Day 184 Ngorongoro Crater

You know it’s going to be a good day when an elephant ambles into your campsite to get a drink of water before your jeep is loaded up. The view from the edge of the rim, before we descended into the crater was spectacular, and it was a wonderful start to the day that marked our three-year anniversary. Three whole years together that included six whole months spent traveling through more than ten countries together.

At first, I thought “Oh this is pretty! Yep… lots of animals here… How nice…”

And then, we saw a line of metal and glass reflecting the sunlight in the distance. “Something is going on down there.” Josh said excitedly. I couldn’t believe so many jeeps would be lined up watching something, “Really? “Maybe it’s a parking lot or something… That’s a lot of jeeps!” I responded.

It wasn’t a parking lot. As we got closer, it was a line of a crazy amount of jeeps watching seven lions surround two cape buffalo. It was a big five kill taking place before our very eyes. ‘The Big Five’ refers to the five animals that are hardest to kill on foot. Not, because of their size. They are the lion, leopard, Cape buffalo, African elephant, and Black rhinoceros.

We later learned that this drawn out kill began with seven or eight buffalo when the lions attacked. At first we thought the male mate was sticking by his wounded female, but we later learned that they were both males. The other buffalos had left, leaving one wounded and one trying to help his friend.

“Arnold, I think I should go help the buffalo…” I said, offering to climb out of the jeep and protect the wounded animal from the preying lions. He laughed, and allowed no such thing. Even from far away, looking through the binoculars, we were wide-eyed with excitement and wonder over the drawn out big five battle. We were also surprised there was no big male lion leading the fight. Younger males and lionesses were in charge. Where was the older male?

“There he is!” I cried out as I spotted an older lion with a big mane laying up against one of the jeeps watching the battle.

Arnold told us that the older male lions let the young and the females do their bidding until the animal was dead. Then he was the first to eat from the fresh kill. We were in awe at his laziness. He just slept in the shade while not one, but seven of his pride tackled a huge buffalo for his (and their) dinner. Arnold drove us closer. We learned that some of the jeeps had been watching since sunrise – a little over two hours before we had arrived. I was grateful we hadn’t been there so long. It was hard to watch, and I felt for the buffalo.

The lions would circle in, one would jump on the wounded buffalo and he would try to fight back until his friend came and shooed the lions away. Sometimes the lions would tease the healthy buffalo, until he would lower his horns and the lions would back off. The healthy lion called for his friends, but none of them responded, none of them came to help fend the lions away. Our friends from the hostel who were also on safari were there watching in another jeep. Tiffany said it was as if the one buffalo sat down to take one for the team- in a way, to let the other ones go away, and live. But this didn’t make the healthy buffalo who stayed by the wounded one’s side happy.

The healthy buffalo nudged his wounded friend, trying to get him up, but he wouldn’t budge. He circled around for awhile, and then… he started walking away. I know, I know, “It’s the circle of life…” and I shouldn’t be so emotional over it, but it was heartbreaking. Editing the hundreds (and believe me. There were hundreds) of photos was more difficult than watching the kill unfold in real life.

As soon as the lions were sure the healthy buffalo was far enough away, they moved in. The wounded buffalo had to know what was coming, but he put up a fight. It was heroic. With seven lions either on him or pulling his legs apart, he stayed up for quite awhile before they eventually had him on his back. It was cruel watching them rip the buffalo apart. But then, the buffalo got up again, making one last stand until the lions pulled him back down one last time.

I’m assuming it was one last time. After the two hours or so we had devoted to watching the kill go down, we told Arnold we could go pursue a rhino or two before our permit was up to stay in the crater. We reeled, in disbelief over what we saw. And then there were more lions, just hanging out in the crater. Walking around LIKE A BOSS. Making all of the other animals a little bit twitchy wondering what they were going to do. Instead of any more kills, they walked towards us and took a sip of water from a puddle on the side of the road and continued ambling around the crater.

“They are lazy in the crater.” Arnold told us. With the walls so high, other animals have nowhere to go. If that water buffalo kill happened in the Serengeti, it would have happened much faster because the Serengeti is so huge, and the animals can run away or hide more easily.

We spotted a rhino in the distance, rounding out our Big Five sightings, some zebras playing, took a few group pictures and then headed out of the crater and back to Arusha. We may be over budget, but boy was it totally worth it. And hey, maybe this means we’ll be home sooner than we thought we would! Good news all around!

Day 183 The Serengeti and a Masai Tribe

We woke up before the sun to go on a drive. By the time we were on the road, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon and we stopped to take in its beauty forgetting, momentarily, about our hunt for cheetahs chasing after wildebeest or perhaps a baboon holding a lion cub up over an audience of animals bowing before them while magically, Elton John descended from the clouds playing ‘The Circle of Life’ on a white grand piano.

This thought alone prompted me to start singing “MAAAAHHHH-ZABENYA!” Everyone laughed and humored me as I burst out in song at random moments on safari. At least, I’d like to think they were humoring me and weren’t annoyed in the slightest.

I’ve become slightly (Andrew thinks “oddly”) obsessed with maribou storks. I just think they are the absolute coolest birds ever. I was ecstatic about a whole tree full of them in the morning.

The game drive in the morning wasn’t as exciting as we thought it was going to be, save for the line of zebras we stopped to watch in awe at their penchant for traveling in single file. We saw a hippo out of water, zebras rolling around on the ground to get the mosquitos off their backs…

And more leopards in sausage trees (I swear, that’s what they were called)! But, sadly, no cheetahs.

On our way out of the park, someone called out “Giraffe!” and sitting in the back seat, I looked out either side of the jeep wondering where it was, figuring it was way off in the distance, that is, until I looked up and the giraffe was right. there. Less than two meters away from our jeep, he loomed above us and then it seemed figured we weren’t a tree with leaves for him to nibble on, so he ambled over to something he could take a bite out of. It was hands down, my favorite part of the day.

We agreed to stop at the touristy Masai village on our way to the rim of the Ngorongoro Crater. There was a small entrance fee, and we knew it wasn’t going to be the most unique tribal experience, but I was still curious what they were going to present to us as their “day to day” life and what they would say about their tribe.

Immediately we were greeted, and the men started chanting and did something of a skip back and forth in front of us. They got Josh to join, but Andrew hung back with a camera instead of skipping and singing with the warriors. Then Leanne and I were led to the semi-circle of women, and a beaded necklace was placed around our necks and the women began singing. Now, usually, I think I handle myself (for the most part) pretty well when I’m in a new environment or surrounded by people much different than myself. But for some reason, I could not wrap my head around the fact that I was standing in the midst of a group of Masai women, one who was gently holding my hand, as they were all singing around me. It’s clear, from Andrew’s videos and Leanne’s pictures, I look quite the fish out of water. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable- not in the slightest- it was just a sheer moment of awe of our trip.

The Masai continued to sing and then the men jumped. Those men have some serious ups and I debated how they would fare on a basketball court, amused by the thought that they would probably kill it, all while playing in their Masai shuka wraps and plastic sandals against the western style jerseys and shoes.

We were led into a modest cow dung and straw hut. A man slept on the bed behind us as we sat on its edge listening to the Masai way of life. Leanne and I asked a few questions about the women- who helped them when it was time to have a baby, etc. Our guide brushed it off saying, something along the lines of “The women know.” We smiled, amused that he didn’t seem to want, nor care to either know the answer or perhaps to simply communicate the answer to us.

