and his family’s way of life. Circumcision is a major deal in his tribe and every two years they hold a big ceremony where all the 18 year-olds have to undergo this painful ritual that initiates them into manhood. If they refuse to partake, they are excluded from all adult conversations in the tribe. Our boys winced as they listened on with crossed legs, thanking the Lord they live in Australia. 

The journey to Mbale, with the steadfast Alfred at the helm, was mostly through rural areas, punctuated by little villages with main streets crowded with shops and people. Traditionally, the women stay at home, doing all the back-breaking farming work, household chores, cooking and child-minding while their better halves spend their days hanging out in town, sitting together on bikes or plastic chairs, chewing the fat and drinking coffee. What a life. Gee, if it weren’t for that pesky circumcision ritual, any bloke would jump at the chance to live here. 

At one village we stopped at, men in matching red Coca Cola lab coats crowded around passing cars, waving big bouquets of meat-on-a-stick, proffering drinks and vying for shillings from unsuspecting passers by. You’d need an iron stomach to take a risk on one of those tasty treats, as appetising as they looked. In another village we were met by a pack of young boys that stood single-file along the highway holding plastic bags of freshly picked tamarind; their back-up supply in a neat, roadside row. They tempted us by chanting loudly in unison:”tam-a-rind, tam-a-rind, tam-a-rind“ but alas, we weren’t cashed up so were forced to pass. 

There are far fewer huts in the east and more boxy, homemade-brick dwellings. Most families seem to have a cow or at least a couple of goats in their yard and there are chickens everywhere. Though not salubrious by any stretch of the imagination, some of them have curtains on the windows and potted plants outside, suggesting they may be a little less poor than their fellow-countrymen up north. 

Soon we were travelling through the Mabira Forest – one of the biggest national parks in Uganda and I wondered aloud what wild animals may be lurking amidst the greenery. Moses confirmed it would mostly be monkeys and the occasional elephant; enough to spice up anyone’s afternoon bush walk. The forest soon gave way to fields of waving green sugar cane. It was just like driving through parts of the far north coast and Queensland. 

The Africans’ obsession with colour certainly extends to their school uniforms, evidenced by legions of children in bright purple shirts and dresses, hot pink tunics and fluoro green uniforms. It sure beats the standard Australian maroon, grey, blue and brown. 

The 4-5 hour drive (which actually ended up being a 6 hour drive!) had left us somewhat famished so we stopped briefly at a roadside diner to grab some lunch. Where Kampala and the other parts of Uganda we have visited so far are overtly Christian – with businesses sporting names like “the Jesus Our Saviour Butchery”, “God Is Able Fashions” and “Glory General Hardware” – here in the east there seems to be a much greater Muslim presence. The diner was staffed by women wearing veils; not something we’ve seen since we’ve been here, and some of the bakery selections had names that just may have been lost in translation, for example, the “Cheese Ticks”. Thankfully, Sam was feeling a lot better and he and Molly shared some naan bread with curry sauce. I ordered one of the “lemon muffinz” which the kind sales assistant popped in the microwave to freshen up but accidentally over-nuked it, serving it to me in no less than a molten state. I’ll always remember those tastebuds I farewelled on the road to Mbale. The signs in the toilet also amused us, the Ladies implored to “PLEASE FLASH AFTER USING THE TOILET” and the Gents steered away from the shower area: “DEAR SIRS, PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T URINATE HERE!!!!! THANKS”

Meeting the gently spoken Lawrence at the Childfund Mbale office, we were briefed on the dos and don’ts of meeting Umar tomorrow and given a rundown on the work that is being done by this great organisation, before checking into the luxurious Mt Elgin Hotel that had been booked for us. 

Now check-in was at 2pm and we arrived at 4ish. The smiley girl at reception apologetically informed us our rooms were not quite ready and asked us if we’d please take a seat for 15 minutes. By now you would think we’d have realised, this was 15 minutes African time. One and a half hours later, the keys were placed in our hot little hands and our rooms, with spectacular views of the mountains beyond, were ready. 

As we wandered around the tropical gardens and beautiful pool area, I was lamenting that I’d forgotten my swimmers but after later realising there was a charge for using the pool, I didn’t mind. Our dinner at the in-house Masaba Restaurant, with stunning views of the mountains and waterfall, was delicious, even if it did take 2 and a half hours. Got to love that African time! 

