Steering well clear of the baked beans this morning, I had a lovely yet slightly unorthodox breakfast of baked potatoes and red onion. These Africans sure do love their spuds. I am also happy to report this morning’s absence of the metal knife being plunged into the toaster, which was a huge relief.

Maisy, although enjoying her day on the tools yesterday, returned to join me and about 6 others today at the babies home. At one stage, when we were both cradling and bottle-feeding ‘our’ adorable, chubby-cheeked little angels, Maisy turned to me and, gesturing around the room, said: ”how could ANYONE choose building over this?!” A few of the babies had nasty coughs today and got a visit from the resident nurse. When they are living in such close quarters – 8 babies to a room – it’s pretty hard to contain a sickness.

We broke the ice a bit more with the shy women whose job it is to look after the 1-2 year-olds. The fact we had made a return visit brightened their day and they were much more talkative. I’d brought some little bottles of bubbles from home but realised as soon as I’d pulled them out of the packet that the kids would probably be more likely to drink the bubble mixture than anything else. Instead of testing this theory, we adults grabbed a bottle each and blew bubbles – or should I say, attempted to blow bubbles. We had a few obstacles to overcome, the first of which was a metallic seal on the top of the bottle that was near impossible to budge. The kids had gathered around the group of us, bursting with anticipation and clawing at the enticing little yellow bubble bottles we were trying to open. After much stabbing and prodding and palming off of eager children, we eventually broke the seals, only to find that the bubble wands inside were absolutely minuscule. How on earth was anyone to blow a bubble through that teeny tiny hole? With a show of huffing and puffing that would have made the Big Bad Wolf proud, the best we could get was an intermittent single bubble about the size of a pea. It was hardly the bubble-filled wonderland I’d envisaged.

As I have mentioned previously, these children are incredibly well-behaved. When you think about it, they are virtually all raised by the same parents so they are all on the same page. All of them sit and stand when they’re told, wash their hands obediently, hold their hands up for prayer, sit quietly on their potties (for a whole fifteen minutes!) and generally tow the line. All that is, except one. There’s one in every crowd. Ivan is a bit of a renegade. His individuality and determination to rise above the crowd will serve him well later in life but right now, they are just earning the poor guy a bad rep. At one point today he staged an escape and almost triggered a rebellion. Luckily, the carers were able to quell the disturbance and Ivan got away with a warning…this time.

Elizabeth and Maisy loved this age group and had a ball with the kids. Mary, twin sister to Joseph, took quite a shine to my youngest offspring as soon as she walked in the room, clinging to her as if her life depended on it. Maisy was chuffed.

Again today we forged close bonds with Brenda in the newborn room. I casually asked her what she liked to do in her spare time when she wasn’t kid wrangling. I was astonished when she said: “I’m a farmer” and explained that her meagre income is not enough to support her so she grows rice, maize and vegetables which she sells at the market in the village to subsidise her income. The other carer, Alice, that we met for the first time today, was a single mother of four kids; very unusual in Uganda. Rising before the sun each day, she walks “a long way” to get to the baby home. These women are doing it tough but their joy is palpable. They are so dedicated to the little ones in their care. Alice was showcasing her considerable skill set today, by feeding 3 babies at the one time. We were suitably impressed but she shrugged it off saying feeding 10 babies at once was her record! Octomum eat your heart out.

On a sad note, we were told that all the eight beautiful babies in the newborn room had mothers that had died in childbirth. Living in remote rural villages makes access to health services very difficult and they often go into labour on the long journey to a city hospital. I know I sound like a broken record but what a lot we take for granted.

The building team, including 2/3 of my family, made incredible progress today. The poles all cemented in, they were able to start erecting the roof trusses for the greenhouse. Sam remarked just how rewarding it was to see such tangible progress. The Ugandan builders displayed dare-devil tactics while on the work site today, scaling the 5.5 metre high poles and balancing precariously while fixing the frames into place; not a harness or rope in sight. A collective sigh of relief was heard when the task was complete. We had taken a detour this morning to include a stop at the hardware store, using some of our fundraising dollars to buy new shovels, wheelbarrows and hoes that will not only help our team to complete the job but will also replace the dilapidated equipment the Ugandans have been using. Molly and a few others managed to start and finish painting the water tower, coming home this afternoon covered in brown paint and red dust. On first glance, I thought they’d contacted some rare equatorial disease.