Josh asked why there were so many more women than men in the tribe. How is it possible for one Masai man to have so many wives and there not be more men for the amount of women. It was a fair question. One that was not given a fair answer. “That’s just how Masai are. More women are born instead of men.” He answered. This really got Josh’s goat. He wasn’t having it, and neither were we, but we didn’t have another source to ask, at least, not yet.

Our guide tried to lead us to the makeshift shop in the middle of the village, but we skirted around it, instead walking along the huts and asking more questions. We were then led to the “school” a small hut (if you could even call one) outside of the circle of houses. Children ran around outside until they saw us coming and then immediately ran into the school to sit on the benches for their latest visitors. A blackboard was behind us with letters and numbers and sentences that was clearly set up as a prop for the stage that the students promptly took before us, reciting their ABCs. It made me uncomfortable. I should have taken some video, but I was too… I don’t know… aghast at the thought that they clearly do this for the donation box that is set up in front of them, even after we were told that our entrance fee was for the children and their education.

Again, after the school, we were led to the display of necklaces in the center of the village. Again, we avoided it and instead photographed the women sitting against a house making more necklaces. This is why I wanted to visit the village. These women are so beautiful and I’m sure they have led such an interesting life. Again, I wanted to know more, more about the women, not the men whom the tribe is so famous for.

This is a patriarchal tribe. Males- known as warriors- are in charge, they have multiple wives, and there are rumors of continued FGM practices even though it is illegal by Tanzanian law. Girls at our hostel told us stories they had heard that blew my mind and made me so curious of the realities of women in these tribes. Do the women comply readily with these expectations of them? Is there ever any dissent? Aside from all of the work they do for the men in the tribe, are they treated well? Could a woman ever be a warrior? Women can play football in the states if they really want to, right? It’s practically the same thing, right?

I asked our guide. He burst out laughing. Like it was the absolute funniest thing he had ever heard of in his life. “But… why not?” I asked, curious. “A man has to be circumcised…” He trailed off, amused by my curiosity. “But, women ARE circumcised.” I replied. He laughed, like it was still not possible for a woman to ever be a warrior, like the mere thought was simply… wrong.

I smiled. “I don’t understand, if all a man has to do is get circumcised and then go into the woods for three months to learn how to become a warrior, couldn’t a woman do the same? She will be circumcised anyway…” He listened, paused, and then continued to shake his head, but didn’t offer any further rebuttal.

The women sat in a circle nearby with several babies, oblivious to the content of our conversation. I desperately wanted to bring them into the conversation, but I had a feeling that was not possible. It seems as though the men enjoy their women uneducated, pregnant, and oblivious. Perhaps I’m mistaken, and my observations- at least from this tribe is not necessarily accurate. I became anxious to go to a real Masai village to talk to the woman about their role within the Masai after our safari.

Our guide deemed our time was up and we were ushered out nicely, but in a clear “Ok, it’s time for you to go…” kinda way. Our curiosity was piqued and we sat in the jeep on our way to the rim of the crater playing the visit over again. “Something is going on there, more women than men? No way.” Josh pointed out. We all agreed and wondered if even at another tribe, not visited every twenty minutes by a jeep full of safari goers would we get a more accurate answer.

The rim of the crater was beautiful. That is, until I was sure something had gotten in our tent and then Andrew saw a large mass of blackness eating grass around our tent. “It can’t be a hippo, they can’t get up here…” The cooks assured him on his way back from the bathroom. “It’s probably just a buffalo…” Because, that certainly makes one feel better walking to and from the bathroom after dark…

Day 182: The Serengeti

Going on a safari is kinda like going on a road trip. Fortunately today’s road trip was to the Serengeti. I didn’t realize how exciting this was until we were standing outside of a giant gate welcoming us into the park. The Serengeti is just one of those places, much like Angkor Wat and the Taj Mahal and the Old City in Jerusalem where I never really pictured myself standing in front of. This Round-the-World adventure can be a bit of a head-trip at times.

En route to The Serengeti, we had to drive around Ngorongoro Crater, we stopped to take in the view, and then I continued to love the scenery in between the crater and the Serengeti. Masai homes dotted the landscape. Warriors stood out against the landscape. It was quite beautiful, especially when one would be out with their cattle or lounging in the grass with their friends. I’m in love with the Masai shukas (the colorful shawls they wear around their shoulders) especially against the backdrop of greens and browns in the fields.

Day 182 also happened to be Andrew and my six month trip-aversary! We’ve made it a whole six months of traveling around the world together! Before we left, we wondered how long we would make it… We would not only wonder if our friends were placing bets on whether or not we would make it, and for how long, but we would also make the same kinds of bets ourselves. It seems like forever since we left Korea, yet unbelievable we’ve been on the road for as long as we have been. I’m glad we’re still kicking and this was a wonderful way to celebrate!

Other safari-goers were posing in front of the gate and we readily climbed out of the jeep to take a few pictures of our own. Only, we had to wait for a group of French girls to finish their shots that were no doubt going into their modeling portfolios back home. Leanne and I giggled at their perfectly planned poses and agreed we had to do a similar shoot of our own. The boys played along. Not exactly by choice…

The ride itself was at times, slightly traumatizing. Headache inducing. Cloudy with dust. Bumpy. A small price to pay for the animals on either side of the road. Wildebeest were everywhere. A pregnant hyena gave pause only a few feet from where we stopped. We were mesmerized and we knew we were just getting started.

We stopped for lunch at the bottom of a rocky hill and climbed up the hill for the view after we sifted through our packed lunches for what we each deemed edible. Arnold, our guide, told us that the Serengeti means “endless” and with a view like this, you can see why the park is named so… I was equally impressed with the cloud shadows over the plains.

After we dropped off our tents and bags at the campsite to make more room in the jeep for our afternoon drive, we spotted several jeeps stopped in the middle of the road. We joined them, and sure enough a lioness was sleeping in the tall grass. Only minutes later, a male lion stood up- surprising us all and climbed on top of the lioness. Lit’rally. (I couldn’t bring myself to photograph the lions doin’ it. Sorry, if that’s your thing, but it felt a little too intrusive and I put my camera down during you know, the business…)

“They have separated themselves from the pride to mate.” Arnold told us, and further explained that a male and female will leave the pride for a week. A whole week, to mate every fifteen minutes. The lioness didn’t seem to pleased about this situation and the mating didn’t last for long before they were laying back in the grass again. We waited to see if they would have another go at it, but eventually got bored, and told Arnold we could go.

We saw more elephants, more lions lounging in the grass, and a couple more hyenas until we spotted another group of jeeps in the distance. Arnold sped up and we were bouncing around the back of the jeep all the way to join them.

Everyone was looking towards the ‘sausage trees’ in the distance. There were leopards in them. Can you see the one in the middle of the tree trunk above? Another is standing on the lower branch/stump on the smaller tree below.

We traded binoculars and directions for where to look and we sat for at least a half hour watching one drag a kill up into the tree and a couple of others go from one tree to the next. Leopards. In trees. Andrew was satisfied. He’s been wanting to see a cat in a tree since Uganda like I wanted to see a zebra.