Last night, Stephen and Fred had stressed the importance of being ready on time this morning. We have let a little “African time” mentality seep into our psyche so it was good to be pulled back into line. Our packed bags needed to be at the Lodge reception by 7:30 sharp and we were to be fed and watered and ready to roll at 8:30am. As we pulled up at the slippery ferry wharf, the sweet, melodic sounds of the adungu – a curved Ugandan stringed instrument made of hollowed out wood – were wafting through the warm morning. Two older gentlemen, with a handwritten sign reading “Hot Music in Park” were playing through their extensive repertoire, which was really just one long song. They were delighted to receive tips from our team as they shared their talents from underneath the boughs of my favourite: the sausage tree.
Buses and bodies boarded the ferry that took us directly across the Nile River and we disembarked to find a fabulous souvenir shop and an amenities block. With the pit toilet horrors I’ve endured so far this trip, I decided I’d rather cross my legs than brave another nightmarish ablutions block. The souvenir shop had a treasure trove of African goodies, including beautiful timber bongo drums covered in cow hide, polished cow horns, hand made African rag dolls complete with babies in back pouches, earrings, nose rings, toe rings, key rings, pouches and vouchers, fashion and percussion, postcards and playing cards. The shopkeeper thought it was Christmas when our two busloads of cashed up muzungus piled into his laden little shop.

If the road was not flooded, the plan was for us to view Murchison Falls from the top. Thankfully the road was accessible, despite the high rainfall and we got to experience the sheer power of the Falls from this superb vantage point. The rocky viewing platform allowed us undisturbed (and unfenced) views of this tumultuous aquatic phenomenon. Huge volumes of water gushed in all directions, swirling and rushing toward itself in dramatic splashes, it was incredibly loud and powerful as it made its way over the rocks to spill violently into the Nile River below. It was truly amazing.

The vegetation and landscape over this side of the River Nile was very different to the savanna. Far more like a rainforest, copious members of the monkey family made up for the absence of giraffes and elephants. I wouldn’t have been surprised had Tarzan swung by on a loose jungle vine. As I’ve mentioned previously, our trusty red bus and green bus have bumped us through thick and thin this week, our constant companions on the crazy Ugandan highways. The red bus, with Antonio at the wheel, started making some worrying noises, struggling to get into gear. While we are lucky enough to have a few teachers, a paramedic, a software engineer, a policeman and a frameless glass expert on our team (amongst other things), unfortunately we don’t happen to have a motor mechanic amongst us. It became apparent as we kept driving, that the bus had some issues under the bonnet that couldn’t be swept under the carpet, so to speak. An annoying interruption to our game of I-Spy though it was, we knew there was only one thing to do. We had to get off that bus. Antonio got us to the safety of a little village where all the passengers on the red bus, climbed aboard the already crowded green bus. It was team bonding at its finest, sweaty companions shoulder-to-shoulder, cheek-to-cheek (bottoms straddling a cheek a seat). We were a little bus-shaped can of human-shaped sardines rattling down the bumpy highway. ‘Standing room only’ didn’t apply to this little jam-packed omnibus as there was not a square inch left to stand in.

The countryside was similar along the way. Long horned cattle milled on the side of the road as gravity-defying loads stayed inexplicably in place atop the heads of brightly clad women, resembling tulips with slender moving stems. Run-down dwellings, mostly made of brick, with heavy metal doors and fires burning were home to broods of laughing children, playing with sticks and chasing one another amid clouds of dust.

Wagers were laid on what our eventual arrival time in Kampala might be. Stephen’s first guess, laced with the optimism we’ve grown to love, was 2:30pm. Others more realistically guessed in the vicinity of 5pm. With the variables many, it was anybody’s guess. In the meantime, we savoured the sights, read, snacked and napped, with a couple of pit stops allowing us to unfold ourselves after being so squished and cramped. Josh led a short session of Pilates on the grass, much to the amusement of the young local family of 7 kids, all of whom, confusingly, had names starting with ‘J’ and the brave amongst our number went to the “bathroom”. It was a l-o-n-g day.

Nearing the city of Kampala we were stopped by a bunch of uniformed traffic policemen, checking – of all things – whether our vehicle was overloaded. Uh oh. Before we could say “could you possibly move over, I can’t feel my leg”, we were through! With a wink and a high-five, our overflowing, busting-at the-seams bus had been miraculously waved through the checkpoint. Apparently our driver Ponsiano has friends in high places. It’s not what you know…

Today is Ugandan Independence Day and the streets of Kampala were a hive of activity as we entered the outskirts of the city. Every patch of dirt in this bustling capital is put to use. Razor-wired fences stood guard along the footpath as unpainted buildings in various stages of disrepair were punctuated by the odd plot of corn. Vendors packed the verge with watermelons, lounge chairs, bunk beds, small mountains of clothing and other miscellaneous wares. Loud speakers were pumping music into the street as armies of people on bikes congregated in animated groups. Billboards advertising “Fun Time” and ironically, a plethora of paint companies (they must be going broke) were looming large.

We all let out a collective sigh of relief, none more than Peter and Julianne who were both feeling a little under the weather, to finally get to our hotel around 5:00pm, Sam taking out the honours in the guessing game. Molly and Maisy, as well as Kaye and Adrian, somehow managed to score penthouse suites, complete with massive balconies and their own little lounge rooms. Hopefully the private function by the pool with a love of Bollywood-style doof-doof will wrap up soon so we can all get some shut eye.