Tobes had a great chance today to get to know one of the Ugandan builders named Maurice and they really hit it off. Maurice’s boots looked a bit worse for wear so Toby promised to leave his own boots behind when he leaves, donating them to his new friend. Maurice explained that even just one boot would cost him a whole week’s wages, which Toby worked out was about $20 AUD. It was a sobering thought for Tobes that the boys had just spent virtually the same amount of money on afternoon snacks at the servo, without a second thought. Maurice was so touched he gave Toby a spontaneous hug. The builders struck up a game of soccer with their Ugandan colleagues and the camaraderie was so thick you could carve it.

Delwyn mentioned this morning how nice a ‘real’ coffee would be. Ahhh yes. It seemed out of the question though all the way up here in Gulu. Besides, we are on a fairly tight schedule. Our guide, Stephen, had caught wind of this and arranged for our trusty driver Antonio to make a secret stop in town on our way to the Neighbourhood project. We pulled up at the “Iron Donkey” and the aroma of coffee beans was sublime. It struck me that apart from the staff, every single person in the cafe was white. It was bizarre. We placed our orders and began to salivate at the prospect of a cappuccino, latte or flat white but we’d forgotten that no one is in a hurry in Africa. It took almost an hour to receive our coffees, in dribs and drabs, but it really didn’t matter in the scheme of things. We all agreed that had we been home, we would definitely have complained by now. We’d have been tense and cranky and probably have vowed never to return. It’s amazing how the little irritations disappear here. Expectations are different and in general there’s a much kinder attitude that prevails. The cafe staff was delightful and the lengthy wait for our drinks meant Julianne had time to strike up friendships with a couple of the ladies, one of whom was named Kevin!

Back at the Neighbourhood, we continued to get our showbags of rice, sugar, oil, beans and soap ready. As we worked, Kathy fired up her little speaker and we sang some songs together. A couple of the ladies from the project came over to join in the singing. It was awesome to be able to sing together and realise that despite seeming so different from one another, we really aren’t that different at all. It was great teamwork and before we knew it we had the job done and were ready to call it a day. We’ll all sleep without rocking tonight.

The power went off with a clunk sometime in the middle of the night and with it, the air conditioning stopped working. As I lay there in the dark, wrestling with the mozzie net that I seem to get tangled in every night, I could hear all kinds of weird and wonderful animal noises outside. Howling, growling and cock-a-doodle-doing into the wee hours and a loud trumpeting noise that sounded a whole lot like an elephant. Could it have been? We are in Africa after all. My breakfast buddies really didn’t think so but you never know…

Again this morning the team split into the “Builders” and the “Babies”. They couldn’t drag me away from that baby bus if they tried. Molly and Maisy donned their work boots and gloves and opted today to join the boys on the building site so there were only about 8 of us ladies that went to the baby home. 

We had arrived just in time for Music Time and the beautiful voices of the African staff were enchanting the babies (and us). They rocked and wriggled in time to the beat and clapped their cute little hands along to “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round The Mountain”  and “My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean”. We washed and sterilised all the bottles and their feeding paraphernalia during nap time, while we waited as patiently as we could for the babies to rouse. As soon as it was time, I made a beeline for my favourite little newborns. Mandy was helping me with the babies today and as we walked into the quiet little sanctuary with the carers, Brenda and Sharon, the snoozing bubs all around us were as silent as a mouse. It was precisely that moment that I realised I may have been over-indulging in baked beans and it just may have been a mistake to have had  them on my toast every morning this week. Into the peace of the room came a trumpeting sound that shattered the tranquility. Maybe it was that elephant I thought I’d heard last night? I wish. I looked at Mandy and she gasped in open-mouthed horror. If only the floor had an escape hatch I could swiftly open and jump into but, alas it did not so I did the next best thing and, red-faced, apologised profusely for my disgraceful spontaneous eruption. Suppressing their mirth, Sharon and Brenda  accepted my apology and we got on with the business of babies. 