By dusk, we were back at the campsite setting up our tents and standing in line for showers before the sun went down completely. Dinner was again a fun exchange of stories until we realized we should probably head to our tents like everyone else. Only, we stood outside of our tents for awhile longer giggling like schoolchildren over stories and the appropriate accents to go with them. Stopping only to catch our breath from laughing so hard and repeated glances up at the absolutely magnificent starry sky above. Best. Sky. Ever. Hands down. Of not only this trip, but of life. The Serengeti is where it’s at!

Day 181: Lake Manyara

We were so relieved that another couple decided to go on safari with us that the possibility of them not being cool was an afterthought.

“What if they suck?” I asked Andrew over tea and toast for breakfast at the hostel.

“Well, then we’ll have someone new to make fun of after the trip is over…” He responded. Or maybe that’s how I responded in my head. I can’t be entirely sure…

Fortunately, they didn’t suck. At all. As we drove out to Lake Manyara (our first stop on our Tanzanian safari), we discovered that they, too, were Americans, on a longer than average trip around the world, and were equally amused at how strange it sometimes is to talk about traveling around the world to someone who is on a two, maybe three week vacation from home. Questions started flying back and forth and the two hour drive out to the lake flew by.

We were so relieved that another couple decided to go on safari with us that the possibility of them not being cool was an afterthought.

“What if they suck?” I asked Andrew over tea and toast for breakfast at the hostel.

“Well, then we’ll have someone new to make fun of after the trip is over…” He responded. Or maybe that’s how I responded in my head. I can’t be entirely sure…

Fortunately, they didn’t suck. At all. As we drove out to Lake Manyara (our first stop on our Tanzanian safari), we discovered that they, too, were Americans, on a longer than average trip around the world, and were equally amused at how strange it sometimes is to talk about traveling around the world to someone who is on a two, maybe three week vacation from home. Questions started flying back and forth and the two hour drive out to the lake flew by.

Not long into our drive, we spotted them. And then one wasn’t afraid standing so close to the road, I could not stop marveling at how beautiful they were. I know, zebra print isn’t a new thing… But on a real zebra it’s simply fascinating. Against the golden and green grasses, they stood out in such a bold way that it was difficult to say “Ok, we can go…” to our patient driver/tour guide, Arnold.

I knew we had more to see, so I tried not to mourn the zebras as we rolled away and soon became equally elated over the many baboons. So many that we had to wait for them to cross the road before we could continue on our drive. And then… “Stop! Elephant!” I yelled, as a huge elephant was ambling out of the brush, towards the road, right where we had stopped. For a minute I wondered if he was going to come up to our jeep. He slowed down a bit only a couple meters away from us, and then continued on his way, to join the other elephants we had passed on the other side of the road, further away, not nearly as close as this giant beauty got to us.

Breathtaking.

Do you remember that feeling of going to the zoo for the first time? Or maybe even that feeling you might get now, when you’re so close to a wild animal you wonder what would happen if there wasn’t a thick layer of glass or a high fence in between you? That’s kinda what going on a safari is like, only times one hundred. We were all transformed, overtaken with childlike excitement over the elephant after the baboons after the zebras…

There were flamingos in the distance, so many that it created a distinct pink line on the horizon, and then a rainbow on the drive home. Which I took as a reassuring sign that going (way) over budget to do this safari was worth it…

A fairly common (and surprising in my opinion) response to how long we’ve been traveling, and how long we plan to travel is “Oh… you must have so many stories!” I never know how to respond to this, and usually end up saying something along the lines of “I suppose… maybe we do…” often simultaneous to wondering if that’s my cue to tell a story right away.

This actually happened in Jerusalem with our couchsurfer host. He outright demanded a story and I responded with an awkward tale that was neither interesting nor funny because I felt so put on the spot to entertain. Andrew and I relate this reaction to our travels to when people at home (friends, family, random people you run into after a few years) react to us when we say we’ve been living in South Korea for several years. “What’s that like?” They ask nine times out of ten. Then, they expect you to sum it up in one sentence without boring them about the nuances and intricacies of living in a foreign country, let alone, when it’s South Korea. For the record: Yes, I like kimchi and No, I wasn’t afraid of North Korea.

With Josh and Leanne, celebrating their year trip-aversary today, there was no awkward response of what it’s like to travel around the world, or one sentence summary of stories from our trip. We laughed about ridiculous fights we found ourselves getting into, annoying travelers we’ve met along the way, and exchanged stories of tuk-tuk drivers who tried to rip us off in India.

We stayed up too late chatting oblivious to what time we had to get up in the morning until we noticed we were the last table in the dining area. Only then, did we say sneak off for a few hours of sleep before heading to the Serengeti in the morning!

Day 180: Moshi International School Festival

If you can believe it, we were on the fence about going on another safari. Obviously we both really wanted to, but… the Murchison Falls safari trip in Uganda put us over budget and the safari trips in Tanzania are significantly more expensive. We debated. And then I realized we couldn’t be an hour or two away from the Serengeti and the Ngorongoro Crater and NOT go on safari… even if it meant returning home a couple of weeks early. Andrew agreed. Now, with our last minute decision, we had to wait for another couple to book the same safari so we could get the lowest price. (We definitely couldn’t afford a private safari for two- and we like people, so we wanted to go with others. You know, if they were cool…)

Luckily, a couple came through, we just had to wait one more day before we could go on safari. So, we joined a group from our hostel who were going out to explore the possibility of an International Festival. We weren’t really sure where it was. Or if it really was happening… But with two taxis full of people, we were on a mission.

We stopped at one school, where there clearly was nothing happening. The taxi drivers talked to the school guards and learned of another school further down the road. When we arrived at the second school, there were cars and balloons and people! The festival existed!

As we walked around the back of the school, we were suddenly transported. We weren’t in Africa. We could have been at any International School around the world. It felt like America, only with a more diverse crowd than would attend in my hometown. We honed in on the food booths. Andrew and I sampled vegetable samosas and chicken tikka… peanut butter cookies and margaritas… and even the Zanzibar mix.

“I’m sorry, what’s the dish called again?” I asked.

“Zanzibar mix.” The woman replied.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Zanzibar mix.” She replied. Okaaay… I was weary as I looked at the lime green mixture with bits of what I assumed was bread and crackling on top… I figured I’ve tried worse. And it ended up being surprisingly very good. I still have no idea what was in it though.

We didn’t stay too terribly long, and headed back into town to withdraw a ridiculous amount of bills (the equivalent of $6.00 for each bill) to pay for our safari. And then had movie night with all of the girls at the hostel. I had movie night with the girls… Andrew studied Spanish or something sans girls.

Day 179: Arusha Cultural Heritage Center

The beauty about having breakfast with fellow travelers at the hostel you’re staying with, is not only in having someone else to talk to (as much as I love Andrew, other faces are a delight!) but having another person tell you what there is to do around the town you just arrived to! The Arusha Cultural Heritage Center was suggested, and wanting a little art in my life, off we went.

We went by foot, which might not have been the best idea, as it took nearly 45 minutes to get there under the blazing Tanzanian sun. Whew. When we arrived, I didn’t even care how much the cafe was going to cost, all I wanted was something cold and shaded. The milkshake was definitely not worth the five dollars. The avocado tomato salad was worth the three. So, I guess despite the menu being in dollars (usually a bad sign in a foreign country) we pretty much broke even.