The prospect of viewing an African sunrise lured us obediently out of our comfy beds to meet downstairs at the ungodly hour of 5:45am this morning. We were going on a dawn safari and it was our turn to climb aboard the pop-up safari van. Leaving in the dark, we stood on our chairs to peep out at the savanna through the gap in the roof, hoping the impending sunrise would illuminate the creatures that were hiding under the veil of darkness. Excitement mounted as the warm orange glow that began to line the horizon stretched out over and above us like a fiery canopy, blooming into a vivid, full-blown feast for our tired eyes. I couldn’t help but sing “Nants ingonyama! Bagithi Baba” under my breath, imagining baby Simba being held aloft with his African sunrise backdrop.

Speaking of Simba, there was a rumbling amongst the guides that there may have been a lion sighting this morning. We followed the scent in excited anticipation. A couple of vans had stopped before us and there was a noticeable hush that hung over the clearing, everyone’s eyes trained on a group of majestic lionesses gathered for their gruesome breakfast. They were so close! Well-camouflaged by the golden grass that surrounded them and at some points completely concealed their presence, it’s no wonder they are such adept hunters. The poor unsuspecting, unidentified beast they were feasting on was testament to that. As they picked up the hulking carcass and moved it around between them, some of us had to look away, especially from the grisly pile of leftovers in the grass. Ahh, the circle of life.

So satisfied we had spied the king of the jungle (well the queen anyway) we moved on to see a smorgasbord of wildlife, including giraffes, elephants, Jackson hartebeests, cobbs and fluffy water bucks. There was a baboon family; mother piggybacking her baby beside the road and great herds of buffalo lounging in the grass and yawning into the new day. It was very special to see the savanna waking up. Down by the river we were again able to leave the buses and roam freely, the multiple wild animal tracks in the sand leaving us feeling slightly vulnerable. It was peak hour in the park and we shared our adventure with a multitude of other 4-wheel drives and pop-ups, binoculars and cameras sticking out at all angles. Maisy sat on the roof up front with Lexi, while Sam and Molly joined Becca on the roof up the back. They enticed me up there to sit with them and as my knuckles turned white from clinging on so tightly over all the bumps, the view was spectacular. With red dust in our eyes and cameras full of animals, we returned to the lodge for some well-earned sustenance in the form of a slap-up buffet brekky. I just can’t seem to go past the spuds – practically chowing down on their starchy golden goodness for breakfast, lunch and dinner – I swear I’m going to look like a potato soon. The team enjoyed some relaxation and swimming after breakfast, enjoying one another’s company and having some down time.

To continue our day of adventure, we headed down to the banks of the Nile, doing our best Tonya Harding impression as we slipped and skated our thong-clad tootsies across the slipperiest mud ever encountered. Our afternoon cruise was taking us up river to Murchison Falls. As we sailed along, aboard the African Queen, I stood chatting with Fred. We cast our eyes heavenward, thankful for the sunshine despite the ominous clouds that hovered overhead. We both put our meteorologist hats on and agreed without a doubt, the wind was pushing those nasty cumulonimbus clusters in the opposite direction and we’d been under clear skies in no time. In less than half an hour we were huddled together in the centre of the boat, standard issue raincoats donned as we buffeted TORRENTIAL rain. Fred and I won’t give up our day jobs. We’ve learnt by now that when the skies open in Africa, they don’t muck around. It was a deluge not to be sneezed at; vast quantities of water pouring down upon us, drenching the boat and her passengers. Our skilful Captain, James, managed to manoeuvre the African Queen through swirling eddies and foaming white caps to give us a brilliant vantage point from which to view the magnificent falls. Throwing off an inordinate amount of water and spray (around 300 cubic metres per second), squeezed into a gorge less than ten metres wide, this beautiful natural wonder was well worth a look, even in these less than perfect conditions.

Another of the selling points of this cruise had been the prospect of hippo sightings and… sight them we did! This stretch of the famous river – the very same river baby Moses’ little basket had floated on- flowing through Uganda, Sudan, The Congo, Ethiopia and Egypt, was home to loads of hippos. Clumped together, bodies touching to signify family, the semi submerged hippopotamuses continued to look down, not cooperating at all for our photos. I was determined to get a shot of a hippo yawning but these camera shy water horses wouldn’t come to the party. At one stage, a huge hippo yawned right in front of me but my camera was turned off. By the time I turned it on, ready for action, he’d slunk back down face-first into the shallows. The very informative Captain James shared many fun facts about hippos, in his slightly hard to understand African accent. Did you know, that hippos come ashore to sleep and can actually travel 17km in one night? Their top speed on land is 30km an hour! (Usain Bolt can reach 38km an hour. How good would that showdown be to watch?) Who’d have thought? I must remember to Google a running hippo. They are also pretty poor swimmers and stay in shallow water where their chubby little legs can touch the bottom. Fascinating.