Still as irresistible as they were yesterday, these tiny Ugandans, with names like Mercy, Patience, Blessings, Charity and twins named Joseph and Mary, kept us busy and entertained. We changed them, fed them and got to cuddle them to our hearts’ content. It was great to get to know Sharon and Brenda and apart from the fact they could still love me despite my little indiscretion, they were really willing to open up to us about their lives. Sharing stories of our families, Sharon told us of her brother’s plight. According to Sharon, her brother had discovered a murdered body and had called the police, only to be arrested and gaoled as a suspect in the case. In Uganda, someone is guilty until proven innocent. He is an innocent man,  who’s been awaiting trial, in deplorable conditions – 50 men in a small cell, sleeping on a concrete floor – for seven years! We asked why it has taken so long to get to court and discovered it all comes down to money. Unless he can come up with a substantial amount of money (a tad hard when you’re incarcerated), he will stay in gaol. It seems so unfair. We need to be grateful for our justice system!

Mandy and the girls and I discussed some deep topics : the ins and out of afros vs cornrows. How wide could their afros go if left untamed? We discovered that Nirthern Ugandans are from the Acoli tribe (pronounced “acholy”) and the language they speak is Luo. Sharon let us taste what she’d packed herself for lunch – some salty baked cassava, which was very yummy and tasted a lot like potato.

Sharon gave baby Vivienne a short-back-and-sides, taming her tiny afro while talking to us and watching the other babies. Talk about multi-tasking, and on a moving target. True skill indeed. The ladies asked us about our families and I showed them a couple of family photos. They were so excited to see my family and Brenda seemed entirely genuine when she looked me in the eye and said “that is the most beautiful family I have ever seen”. Gee, what a compliment. From there the kind words continued to flow. They told me they loved my hair and that I didn’t look my age among other nice things and I was feeling humbled by her gushing kindness. Saving the best till last, Sharon came home with a clanger: “I love your figure Sarah…”. Really?

“Me too”, Brenda agreed.

“It’s just so…(wait for it)……

ROUND”. 

Hmmm. Thanks, I think. Mandy gasped, open-mothed for the second time today.  It was a genuine compliment too.  Maybe I should move to Africa? 

The other girls with us at Baby Watoto spent he morning with the toddlers, blowing bubbles and playing with balloons. They were so impressed by just how well-behaved the kids were. Mandy and I had a brief visit with the older babies but Rachel lingered and spent her time lovingly acting as a piece of playground equipment with babies climbing all over her and giving her loads of cuddles. We couldn’t believe they were watching Australian Play School and loved the way they put their little hands together in prayer before their morning tea of fresh pineapple and watermelon. 

After a few more cuddles with the babies we boarded the bus back to the Neighbourhood centre, where Delwyn and Debbie were teaching a room full of women how to sew a butterfly brooch. Delwyn, a sewing enthusiast and natural-born teacher, was in her element, giving step-by-step instructions to the fifty-odd women, while Debbie, a retired high school textiles teacher, guided them through the process. The tin-roofed building was like a sauna, the roof magnifying the intensity of the already sweltering day, yet not one of the women uttered a single word of complaint. With smiles on their faces they diligently persevered with their butterflies, (which incidentally looked pretty darn complicated to me) and were beaming with pride at their finished products, urging me to photograph them wearing their bespoke creations. There was a lot of chest puffing going on, and deservedly so.  

Kathy had used some of the money we had raised through our pre-trip fundraising to buy rice, dried beans, packets of oil, laundry soap and sugar. It was our job to prepare little ‘showbags’ for the women in the neighbourhood project, like Nancy, who we had visited yesterday. With some help from Dennis, the resident sewing machine repair man and Vicky who looked after the kids, we spent the next few hours working up a sweat, scooping rice and beans from huge sacks into individual bags for the girls. It was hot but rewarding work and we are all excited to be presenting them with their goodies later in the week. 