The Arusha “Cultural Heritage” Center is a glorified shop/art gallery. In my opinion, I’m assuming, it’s where rich people go before or after their safari to browse for “cultural artifacts” that are factory made. Ok, not everything is factory made… But not everything is made by Tanzanians either- and considering it’s supposed to be Tanzanian Cultural Heritage, I found this a little disappointing.

BUT. There were some good pieces that were made by local, er, African artists, that both Andrew and I did appreciate. We just would have appreciated it a bit more if it was only African artists featured in the gallery and perhaps if Tanzanians were employed in the gallery as well. (It seemed to be operated by Indians only) Our favorite part of the visit was the bottom floor featuring masks, furniture, and African carvings. (Photos weren’t allowed, otherwise I would have a plethora of images for you to see.)

I was also completely enamored by the “trees of life” that were outside and inside the gallery. As in, I want on and would totally track one down and send it home to sit next to my dragon IF Africa wasn’t as crazy expensive as it is and we weren’t over budget. Bah. I snuck a photo of the information plaque because I thought the story behind the trees is just beautiful.

If your eyes are as bad as my hearing: “The more traditional pieces represent clambering masses of people, reaching eternally upwards, as if struggling to grow and move forwards… they depict extended families of past and present generations, gently supporting each other in the journey of life…”

Isn’t that beautiful?

We grabbed a dala dala back into town. Genius modes of cheap transportation- and much more fun than a taxi. Vans slow down on the side of the road when they see you standing there and you pay less than twenty cents (USD) to jump in and get out where you want to go. We’re never sure where they are going, so we ask first before jumping in. They’re not made for anyone taller than myself- Andrew wasn’t comfortable in the least, but I enjoyed watching the Masai woman watch him during the ride. When she caught me smiling at her amusement towards Andrew, she eyed me skeptically as well, until she eventually deemed I was ok to talk to. Fortunately, I was sitting next to a super nice Tanzanian who spoke both Swahili and English and helped us converse.

At first, she clasped her ears, full of intricately beaded earings and a few gaping holes (one in her lobe, and one in her upper ear). She eyed my own ears (one lone piercing in each) and asked where my earings were. I raised my finger up to say that I had one piercing, and told her my jewelry was at home, save for my one, lone, Arabic necklace. I may as well have been naked sitting across from her. She pointed out the holes in her ears, and again, asked where mine were. I made a face like “Ouch! Pain!” and she shook her head and told me it didn’t hurt. Then she counted on her fingers, at first I thought she was trying to tell me how old she was, but then my new friend told me she had twelve children. Again, she asked about me. I made a zero with my hand and told our translator that I was too young! He laughed. (I don’t blame him. I’m in Africa. No one is too young to have a baby here!) She told me she wanted me to take one of her children. I smiled and told him to tell her that I was still a child. He laughed again. I’m not sure if he told her that. I think he translated what he liked throughout out conversation. I’m pretty sure the woman got frustrated with me as well for not speaking Swahili. Although my new friend wouldn’t tell me in so many words that was so… She definitely asked me why I didn’t speak Swahili though. I told her it was the first time I needed it. She ranted a few Swahili words I couldn’t understand, and my new friend didn’t translate. I assumed it wasn’t mean spirited and smiled.

Ignorance is bliss, and I continued to believe the older Masai woman liked me and had enjoyed our conversation as much as I had.

Days 177 & 178: Kampala to Nairobi to Arusha

We were told to be at the Kampala Coach office a half hour before our departure time at 3:00. We arrived a little before 2:30 and waited. And waited some more. Moved outside next to the bus, and waited some more. Men were packing the undercarriage of the bus, shoving as much as possible into the storage cabins, kicking the door shut, and then gathering additional men to help secure the latch so it wouldn’t bust open on the road. It was amusing at first, but after an hour of the same routine, it became annoying and we were ready to go. Our “business luxury” bus was as dirty as an overnight bus in India and was two hours behind schedule. We wouldn’t arrive in Arusha until at least 22 hours  after we left Kampala.

It was close to midnight when we reached our first border crossing (Uganda/Kenya). I feel in a small (small) way that I’ve grown accustomed to sketchy border crossings at this point in the trip. While everyone crowded in the brightly lit Ugandan passport control, I took in the long line and shoved my bag into Andrew’s hands and went out into the dark to look for a ladies room. This is a bit tricky. When there are no lights and people milling about in the middle of the night, it’s a gamble of who you’re going to ask for help or directions. I always assume my ‘I ain’t scared’ face and sometimes hum I won’t deny it, I’m straight rider, you don’t want to mess with me… (only Tupac didn’t sing ‘mess’ and neither did I)

I settled on the two guards outside of the ATM booth. This might have been a mistake as they proved to be creepier than their uniforms deemed them to be. I politely asked where the toilet was. They didn’t look up until I repeated it a few more times, a few more different ways, making it clear that I wasn’t going anywhere until I got an answer.

“Money” One of them eventually replied. (Sometimes bathrooms do cost money, and I gladly pay – when they are clean and there’s tissue. Ok, they are hardly ever clean, and only sometimes is there tissue. But I’m almost always prepared with my own.) I was in a bit of a rush and was slightly annoyed that they were informing me that there was indeed a bathroom, but it cost money.

“Yes. I know. Where. is. it?” I tried to ask patiently.

“Money.” The one demanded again. At this point I realized he was asking for money for directions. He obviously didn’t realize who he was talking to. I became indignant, and considered briefly what would happen if I peed inside his ATM booth. Ok, not really. I wouldn’t do that. But I might have made him a little bit nervous standing in front of him not handing over any money knowing full well I could go wherever I wanted, if I really wanted to. He sighed and waved his arm behind him. Which really, didn’t help at all, but I went and eventually found where I needed to go and got back to Andrew before he started to worry- er, more than he probably already was, but didn’t admit to. I relayed my story briefly before the Israeli guy on our bus relayed his story of almost getting ripped off exchanging money. I think we were all more surprised by the fact that none of us were surprised by the antics of the men loitering around the passport control.

Crossing into Kenya was not only sketchy, but turned frustrating on the Kenyan side when we learned we couldn’t pay for our visa in American bills printed before 2005. This is advertised nowhere and I pity the fool (me) who rolls up to the counter with a perfectly crisp $100 with 2004 stamped on it. Luckily, Andrew had a more recent bill and we were able to get back on our bus heading to Nairobi.

I didn’t think it was possible for dirt roads to be any worse than they were in Uganda… But in Kenya, they turned out to be much, much worse. We stopped in Nairobi for a brief twenty minutes before riding all morning towards Tanzania.

The Kenya/Tanzania crossing was uneventful, save for the giant groups of Americans standing in line and shouting their conversations all over the place. I leaned over to Andrew and whispered, “I get it. I get why people don’t think we’re American now…” We aren’t traveling in a pack of upper middle-class white people. We aren’t wearing American sports jerseys. Our gym-shoes aren’t bright white. We don’t have a guide with us to help us fill out our visa forms. Our backpacks are dirty. And not ‘Oh we just went on safari, look at this smudge of dirt on my awesome new travel pack.’ They. are. dirty. Like a dog peed on mine in India, I washed it in the UAE, but I’m pretty sure dogs would mark their territory on the front pocket if I let them. dirty. Maybe sometimes not looking American is a bad thing… but as proud as I am to be ‘merican, I’m glad I don’t come across the same way the obvious Americans do.