Tonight after dinner (yes, more potatoes), we partook in the traditional trip trivia night. Kirsty, Josh and Michael had prepared the tricky questions for us as teams such as “The Safari Superstars”, “Uganda Be Kidding” and “Malaria” took aim at one another for the title. The competition was fierce and some contestants showed their true competitive colours as they argued and split hairs over answers. One team tried to argue vehemently that the deepest part of the ocean was actually named the “Marinara Trench”, perhaps confusing it for the trench in the back alley behind their local Italian restaurant. So miffed were they that their near-enough-is-good-enough answer was rejected, they changed their team name to the Marinaras in protest. We were happy with our third place – at least we were on the podium – but we all had to watch on as the triumphant team of Toby, Rachel, Julianne, Stuart and Liz shared their chocolate spoils.

A great day by all accounts.

Miraculously everyone was packed and ready by 9am and set to cram into our favourite little buses to hit the open road. Our drivers, Antonio and Ponsiano are doing an amazing job on these impossible roads/tracks, knowing just when to stop for those pesky quadruple speed bumps, dodging oncoming bikes and trucks and safely negotiating the ubiquitous potholes and puddles. We are in good hands.

As we motored west along the “highway” it was a bumpy old ride indeed. Sam and Jacob pulled out their “Bang Bang Chilli” chips and we snacked on chocolate and biscuits as we sang along to classics like Toto’s Africa, The Lion Sleeps Tonight and Can You Feel The Love Tonight? A whim away, a whim away, a whim away, a whim away. Gemma remarked how essential it was to wear a sports bra on these bumpy bus journeys and another of our team, who shall remain nameless, made us chuckle when she said it wasn’t so important for her as her knees could absorb the shock.

Most of our journey was through rural areas with lots of shrubbery, not many trees and long grass aplenty. The landscape here is a lot grassier than I’d expected. We stopped a couple of times at the side of the road for bladders that couldn’t wait. In hindsight, I regret not joining them as the “toilet” at the gate to the national park was beyond disgusting. If the squat toilets at that petrol station had been bad, this was taking bad to a whole new level. There were 2 female toilets and one male one. Delwyn warned me sternly to not even think of entering the door on the left. She had foolishly let her curiosity get the better of her, taking a sneak peek despite being warned of the pending horror waiting behind the door, by a previous occupant. I took her word for it. I decided to brave door number 2. As the door swung ajar to release the nasty, nostril destroying odour, I seriously considered going behind a bush instead. The relatively small drop zone – no bigger than a bread and butter plate – was surrounded by slippery sludge with a stench that could curl the toes of a dead man. Kirsty schooled me in how to hold my nose for long periods of time but alas, I had to breathe during the ordeal and gagging for fresh air, I exited the toilet from hell, feeling like I needed a full body anti-bacterial scrub down.

Passing the pretty Queen’s Cottage, built for Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, when she visited Murchison Falls National Park in 1959, we arrived at our salubrious accommodation in Paraa. Having been to Disneyworld’s Animal Kingdom Park, I’ve realised a lot of Africa feels just like Disneyland. They do Africa almost better than Africa itself. This lodge felt very Disneyesque indeed, with its chocolate brown log railings entwined with jungle vines, its bound-together stick ceilings, rock walls and thatched rooves. There’s a very English looking sitting room with a library and a fireplace where I imagine Dr Livingstone could feel quite at home, smoking his pipe and going over his scientific findings after a hard day exploring the wilds of the African jungle. There’s also a very fancy pool here, complete with a swim-up bar, where most of the team took the opportunity for a refreshing dip this afternoon.

Our guides had arranged for us to go on a safari through the park at dusk tonight. How exciting! Taking our two trusty buses and also a safari van sporting a pop-up roof, we headed out to the savanna, collecting a couple of gun toting rangers along the way. Our binocular clad ranger, whose name was too complicated to remember, kept a keen eye out for any hiding wildlife on the horizon, alerting us when he spotted something to see. Grassy lands, sparsely populated with trees, stretched as far as the eye could see and it was hard to comprehend the vastness of the landscape before us. It was surprising to see so many palm trees but our guide informed us the elephants eat the fruit from the palms and help spread their growth through their dung. There were also cactus plants, acacia trees and my favourite, the sausage tree – a wide canopied tree with large dangling sausage-like appendages swaying in the breeze from its branches. Apparently the elephants like to dine on these snags, causing them to be intoxicated and producing hangover symptoms the next morning. I can imagine the elephants holding their heads in remorse the next day, sorry for indulging in all those sausages.