One of our team members, Jeanette, who is a teacher passionate about her vocation, was keen to visit a local school while she was in Uganda. She had been granted permission, under the impression as she headed off, that she’d be acting more or less as a teacher’s aide. Instead, she was surprised to find she was the special guest in a Watoto organised school project called “Keep Girls in School”. They spent the first part of the morning making little packs for all the school girls, who customarily have their heads shaved for all of their schooling years. The packs, containing two new pairs of undies and some sanitary pads, were tied up with ribbon and later distributed to the girls in the school. Jeanette was called upon to give an impromptu talk, which she took in her stride. 

The builders also had a sweaty but productive day, getting to spend quality time with the Ugandan builders and getting to know them. For their first day on the site, Maisy, Molly and Lexi all worked their fingers to the bone, only managing to lean on their shovels very briefly in the course of the day. Everyone pulled their weight and worked really hard. At one stage, the team gave away some more soccer balls to some nearby school kids, throwing them over the fence and causing great jubilation. Such a small gesture brought so much joy and again drove home to us the things we so easily take for granted. 

Progress on the greenhouse was halted prematurely when the mechanical hole digger thingy (technical name) broke down. God was good to us though and we heard news after dinner that, thanks to the clever and industrious Ugandans on the site, the digger had been repaired and they’d finished digging the holes. Uganda is slap-bang, right on the Equator so it was no surprise the team was exhausted after their hot day shovelling dirt in the sun, secretly delighted the malfunctioning machine had given them an unexpected early mark.

It was great to have some down-time this afternoon and reflect on the trip so far. 

We’ve been warned about “African time” since arriving here. Someone may have an appointment to meet a friend at 3. They may come at 2, they may come at 3, they may come at 6. Its all fine and totally expected. It’s the continent of laid back looseness; a problem-free philosophy… Hakuna Matata indeed.

I was feeling a little less Hakuna matata this morning at breakfast when the young boy whose express job it was to load and unload the toaster, had decided his toast-removal implement of choice would be a metal knife. I was holding my breath in expectation of an almighty zapping and although I did express concern and ask if he had any non-metal objects he could employ for the task, he seemed totally unfazed. Hakuna matata.

Jeanette and Peter’s airconditioning was on the blink. They said they might fix it last night. They said they might fix it this morning, they said they might fix it today. It’s still not fixed. Hakuna matata.

Our accommodation in Gulu is a lot more like I expected in Africa than our first night in relative luxury. It’s really comfortable and clean but the fridge doesn’t work, the airconditioning is a bit temperamental and the run-around-to-get-wet shower may or may not produce any hot water. It’s all just part of the adventure and besides, the beaming smiles and warm hospitality of the staff, some of whom are resplendent in their gleaming bellhop outfits that wouldn’t look out of place at The Ritz, make it all worth it. The Ugandan people are exceptionally welcoming and friendly. Aside from the grumpy guard at the bridge yesterday, anyone we wave to from our bus, obliges us with a friendly return wave. Even the toughest looking guys by the side of the road, are happy to return our waves.

Our first stop this morning was the “Watoto Neighbourhood”. This is a an incredibly inspirational set-up. Starting in 2008, it was originally formed to protect widows and women who had been victims of vicious attacks from rebel soldiers during the civil war. It was common for girls to be abducted at a young age and forced to marry older men who often performed horrific mutilation to their faces (cutting off lips or noses!) and got them pregnant in their teens. Education for women in Uganda is also not a priority, with many girls encouraged to stay home to do domestic chores rather than go to school. As sad as this seems, menstruation is also a major reason for girls to drop out of school. Their poverty prevents them from being able to afford sanitary products so they remain at home to avoid embarrassment and shame. This has left a huge proportion of the female population illiterate, contributing to their vulnerability in society. This is where Watoto steps in.

Watoto provides a safe haven for such women (and their children), initially giving them trauma counselling and then giving them basic literacy skills and an ongoing two-year program aiming to empower them to break their vulnerability through education. The program includes vocational training, budgeting advice, business skills and a start-up capital to help launch their new businesses. Each woman has a bank account opened for her. The women who have been disfigured are given re-constructive surgery and there is a focus on restoring dignity. Currently 40% of the women there are HIV positive so they are also provided with medication and ongoing medical support. Watoto sees itself as an organisation offering a “hand-up”, rather than a hand-out. Overarching all of this is Watoto’s commitment to God and their Christian faith and the girls are given hope and a purpose for the first time. It was incredibly inspiring.