We arrived in Arusha early in the afternoon and after getting settled in a room at a busy hostel just outside of the downtown ‘Clocktower’ area, we walked into town for lunch. Along the way, a middle-aged western woman approached me and said  “You need to wear your backpack on both shoulders. This is a dangerous area.”

“Oh, thank you. I know. I’m just terribly tired and we’re not going far, but thank you.” I responded, knowing full well it could get stolen, but that I was a big girl. who was tired. But she was just trying to be nice. At least, until she reached around my back and pulled the strap up over my other shoulder and said “No. Really. You need to wear both shoulder straps here.” She walked away sighing, no doubt, at what she assumed was how dumb I was.

My initial reaction was along the lines of ‘that was weird.’ And then I ate a meal for the first time in 24 hours.

“What. just. happened out there? Did she really reach around me to pull my backpack strap up over my free shoulder?” I asked Andrew.

I can understand someone being nice and suggesting care over one’s self and bags. Not that I would ever do so in the same manner that she did… But I can see the motivation for doing so, wanting to be a good samaritan of sorts. But I am 30 years old. THIRTY! I think I can take responsibility of my backpack on one or both shoulders by this point. But I KNOW she walked away judging me as I eased one strap off my shoulder again.

I wondered how old she thought I was. Would she have treated me differently if she knew I my age? If she knew I’ve been traveling around the world for six months now. After traveling for two months by myself throughout S.E. Asia. After living in foreign countries (four in total, if you count the two from studying abroad in college) for six -maybe seven- years.

“Don’t you know I have my head on a swivel, motherfunny?” Andrew said (only he didn’t say ‘motherfunny’) once upon a time in India and it’s always stuck with me. I wish I would have said that to this woman. I wish I would have told her not to talk to a thirty year old like myself, as if I was thirteen. I wish I would have asked her what made her turn into Little Ms. Bossypants with another white girl in the middle of a small town in Tanzania.

“She’s probably gone home to her husband complaining about the stupid young tourist who is probably going to get her bag stolen today…” I sighed. “And now, my bag probably will get stolen…” I thought out loud after my tangent to Andrew about all of the above…

It didn’t. It still might. But at least it didn’t in Arusha.

Day 176: a day in Kampala

We were supposed to travel to Nairobi today. But. I was tired. Andrew was as well. Our “quiet” room didn’t turn out to be so quiet, and we barely slept through the night. We decided to stay in Kampala and relax and I tried my best to catch up on the blog. Really, all we did was walk out to get bus tickets- then walked longer to a Mexican restaurant Andrew found on TripAdvisor (it wasn’t bad) and then sat in the dining area of our guesthouse/hotel on our computers. It. was. exciting.

Again, I wanted to take more pictures and video with my camera. Like of the shady bus ticket-office we went to, and of the girls that ended up walking with us back to our hotel… But I just didn’t feel comfortable taking my camera out. I’m guessing this is going to be an issue while we’re in Africa. If only there was a way to have a disposable, yet digital camera? Does that exist? If so, I want one.

Day 175: Leaving The Hairy Lemon Isn’t Easy

And not because we didn’t want to leave… we were ready to move on, but we quickly learned that leaving The Hairy Lemon Isn’t Easy. At. All. Getting a ride to “mainland” was fine, but then we felt slightly stranded with no boda bodas to be found and a giant angry pig chasing after us. We walked to an intersection of sorts where two huts sat by the side of the road. One friendly man smiled and I asked him where we could find a boda boda. He pointed in the direction back towards the river, and we walked back in what felt like the opposite direction we were supposed to go in. Luckily, there were a few men by the riverside and one got on his phone to call some friends to come give us a ride. They (as expected) charged us more than the fare we paid to get there, but we didn’t exactly have room to negotiate, and we climbed on our respective boda boda for another bumpy ride back to Nazingo to catch the first matatu of the day.

I wanted to photograph everything. Desperately. But, I didn’t feel comfortable at all on the super poor road we were on to whip out my dslr. Babies sans underpants sat in front of their houses. School children waved as we rode past. Women gathered at wells to fill their jerrycans up with water. Despite clinging to my backpack and back of the boda boda for dear life, it was a beautiful ride.

Apologies that the video above isn’t as entertaining – it was taken instead on the main road we took from Jinja back to Kampala.

Back in Kampala, we went back to the noisy downtown guesthouse, and were granted what we were told would be a quieter room. Regardless of the noise, I have never been so grateful for a white porcelain toilet in all my life. At the Hairy Lemon, there were eco toilets, think: plastic box with a hole straight down to the ground below.  It’s a really great idea. Truly. There are even buckets of ash to cover any solid waste that you might leave behind. (Unfortunately, our bucket in our dorm bathroom was without ash until the last afternoon we were there.) There was also a resident gecko that I’m pretty sure enjoyed the shade between the toilet seat and lid. He liked to scare me every time I went into the bathroom. Thinking I was one step ahead of the little guy, I prepared myself to meet his acquaintance and gingerly lifted the lid, shining my light around the toilet to scare him off, so I could sit down in peace.

Only instead of one feisty little gecko under the lid, a writhing pile of maggots below caught my light and terrified me even more than a little lizard ever could. Holy. Cow. (only I didn’t scream out ‘cow’) I practically dumped the now full bucket of ash into the hole and contemplated yet again peeing off the cabin front-porch… That is, until Andrew came around to see what the fuss was about and assured me the maggots couldn’t ‘get me’ while I sat down to do my business. (Worst case of stage-fright yet, FYI.)

Needless to say, back in the city, I enjoyed a truly western style bathroom, and a bed that didn’t require a ladder to get into. Andrew magically figured out where and how to order pizza to be delivered to us.  That, and the latest Walking Dead episode cures all terrifying bathroom experiences.  (at least, for the short-term)

Day 174: The Hairy Lemon

I get why Christian liked The Hairy Lemon so much. It’s this super chill island in the middle of the Nile, surrounded by prime kayaking opportunities. I’m assuming it’s kayaker heaven. But for me and Andrew, not being experienced kayakers… and on a tight budget, we probably didn’t love it as much as we would have if we came with our own kayak or more funds to have lessons or just to have someone take us out on the water.

It probably didn’t help that there was some epic kayak designer/manufacturer and his Red-Bull-sponsored-kayaking-son staying on the island when we were there. They were super nice. But. Dudes only talked about kayaking. all. the. time. I had to laugh when the Red-Bull-sponsored-son told me he “tries not to wear too much of the Red Bull gear at once…” He said this while wearing a Red Bull shirt, Red Bull sunglasses, while he worked on his laptop with a giant Red Bull Sticker on it, next to his Red Bull bag. I wondered what he considers “too much at once.”

Not being into the kayaking thing this time around, we lounged, and had a dip in the natural pool of water on the island. That is, until Andrew was convinced he had contracted Bilharzia through his butt. 