The giraffes were the easiest to spot, their striking stature making it hard for them to hide. Their majestic frames ran beside us in slow motion, from the darker, older giraffes right down to their gorgeous babies, cantering alongside our open windowed vehicle, our cameras clicking in unison. We also got up close and personal with some Ugandan Cobbs, small deer with bent horns and black stripes down the front of their legs and great herds of noble looking buffalo, their horns merging across their foreheads resembling pigtails with a fringe. We were also lucky enough to see some elephants grazing on the top of a nearby hill, some cheeky baboons and some wily hyenas. Fun fact: elephants can eat between 200 & 300kg of leaves and grass per day! No wonder some of the savanna looked like it had been mown. With not a fence in sight, it was surreal to think this was where these animals actually resided, free to roam the spacious 5000km2 as they please. The Jackson Hartebeest, or African Antelope was in plentiful supply, easily startled with its long face and pointy horns and we got to spy some pretty little birds like the malachite kingfisher, fish eagle and grey crowned crane, who wears an afro and is the national bird of Uganda.

Driving towards the river, we saw a pile of hippos wallowing in the shallows, nestled together like sardines in a can. Cameras poised to snap their faces, none of them lifted its head, leaving us with photos that could be mistaken for big black rocks. You’ll have to take our word for it. Right near the river we were allowed to alight the buses, free to roam amongst the giraffes. It was an incredible experience. It was dark by the time we turned back toward the lodge and in the dusty grey of the early evening we happened to stumble upon a massive group of elephants all marching together with purpose, crossing the road in front of us. We counted at least 30! Too dark to take photos, we all stared open mouthed as this magical procession passed us by, realising we were truly witnessing something very special.

There was just enough time for dinner before an early night in preparation for our sunrise safari tomorrow morning. Can’t wait!

Being Sunday, our team got its fill of potatoes and onions for breakfast and headed to church; this time Watoto Gulu. As we approached the modern-looking church building, people were being  filed through the airport-like metal detector and zapped all over with a wand by the watchful security guard. I saw more than one person set the machine off and get a frisking. Fearing the 29 of us would have to perform the same rigorous screening and miss the entire service, Fred hopped off the bus to try and negotiate a waiver for us. Adrian told everyone to leave their guns on the bus and Josh agreed we probably only needed to take in the grenades. 

The building, we soon discovered, was just for the kids and the actual church service was to be held in a huge white tent. We were treated with a singing/dancing show extraordinaire, the choir outfitted in the most gorgeous, colourful and vibrant African prints around. They swayed in unison and clapped up a storm. This week marks 57 years of independence for Uganda so the congregation got quite patriotic, belting out a sweet a cappella rendition of their national anthem with a rousing talk about hope for a better future for their country, so deeply rooted in corruption, with a chequered history of human rights abuse. We’d come on the right day too, as they were celebrating people over 40, said to be in their “golden years”. All the golden oldies, ie. anyone over the tender age of 40, had to stand up and be appreciated with a hearty round of applause from the rest of the whipper-snappers in the room. Nice to be appreciated and nice to be golden. 

Our trusty guides Fred and Stephen had organised for us to go to a little cafe for lunch. How nice. We’d sip on lattes together, perhaps indulge in a sandwich or two and a nice piece of cake. Well, that’s not exactly how it unfolded as we lunched at the World’s Worst Restaurant. The “Inspiration Cafe” couldn’t have been less inspiring if it tried.  Fred had phoned ahead to warn of the impending arrival of 29 hungry Muzungas, giving them a bit of a heads up. Their preparation for the onslaught it seems, was limited to pushing together a couple of tables. The fact that they had no food, no change, no menus (and no idea) not really addressed in the lead up to our arrival. 

When I say “no menus”, I lie. They did have two. Two menus for 30-odd people. It took us half an hour to even catch sight of what was on offer. The waitresses employed a scatter gun approach to taking orders, never writing anything down and missing multiple people in the process. I ordered a couple of chocolate milkshakes but she surprised us by delivering strawberry. Jeanette and Peter ordered the avocado, cheese and beef burgers, the appetising picture on the menu boasting 180g juicy beef patties. They were surprised to lift the lids on their beef burgers to find the avocado and cheese was there but the beef was missing in action. After a substantial wait, the beef (read, hunk of weird gristly meat) was restored to its rightful place. Rachel and Becca had requested a pizza but were initially told there was none. The waitress then re-thought her reply and conceded ambiguously that well, they could make a pizza but it would take “a very long time”. Knowing we had planned to sit for a while, the girls agreed to go ahead and order the long-haul option. Two and a bit hours later, the girls so hungry they were ready to eat their serviettes, the waitress decided there really wasn’t any pizza after all. The meals and coffees arrived in a few waves over the two-hour-plus period but Lexi’s pasta arrived right as we were getting ready to leave, as did Mike’s “club sandwich” that he rated “a solid three and a half” out of ten. Poor Jacob only wanted cake but despite there being quite a delectable selection of sweet treats advertised on the menu, he was told that they were all out. Oh well, I guess it serves him right for wanting to have his cake and eat it too. 