Our team was ushered into a room full-to-the-brim with women sitting at sewing machines. Their welcome to us was as enthusiastic as it was unique and, as they cupped their hands over their mouths, on-and-off, American Indian style, emitting the loudest and most raucous cheers, we were humbled. It was a cacophony like none we’d heard, with thunderous clapping, foot stomping and shrill hollering all in honour of our arrival. What a reception! Next, we were treated to some incredible singing, accompanied by two girls on a drum and more rhythmic clapping. Though we may not have understood the words (most of the girls spoke only in their African dialect) we were swept up in the music and joy of it all just the same. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.

One of the women got up and shared her incredible story of abduction at 14, teen pregnancy and a marriage where she was held hostage at gun-point. Bravely, she had fled with her child and had made her way to the safety of Watoto. A large part of the healing process for these women and a major facet of their trauma counselling is Forgiveness. They are not able to move on until they can truly forgive. I was struck by the enormity of this task, given the magnitude of their mistreatment at the hands of such cruelty but they say they are able to do this only in God’s strength. Julieanne from our team gave a short bible talk afterwards to encourage the girls, which was interpreted sentence by sentence and was received enthusiastically. Then a few of the young girls on our team, including Molly and Maisy, got up and sang Amazing Grace to the women, most of whom joined in. It was awesome!

Our next destination was the neighbourhood village. We were being invited into the homes of women who were part of the program. To say this was confronting was to say the least. We met the beautiful, gentle Nancy, who had a congenital birth defect that caused her face to be disfigured and consequently left her an outcast. As she sat, breastfeeding her baby, Emanuel, and we sat on plastic chairs she’d set up for us inside her tiny, traditional African hut, she was excited to share that she was on the brink of launching her own shoe-selling business. She was waiting for her start-up capital to arrive. I’m not sure why, but I felt overcome with emotion meeting Nancy. To see her, living with her 3 small kids in this tiny mud house with a dirt floor, a small pot of rice cooking on a fire in the corner, experiencing her joy and warm hospitality, was overwhelming. Our abundance is so taken for granted and though it’s a cliche, our first-world problems really pale into insignificance here.

The neighbourhood kids were roaming with chickens, playing between the huts and yelling out to us in their language. When we enquired about what they were yelling, our guide informed us they were yelling “Whities!!” We were being heckled! We had come straight from winter but come on. Maybe we should have issued them all with sunglasses to help with the glare. We’d brought over some soccer balls and Ross had one pumped up in the bus. As a big group of kids stood around to get a better look at us (or realistically, to laugh at our lack of tans) Ross threw the soccer ball to them and caused a frenzy. They were SO excited. Kids came out of the woodwork and followed Pied Piper fashion as the boy with the ball led the way. The universal appeal of the round ball game. Maybe we’d made their day but actually, their excitement had made ours.
This afternoon we had the choice of going to the building site to start work on the greenhouse or to visit Baby Watoto in Gulu. Our family divided along gender lines, Ross & the boys going to build and the girls and I spending the afternoon with the orphaned babies. We had an absolute ball and got to cuddle and feed babies from 6 weeks old! They were unbelievably cute. Their huge brown eyes with eyelashes for days and their skin so dark and flawless. We just wanted to take them home! The home at Gulu houses around 80 babies so the task of looking after them is mammoth. Preparing bottles, changing nappies, bathing and dressing, all done by the loving carers like a well-oiled machine. We arrived during afternoon nap time to a peaceful, calm environment but the tone of the place quickly changed once the little tackers were up and about. They were everywhere – crawling, bouncing, playing. It was just so much fun. We all bonded with these gorgeous little people and I can’t wait to see them tomorrow.

The building team had a great, productive afternoon too. The enormous site set to accommodate the greenhouse had been cleared in preparation and the team worked tirelessly digging holes, barrowing red dirt and cementing the poles in place. Toby and Ross were on cement duty while Sam worked on getting the trusses in order, a project Ross described as like a giant Meccano set.

Dinner eaten, malaria tablets taken, teeth brushed with bottled water, insect spray on, mozzie net in place…time to hit the sack, exhausted.

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!