In case you’re not familiar with this disease, it’s caused by parasitic worms and it’s common in tropical ponds, streams and irrigation canals harboring bilharzia-transmitting snails.

He was convinced something was wrong with his butt, and guess who had to investigate because he couldn’t see for himself?

Me.

I don’t know why butts and ailments of are so funny, but they are. (And having had surgery on my tailbone before college, I totally get it.) Regardless, I immediately turned into a child and started laughing at his paranoia, yet promptly told him to drop trou so I could investigate.

“I think your butt cheeks were just chafing on the boda boda (motorcycle) ride or something…” I said as we stood outside our dorm cabin investigating. He wasn’t convinced.

“Do you want me to take a picture?” I asked, knowing full well that would have made me feel better ten years ago when I had no idea what was going on on my backside. And so, I did what any awesome travel partner would do, I grabbed my phone, parted his cheeks, and took a picture for him to see.

“See, it’s totally not bilharzia… But, I think some anti-biotic cream would make you feel better…” I suggested. He agreed, and busted some out, turning to me yet again for assistance. After I demanded he supply a q-tip, I channeled my inner nurse and complied.

Traveling around the world; not for the feint of heart.

Aside from the bilharzia scare, laying around was pretty much the extent of our day.

Day 173: Kampala to The Hairy Lemon

When we went to Murchison Falls, a dude on our safari (Hey Christian!) raved about this place called The Hairy Lemon, on an island, in the middle of the Nile. We decided to check it out. Jinja, even though it holds the source of the Nile just outside of town, had nothing else to offer (in my humble opinion), so we thought chillin’ out on an island would be better. Just getting there turned into quite the adventure.

We had to take a matatu from Kampala to Jinja. Then wait for another matatu from Jinja to Nazigo. Then try your hardest to retrieve your backpacks from the back of the matatu simultaneous to swatting (lit’rally) the boda boda drivers away from grabbing your bags for you (claiming you for their ride). Then bargaining with said boda boda drivers for a reasonable fare down to the river. Then balancing your backpacks and your behind on the back of a boda boda for one of the bumpiest boda boda ride yet. Then ringing a gong on one side for someone to bring the boat over for you to get onto the island. That’s all. That’s all it takes to get to The Hairy Lemon…

Throughout Uganda, I’ve been intrigued by the storefronts and homes (let alone the day to day life) we’ve been passing by on our public transportation. Most of the storefronts (and some houses) are covered billboard style advertising paint, phone plans, Mountain Dew, milk, etc. etc. I tried to take some pictures from our matatu from Kampala to Jinja.

A series of advertisements wouldn’t be complete without one for The Lord, am I right?

Day 172: Fort Portal back to Kampala

When planning out this trip, I totally underestimated how long it would take to get from Point A to B. Generally, it seems in Africa, one needs an entire day to get from one city to another regardless of how close it may be. When we left Kampala for Buseesa, I knew it was only about four hours to get there, but didn’t even consider we would have to wait just as long for the matatu to fill up before we could leave Kampala. Fortunately, we arrived to the bus station in Fort Portal just in time and were one of the last people to board the bus back to Kampala. The ride itself was uneventful. Except for, maybe, the stops in between where dozens of vendors clamor up to your window hoping you’ll purchase some of their grilled bananas (yum) or perhaps a chicken on a stick.

Arriving in downtown Kampala- a first for us- was anything but uneventful. Fortunately, our hotel was a short walk away and we were able to be amused by the chaos rather than getting swept up in it.

Worn out by another day of travel, and gearing up for another matatu stint tomorrow, we stayed close to our hotel. We snuck out for dinner. Chips Chicken (fried chicken with french fries) yet again and I began to wonder when the next time I would come across a salad would be. Oh fresh baby greens, how I miss thee!

Day 171: More crater lakes

We were told the crater lakes were a twenty minute walk or so from where we were staying. Turns out, the village market was a twenty minute walk and the crater lakes were another twenty (maybe more?) minutes after. At least we decided not to go by bike. Lots of ups and downs on a bumpy dirt road would have made the trip unpleasant. Instead, we walked, mingled in the market, kept a hungry cow company at the edge of one of the lakes, and Andrew scared a handful of schoolchildren by pointing a camera at them while we were walking back towards our campsite and awaiting banda.

I have never seen children run and hide so quickly. It felt a little Wizard of Oz-ish when they reappeared creeping out from behind the banana trees to walk with us again.

The market was a little surprising. It wasn’t that big for being labeled “third largest” in Uganda. It also didn’t have nearly as much of a variety as we had hoped. We wanted to eat lunch in the market (as our place didn’t have the best food) but the only food that appeared to be for sale was bananas, tomatoes, and some other vegetables in pretty stacks in front of their vendors- but not exactly what we were looking for.

We took a few pictures of the market, but had a rather difficult time blending in, so we didn’t stay long and made our way further down the road to check out the other crater lakes. Along the way children waved and a few ran out to the street to greet us. A young teenager had been walking with us for a bit and told us they were asking for their picture to be taken. I obliged, and they were delighted seeing themselves on the camera screen.

The lakes were pretty, but not what we were expecting. Our whole trip to Fort Portal wasn’t exactly what we were expecting, but it was a nice calm after the journey to get there and what we were expecting as we tried to return to Kampala. We debated going to Lake Bunyoni- but I had had enough lake action, so we had a quiet night before heading back to Kampala the next morning.

Day 170: Crater Lakes outside of Fort Portal

So really, there is nothing in Fort Portal to do. There’s not even a Fort. And it seems that not even Wikipedia can give me an explanation of why there is a ‘Fort’ in its name. There is, however, quite a bit to do outside of the city, or so we were told. We headed for a campsite with bandas (small thatched-roof huts) near the crater lakes for a couple of days.

Getting out there was the most interesting part of our day, really. We took boda bodas (motorcycle taxis) to the matatu (shared bus taxis) stop. And then, we waited. Luckily, this matatu was a car and we only needed to wait for two other passengers to show up, instead of waiting for up to fourteen to fill a van. An hour or so later, four of us were squeezed into the backseat and two were squeezed into the front passenger seat, and we were on our way. The older Ugandan man who I was scrunched up next to pointed out different things along the way. The school. The health clinic. Maybe a few other things I can’t remember right now… It was really sweet, except he was only inches away from my face as we were scrunched next to each other and spittle landed on my face (lips included) every time he pointed something new out. I had a brief respite when the other older man crammed in the back didn’t seem to care for the audio tour and they argued back and forth until I smiled and said that I really did appreciate hearing what was where.

Once at the campgrounds, we had a late lunch, put in our order for dinner (fried chicken that tasted like they had started cooking it then, even though it wasn’t served for three more hours) and then we hung out on our front porch of our ‘cabin in the woods’ on the edge of one of the crater lakes.

Colobus monkeys danced around the trees above our cabin all afternoon. Can you see it’s white bushy tail?

When we walked back down to our cabin in the woods after dinner (about 400 meters into the woods) I was so jumpy and scared thinking that some zombie redneck torture family was going to reach out and grab me that I refused to let go of Andrew’s hand. Then I got him so jumpy when we went to sleep that I might have had him momentarily convinced something was in our cabin that we had to investigate under all of our bags and the bed and then I made him turn off the outside light so any lurking stranger dangers couldn’t see that we were in the cabin for the night. And don’t even get me started on going to the bathroom- a steep climb in the opposite direction from the campsite. I peed off of the front porch instead of even thinking about attempting that night climb into the wilderness on my own. I made Andrew stand outside with me while I took care of business. He made me do the same. It was that scary.