Leaving the less than inspiring Inspire Cafe behind, vowing never to return, we detoured to the supermarket for some actual sustenance before one last trip to Baby Watoto. The builders that had skipped seeing the babies for most of the week, finally got to lay eyes on the small ones we’d gushed over for days. It was so great to say a proper goodbye to the wonderful ladies we’d met and to give those bundles of joy one last squeeze. The Maddens, McLeans and Nabbs all decided to sponsor the babies they’d fallen in love with and they bonded over mushy vegetables and milk and lots of happy snaps to remember them by.

The Janet/Rose plot took a bit of a turn today, with a twist in the story we’d never have predicted. It seems Janet was not just a random girl caught up in the plot, she was actually Becca’s sponsor child. That afternoon, however, while Janet a.k.a Rose, was hanging out with Jeanette and Peter, Becca was meeting a different Janet, told that SHE was in fact her sponsor child and lavishing her with gifts. It was only later that the mix-up was uncovered and Becca was reunited with the original and correct Janet, her rightful sponsor child. Janet spent the day with Becca and the team today so it was a happy ending to a crazy story. 

Our last evening at our Gulu hotel was spent laughing, chatting and dining together outside in the warm African evening. Feeling like we have known each other for years, we are all getting on like a house on fire. Tomorrow morning we hit the road for Murchison Falls!

Sadly, today was to be our final day working with the babies. Things were also wrapping up for our team at the building site. Maisy had woken in the night with a temperature and some tummy cramps but she had emerged from her slumber this morning feeling a whole lot better. She and I were set to join Mandy, Kaye, Julianne, Becca, Gemma, Rachel, Debbie and Jeanette at Baby Watoto. Sharon was alone on duty in the newborn’s room today. Her colleague had gone on leave and they hadn’t replaced her so she was delighted to have so many extra sets of willing hands at her disposal. We’ve formed such a close attachment to these little bundles of joy and cuteness, knowing all their names, feeding habits and idiosyncrasies. They’ve truly wound their way into our hearts. I can see why the carers find it so hard to farewell the babies when they move up to the next stage of care. Sharon loves them as fiercely as if they were her own and continues to visit all her babies long after they move on.

Mandy and I shared the washing up with gorgeous, gentle Grace, who we met for the first time today. As she shared her story with us, it was hard to fight back the tears. She had been taken into captivity by the rebels when she was just 4 years old, remaining in captivity and experiencing who knows what kinds of cruelty, until she was 9. She then escaped and lived in the bush, at that young age, for a couple of years. As her mother was travelling to be reunited with her daughter, she was ambushed and shot dead. Grace was rescued by Watoto and moved in with a family at the age of 14. She is now so proud to have this work and be able to support her own child and her younger brother. To meet this beautiful, smiley, softly spoken young woman, you could never possibly imagine the hardships she had been through. Without exception, the babies have similarly distressing backgrounds. Without the life-saving work of Watoto, many of them would have no chance of survival.
Kathy had taken a real shine to little Maria when she had visited Baby Watoto earlier in the week and wanted us to enquire about the possibility of her family being able to sponsor her. It will be so rewarding for Kath be able to follow her progress and keep in touch as she grows. We struggled to converse as we ate our lunch, not just because we were stuffing our mouths with the sweetest pineapple known to man but because of the roar of the torrential rain outside. It was bucketing down! We cuddled, changed, fed and farewelled our cute little friends for the last time and boarded the bus, bound for the building site, praying the deluge hadn’t filled all their carefully dug trenches or turned the site into a giant red mud bath.

Our prayers were answered as we drove in, to a very dry site. The rain had stayed away! The greenhouse project was to be officially dedicated today and Arthur, the minister from the Gulu church had come to do the honours. Everybody had downed tools to form a big circle. Fred suggested we should sing a song and a rousing, impromptu song in their native Luo ensued; the workers belting out the tune with gusto. Fred taught us the words and got us all moving and grooving and singing along. It was sensational. Keeping the vibe going, we each turned to put our hands on the shoulders of the person in front of us, forming a “train”. As we choo-chooed and shuffled our feet around in our big circle, Arthur and Fred sang out the verses in pitch-perfect harmony. We all piped in with the chorus: “Glory Train, glory train!” It was so much fun!

Three of the Ugandan workers from the building site – James, Peter and Isaac- who we’d all forged bonds with, lived very close to the site and had requested our team come and visit their homes, meeting their families. Initially we thought this would just be a small group activity but they were insistent the whole team come along. We trudged through the grassy bush, following James en masse, eventually emerging at a little clearing. Far from the noises of the road, this little sanctuary contained a few grass huts and a couple of small houses that were home to James and his wife Agness and James’ uncle. His adorable 3 year-old daughter, Mercy, came bundling out of the house, her small arms struggling to stretch around the chubbiness of her baby sister, Gifty (so named because she was a gift from God). Agness kindly insisted we come inside her house to meet her aunt and numerous nieces and nephews who were all crammed into the three small rooms they called home. There was no kitchen, no bathroom; just two small bedrooms and a small living room – completely bereft of furniture – where they all sat on the floor, eyes glued to a tiny tv. To see her joy and pride in her family and home, generously inviting us to step into her world, meant so much.

Along the meandering path a little further, was Peter’s place. Peter’s relatives came out of the woodwork like bees to a honeypot. All the generations were there, including the grand old matriarch who looked about a hundred in the shade, wrapped in African fabric and leaning on her walking stick. Here, one whole hut was dedicated to pigs and the wide open common area between huts was kept immaculately; the red earth swept and neat. We presented them with some soccer jerseys brought from home and gave out some more of our goodie bags of staples. They were over-the-moon and plied us with warm hugs and handshakes. it felt like a massive privilege to be there.

In the afternoon, the stage was set for the long awaited showdown between tribes: Uganda vs Australia. The football match of the year. The stakes were high, with the Ugandans pushing for a winner takes all/winner takes the bus situation. Hmmm. Though we did have a superbly crafted team, strong in attitude, athleticism and skills abounding, we did discourage the idea on a just in case basis, recognising the walk back to Gulu was a bit of a long one.

As word of the impending game spread, fit-looking Ugandans began to swarm onto the field from everywhere. We estimated there may have been about 30 on the field, making goal-scoring through the heaving crowd, quite a challenge. Our team put up a mighty, champions league worthy effort but were pipped at the post by their too-good African opponents in a nail-biting 1-0 result. Toby’s goal was disallowed, though the absence of any ref, combined with the dubious water bottle goal markers, meant there was a bit of guess work involved. Adrian came close to being red carded when he repeatedly tried to take out the goalie, crash tackling him Juggernaut-Jake-Trbojevic-style and forgetting he wasn’t playing rugby league.

Still buoyed from their win, our Ugandan friends were given more to smile about when our team donated their work boots to the fellas, replacing the inappropriate, hot, sweaty gumboots many of them had sported on the work site. Gloves, boots, sunglasses and hats were donated, Adrian even passing on his Akubra to Maurice, who looked very suave in his new headwear. The hard work of this great team of blokes was rewarded with gifts from our team and donated jerseys from back home. Though it’s a cliche to say it is more rewarding to give than to receive, seeing the absolute joy on the faces of these boys was the biggest gift of all for us. A highlight of our trip so far in fact.

Thinking I should probably visit the building site at least once while I was here, I reluctantly decided to forego my cuddle time with the babies and try my luck as a builder for the day. Before we hit the building site though we had important business at the Neighbourhood project. Today we would be giving out the showbags we’d prepared for the ladies. 

If our reception on the first day had been raucous and over-the-top, today it exceeded our expectations and was even wilder. As we piled into the steamy, packed sewing room of over 150 excitable women, with the crowd overflowing outside on either side of the building, we were clapped and cheered with ear-piercing magnitude, like we were superstars. The tribal drums started up and the roof-raising singing was incredible. Handbags and water bottles and whatever other objects they had in their possession were placed high above their heads as they danced and clapped rhythmically, spinning in circles and raising their hands heavenward. 

Kathy and Stuart from our team, stood up and did their best to encourage the women and express our gratitude for their overwhelming welcome and hospitality. Our team then proceeded to make its way around the bustling room, distributing the gift bags containing rice, sugar, oil, beans and soap. It was our Oprah moment: “You get a bag, you get a bag, you get a bag!” Our hardly extravagant gifts were received with such euphoria and it was so rewarding  to see their sheer joy at receiving these goody bags despite their humble contents. 

After this we filed back outside and were treated to a colourful display of traditional African dance, complete with loud drumming and clapping and more Beyoncé-worthy booty bouncing than you could poke a stick at. Adrian from our team was dragged in to join the dance troupe and though his less than bootylicious moves were extremely entertaining to watch and his gallant attempt at matching their moves didn’t go unnoticed, we don’t think he’s ready to give up his day job just yet. Josh was also called on to bust some moves, almost busting a gasket in the intense African sunshine. 

Emotional embraces and fond farewells behind us, the buses bound for babies and buildings bounced along the dusty road to their respective destinations. I had packed my work boots in my bag, having only worn my sandals to the Neighbourhood. Toby gave me a concerned talking to about my inappropriate footwear before arriving at the building site. Nice to see the shoe was now on the other foot (pun intended). Ive trained him well. 

We had a brief stop at a Gulu supermarket to replenish our snack supplies. It cost us thousands. Currency conversion has never been my strong point but with so many zeros on the end of each bank note, you have to think twice before handing over the thousands of shillings required in cash for a modest purchase. With it forecast to stay hot all day, a couple of us bought some wide-brimmed hats to keep off the sun. Sam’s choice was a rather splendid floppy red number adorned with a flashy pink leopard-skin ribbon. He wore it with pride but did garner some interesting looks and comments as we meandered along the pavement back to the bus.