Day 197 Zanzibar back to Dar

Instead of recounting the series of unfortunate events that led me to getting only slightly ripped off (instead of completely) while purchasing our ferry tickets from Zanzibar back to Dar Es Salaam, I will simply say this:

Zanzibar is beautiful. Walking around Stone Town, swimming with the sea-turtles, lounging on the pristine beaches was really, really lovely. But it was all marred due to the fact that my guard was constantly up trying to avoid getting scammed. This feeling was not aided by the fact that we usually returned to our room before dark to avoid getting mugged on the beach throughout our visit. As unbelievably gorgeous and so rich with history and culture, after the hour I spent trying to get a ferry ticket without paying extra for commission, yet ending up paying extra due to the false exchange rate the “official” ferry ticket booth quoted me, I wanted nothing more than to get off the island… even if it only landed me back in Dar.

Our only plans in Dar were to figure out our bus situation to Mtwara the next day, and to track down some Masai shukkas. We asked the front desk how much a taxi to the market should cost, and headed out to do a little shopping. The girl at the front desk warned us to be careful (the market is notorious for pickpocketing) and that it was very close, but we risked getting mugged just walking there. I tucked my money in my underpants and we asked a taxi driver how much it would cost to get to the market. He told us it would cost nearly four times the amount our front desk friend quoted. We shook our heads and kept walking. We asked another taxi driver. Same story. We kept walking. Eventually, we were halfway there and gave up trying to get a taxi. Hands were in Andrew’s cargo shorts pockets four (he says six) different times. Luckily all he had in them were expired ferry tickets and receipts. No one seemed to be bothered with me. I very clearly had nothing in my pants pockets and my backpack zippers were so locked up in carabiners that it was annoying for

While there was an abundance of beautiful and bright Swahili cloth, it wasn’t what I was after. I was starting to get rather disappointed none of the shops seemed to carry any shukkas. And then, I spotted two Masai. I walked up to them and pointed to the red and blue checked cloths wrapped around them.

“Shuka, where?” I asked them, completely oblivious to how random I must have presented myself, being one of two (Andrew being the other) western faces in the market zoning in on the only two Masai men that we had seen in Dar, let alone that market, all day. One of the men pointed back in the direction that we had just come from. I shook my head and squinted, wondering if he could be more specific. He told his friend to wait and then motioned for me to follow him. We practically retraced our steps until he led me up into a covered sidewalk. Low and behold, a tiny Masai shop was hidden, tucked behind some street vendors, with a handful of men selecting shukas from the tiny counter.

Andrew and I picked out an assortment of shukas, of two different varieties. I was ecstatic. I got them for less than any prices quoted in the touristy market in Arusha, and the scavenger hunt made the find that much sweeter.

Day 169: Buseesa to Fort Portal

The Sisters warned us that we might have to wait for a matatu (shared bus/taxi) for possibly two to three hours. We headed out before seven with the expectation of sitting for several hours and waiting for a ride. But, I’m pretty positive all of the Sisters said a little prayer for us because when we arrived to the junction, a truck had just pulled up and we happily squeezed in. It was extra bumpy, but we made it to Mubende and after a short twenty minutes we were on the bus to Fort Portal.

The ride was uneventful, yet beautiful and we were in Fort Portal earlier than we had planned. Not having arranged a hotel for the night, we had a short standoff in the bus parking lot until we agreed to jump in a taxi (whose driver wasn’t being as pushy as the rest) and as we pulled out onto the road, we simply asked him to take us to a hotel. Of course, he takes us to one we could not afford. We stop by another before giving directions to one Andrew had read about online. This was all within a 2-3 kilometer radius. Not far between stops. At all. Yet, when we climbed out of the taxi… his fee had doubled. This is what visitors call the “Mzungu (Swahili for white person) price” in other words, a price that is not asked of native Ugandans. Andrew laughed. I argued that it was too expensive, but we were tired, and annoyed and not really in the mood to fight. We paid, and then took a nap before walking across town to a guesthouse TripAdvisor said had good pizza, and called it an early night.

Day 168: The nursery

This much I know is true: 1. I could hang out with these kids forever. 2. I need an African drum.

I feel like I might be just as bad as my many Facebook friends posting pictures of their cute mini-thems running around doing and saying cute things… But Seriously. If this were a competition, my afternoon with these nursery students in Uganda blows at LEAST a week of their kid’s cuteness out of the water. Maybe a whole month. I mean, really, did you see those five year old hips move in the video? They don’t lie.

After watching the best performance ever, we sat in on Sr. Juliet’s class with the older nursery students. It made me nostalgic for my first class (of five and six year olds) in Korea. I spent the entire day wondering if we should just stay and if Sr. Juliet would let me help teach her class for um, ever.

After lunch, we headed to Sr. Anita Marie’s (remember, math teacher from my high-school) class to talk about our trip. The girls were pretty enthusiastic about asking questions and inevitably asked us if we were married. When I said “Not yet!” they became all aflutter. When Andrew said “I keep asking, but she keeps saying no!” They were in a complete uproar. It was fun. We taught them a little Korean. Andrew told them about his birthday tradition of eating live octopus. We described cities like Dubai and what the snow was like in Jordan. They seemed to enjoy us and I felt bad we didn’t arrange to go into more classes while we were there.

We had planned on staying for three full days, not wanting to overstay our welcome- but in order to catch a ride the next day to Fort Portal, we had to leave in the morning instead of the late afternoon we had planned. It felt rushed, but unless we were staying for awhile to help with a project, I didn’t want to be a bother. Luckily, after spending some time with Sr. Anita Marie’s students, we were able to visit with Sr. Janet.

She pulled out a quilt some mothers from my elementary school made for her before she left. She’s never washed it because some of the fabric is glued on and there are student signatures on the back of each square, representing a class. She flipped it over to see if I could find my signature. Sure enough, after spotting cousins and recognizing names of students a few years older than me, we figured out I was in Grade 5 when she left, and sure enough, I found my signature on the back of the quilt. She was in disbelief.  We took a few pictures.

Then she took us for a little hike up to “The Rock.” We passed a public school and she pointed out the signage was a little different on their walls than it is in say, in Korea, or even America, for that matter. I could see why her boarding schools are so sought after to get a spot in. These schools had sooo little in comparison.

“The Rock” was a big lava rock with a beautiful view. We took a few pictures together before Sister asked us if we were tired or ready to see more. She’s actually moving back to the States this spring due to some hearing issues and less energy, but really, she gave us a run for our money and would constantly ask us if we were ok to see more. It was so nice to chat and walk and visit with her. It was comforting. A link to not only home, but in a way, to my family as well, as she knew my Grandmother.

When I told my Momma that we would be able to visit the Sisters, she warned me at some point not to be worried if they were thinner than I remembered them to be and mentioned eating bugs. I mentioned this to the Sisters over dinner (a dinner in the convent is not that different from a dinner you might have at home- western food, meat and veggies) and they laughed and laughed! One of them said that not many realize what their life is like in Uganda. Water is sometimes limited. Their refrigerator runs on solar powered batteries. But most of what they need in terms of Western food is available in Kampala. We went to a grocery store before we came down and it was equally (if not better) stocked than the grocery stores in Seoul.