Our bus and it’s ragged contents (that was us) was stopped by a very serious looking, highly armed policeman and given the once-over before we were cleared to proceed on our half hour journey, through the sparsely populated rural areas, up to Bobby. There was a smattering of small clumps of African huts gathered together behind banana trees. With their thatched rooves they wouldn’t have looked out of place transplanted onto a pristine beach somewhere on a luxurious Fijian island. 

The Watoto Agribusiness Enterprise, as it’s called, is another of Watoto’s brilliant practical strategies to help the Ugandan people climb their way out of poverty. The site is massive and already houses a few recently constructed buildings, with more, like a lecture theatre, slated for development. The plan is to bring some highly trained professors of agriculture to the project from the USA, housing them on the site. They will then train the locals in the art of agriculture with a working farm and market onsite to help fund the locals’ study. Partnerships with other North American Universities will mean agriculture students undertaking degrees can also pay their own way to come and study at the facility as part of their training, injecting further funds into the Ugandan community. Not only will the local students have bona fide qualifications, they’ll be able to train up others to be self-sustainable. Our work on building the greenhouses is a small but important cog in this giant wheel. 

The photos I’d seen of the site didn’t do it justice, the rich red dirt striking in real-life. The team of hard-working Ugandans was already in full-swing when we arrived. Today’s main tasks were to dig trenches around the perimeter of the greenhouses and concrete the water tower in place. Our boys had a wager going on how many cement-mixer loads it was going to take to fill the four pits around the tower’s legs. With guesses ranging from 10 to 32, no two people allowed the same guess. Gus kept an ongoing tally with his impressive, official scoreboard of stones arranged in Roman numerals. The tension was high as the barrow-loads kept coming and the tally was climbing. After  a monumental effort, Peter was rewarded with the title, having successfully anticipated the twenty mixer loads it took to fill the holes. The team effort was fantastic! 20 mixer loads, 80 wheelbarrow loads, 60 boxes of gravel and 40 boxes of sand! That tower was not going anywhere in a hurry. 

I spent a bit of time with Kathy, David and Adrian, shovelling dirt from the perimeter. It was hot, hard work – a far cry from snuggling with babies. At least I can tell my grandchildren one day, I’ve done my time in the trenches. The American man behind the project; lover of big machines, was Brent. Brent spent most of the day tearing around in his Bobcat like a lunatic. The man was crazy. Nearly everyone on our team could tell stories of their lives flashing before their eyes as that erratic Bobcat with Brent at the helm, ducked, weaved or zipped within an inch of them. He was particularly speedy when reversing so we had to give him a wide berth.

About halfway through the day it was discovered that the bus that had gone to Baby Watoto had broken down. Our bus had to rescue the stranded, depositing some at the hotel and some back to Bobby with us. Molly and Lexi had returned with their boots on, as had Josh, Kirsty and Michael. It was just the injection of energy our rapidly flagging team needed. Josh had struck up a friendship with the cook, Annette,  who was onsite each day to feed the Ugandan workers.  She had over an hour’s walk to work each day so Josh, wanting to do something special for her, had decided to buy her a bike. He and Kirsty had presented her with her new two-wheeled beauty and she was a picture of absolute joy.  She was touched by his act of kindness and proudly rode all over the site to show it off. It was a memorable moment when our bus passed her riding along the side of the road. We were hooting and hollering out the window, her smile as wide as any I’ve seen. 

It was great to meet and chat to the friendly and hard-working Ugandan builders. I met James, Maurice, Ambrose and Kennedy. The sun was vicious today and the work was not easy yet not one of them ever uttered a single word of complaint. It is simply not in their nature to whinge. I wish I could say the same for myself. I’ve heard the term for white people like us was “Muzunga” so I asked James if this term was used Africa-wide. He laughed so much when I said it, he was buckled over. Every time I said “muzunga”, he cracked up laughing. I think it’s safe to say he knew what I meant. 

Once again the Ugandans climbed death-defying heights to secure the frame of the greenhouse, giving us all heart palpitations. Swaying in the breeze up there, the blue sky behind them. We could only relax once the job was done! 

Everyone worked their butts off today and it was fun to sit around in the shade at the end of a hard day’s work and chew the fat. Stuart enquired whether any one of us had a Bobcat licence. Sam and Toby both enthusiastically volunteered but their lack of qualifications was a slight issue. Jacob piped up to say he’d driven a police car on Grand Theft Auto but that didn’t cut the mustard either. Toby, still reeling from his loss to David in a pole-climbing race earlier in the week, challenged David to an arm wrestle. It was a tight match but in the end Toby reigned supreme, evening up the ledger. 

We found out this afternoon that Delwyn’s butterfly brooch pattern will now be incorporated into the Watoto shop. They will sew them onto headbands and sell them to the public. Delwyn is suitably chuffed.