Granted, it would be impossible to feed all 600 students the same meals, and I don’t think the Sisters eat as well for every meal. Lunch is eaten at school (I think- for most at least) it’s almost always po-sho (a maize mixture that has the consistency of play doh without much flavor) that is mixed with bean soup. I enjoyed the bean soup. Po-sho is ok, but I prefer the matoke (banana mash) more.

After dinner, Andrew and I were rather excited to play more Dominoes with the Sisters. This seems to be a nightly ritual- playing games after dinner, before bed. They taught us how to play the night before and we were anxious to hone our skills. They might be Sisters of the church, but man, they can play dirty!

Day 167: “News News!”

We were up early to attend morning assembly and then we went into classrooms at St. Julie School. In the first classroom, the students were reporting “the news.” It. was. adorable.

Students would take turns standing in front of the class. Some would shout, some were more shy and would whisper: “NEWS! NEWS!”

And the class would respond: “Please tell us the news!”

The student would report an item that was in the classroom, for example: “My name is Liz. There is a pencil in the classroom!”

Then the students would respond “Thank you for the NEWS!”

Now, if Andrew and I want to tell each other something, we say “News News!” Only, he always forgets to say “Please tell us the news.” He’s such a bad student. *sigh*

When the Sisters asked us what we thought of the classes, I told them that they reminded me of classes in Seoul, Korea. Forty plus students and one teacher. It’s a difficult task. They told us that for Uganda, less than fifty per class was considered small. Most classes average around ninety. Yikes.

Day 166: Kampala to Buseesa

Backstory: About Fifteen years ago, my elementary school principal (and my Grandmother’s friend) left Kentucky for the bush. The bush in Uganda. She’s been here ever since.

As soon as I mentioned our arrival to Uganda to my Momma, she was eager for me to stop in on the Sisters living in Buseesa, Uganda to say hello. She also wanted me to stop in on an orphanage she volunteered at several years ago and check out the equator. All of this would be easier (and more expensive and possibly more dangerous) had we our own car. However, we have been relying on public transportation, getting from Kampala to Buseesa, where the Sisters have set up and currently run two boarding schools was a challenge in itself.

I’ll spare you the waiting game we played in the matatu (shared taxi-bus) parking lot for three hours for ours to fill up. I’ll also spare you the near death experiences we had sitting in the front seat of our matatu for the four hours it took to get from Kampala to Buseesa. Instead, this post’s video and pictures are from the Sunday we spent getting tours of the schools and hanging out with the students on their day off. Some students took turns taking pictures with my camera: (Not bad, right?)

Now I know why it’s advised NOT to travel in Uganda after dark. There are no lights. The roads are horrendous. There are no traffic rules in Uganda. It’s worse than India. People are walking on the side of the road with carts of vegetables, grass balanced on their heads, herds of goats… How something or someone didn’t die in the hour we were on the road after dark is absolutely beyond me.

We didn’t arrive to the schools until well after dark. Two younger Ugandan Sisters met us at the dirt road junction we were told was Buseesa and walked us back the mile (mile and a half?) road to meet the other Sisters who were still awake. It’s the strangest and one of the most lovely feeling walking into a convent in the middle of the bush in Uganda to receive hugs from one of the math teachers from my high-school (Sr. Anita Marie) and then my old elementary school principal (Sr. Janet). Seeing familiar faces during our travels is always a bit special, but seeing Sr. Janet and having memories of my grandmother flood over me felt even more so.

“Do you remember your dear Grandmother?” Sr. Janet asked me over the late dinner that they had prepared for us.

“Of course, I was going to ask you if you could tell me any stories I might not know about!” I replied.

“She used to come to mass in the convent chapel every morning! Five in the morning, she would be there!” she recalled.

“I know! She made me go to one of those masses with her one morning! I was bad and my Mom sent me to stay with her and I had to get up and go to church with her that early!” FYI: That was the. worst. If my daughter or son is ever bad… so help me, their Grandmother (Yo, Momma, that’s you) better be going to mass on a daily basis just so they can learn their lesson.

I had no idea their schools were so big. I brought three bags of candy thinking it would be enough for maybe 100 students. Wrong. Including the nursery students (who don’t board) there are nearly 600 students. 500 between the primary and secondary schools. Adorable younger children and polite girls ran around enjoying their weekend. Once our cameras were out, the younger ones got super excited and we would take turns taking pictures until Andrew or myself thought of a good excuse to put the cameras away for a little while. One of the Sisters pulled us aside and told us to be extra careful with our belongings and not to give any money to the students if they asked us for it. This surprised me, and I’m happy to report that by the end of our visit, absolutely NONE of the students asked for money or said anything that made for an awkward moment.

Sister Christina mentioned that it’s difficult to get books into the school because donors think the school already has a library, and it’s not as rewarding simply donating books, even though it’s just as needed and appreciated.

Only girls are admitted to the secondary school. I’ve noticed the short hair on ALL students since we’ve arrived in Uganda. Girl or boy, if you’re a student- you hair is kept super short. I love it. The girls are stunning without overly coiffed hair taking away from their natural beauty. We talked about it and I told them how much I liked it. They disagreed and all admitted to not being able to wait to get their hair plaited. They did NOT approve when I told them how much I want to shave part of my head a la Anya from Project Runway (Season 9).

Day 165: Small Game Drive

At first, the small game drive through Murchison Falls National Park resembled yesterday’s safari, only… not as exciting without more of the bigger animals. And any animals we did see- they were always on the left side of the car, so I was starting to get a little frustrated that they didn’t seem to care they weren’t on MY side of the safari van. 

That is, until we saw a tower of giraffes crossing the road ahead of us. To MY side of the van! One seemed just as curious about us as we were of them and I could have stayed there all. day. long. Aren’t they beautiful?

Sorry if you’re not into giraffes, I just couldn’t help myself posting all of these. New favorite animal? Maybe! Well, until I spot some zebras in the wild and then I’ll be really torn!

The rest of the small game drive was -comparatively- uneventful. We thought we were heading back to Kampala when we exited the park, but instead, we were driven to another part of the park that had another waterfall. Not before our van broke down in the middle of nowhere though! Luckily we were only stranded for 15 minutes or so before our driver got the vehicle working again. He was a trooper, really, as we actually ran into many minor vehicle problems throughout the safari.

While we were standing in front of the falls, our guides told us that the government had recently decided to use this third waterfall on the Nile for power. The first one (near Jinja) had already been converted into a power plant- the second being THE Murchison Falls we saw the day before was suggested, but then dismissed for power use, and this third set of falls will soon be gone. Sad, really.

After a quick lunch, we climbed back into the van for the long drive back to Kampala. On our way out we were distracted by these guys chillin’ alongside the road.

The malaria meds and sun through the window weren’t doing me any favors. My skin was burning and my emotions were getting the best of me. Seriously, Doxycycline, you are the worst. Andrew keeps telling me it’s better than getting malaria- but after days like this one, I’m not so sure. Arriving back at the Red Chili, I welcomed dinner, a shower, and bed.