The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Part 1

This may be one post of many parts to come because even though I’ve only (or already, depending on how you look at it!) been here for six weeks, least one thing surprises me here everyday—so many in fact that it’s often hard to keep track of them. As with all places, people, and things, there is much good, and bad to be found in Uganda, and Kampala in particular. I will try to share just a few of my specific impressions on some of the issues that keep resurfacing constantly. Let’s start with the good:

THE GOOD
1) Friendly People
I was told the Ugandan people were friendly and this have certainly been true. I haven’t experienced other African countries, but I’ve had my share of interactions in European countries, and there are definitely cultures that make one feel more or less welcome. The Ugandans I’ve encountered have been helpful, smiling, kind, inquisitive, and interested for the vast majority of experiences. In fact, a simple “hello” will not due here—it is always followed by a “how are you?” no matter if it’s your coworker or a stranger on the street.
2) Pearl of Africa
Uganda really is breathtaking. I spoke to a friend of mine who is working in Gabarone, Botswana, last week. We were comparing our present locations and I was trying to describe Uganda and asked if Botswana was as green as Uganda. “Green?! Nope, it’s essentially a desert,” my friend replied. Oh. Aside from feeling the need to look at a map and brush up on my geography, I thought, gosh I’m spoiled by the green landscape to which I’ve become accustomed. The palm trees, banana plants, endless varieties of flowers that perfume the night air, it can really just be mesmerizing. The land here is so fertile that just about anything can grow, which brings me to…
3) The fruit
It is good, really good. Ah, the tropics!The avocados are huge. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but really they are—the size of a nerf football (my brother should understand this comparison). And then there are mangoes, watermelon, pineapple, and of course more bananas than one can stomach. And it’s so plentiful and cheap. It’s just glorious to go a whole pineapple for 60 cents and gorge J

But now of course, here’s a dose of THE BAD:
1) Traffic
The traffic and the roads are, for the most part, horrendous. There is just no way around it. Today, on my way to my second running hash, the school driver kindly agreed to take me to the starting location which was just north of the city center. But, well, maps here are really just a testing ground, and so while I dutifully tried to guide the driver in the right direction we were waylaid by blocked roads (for the president, they’re ALWAYS blocked for the president) standstill traffic, matatus and bodas reaking havoc, and also roads that appeared to simply not exist or at least where they were supposed to. I was dropped off a good 2 km from my destination after an hour long journey of anxiety, but just relieved to be out of the truck! I’ve also started driving Amy’s friend’s car that I have access to. It’s quite an experience to drive on those roads, so I definitely give all the drivers credit, but it’s near insanity.
2) White Food
Unfortunately, I find the traditional Ugandan food to be slightly lacking. I’ve sung the praises of the fruit, so clearly it’s not all bad. But seriously, all the food on my lunch plate is usually one fairly consistent color—white. (Isn’t that what Oprah says is the death of you?) Rice, posha (stiff maize porridge), potato, and matoke (thick mashed bananas—okay, this is dark yellow). The food is certainly filling, satisfying on some level, and I’ll admit that I've found myself craving it from time to time, but it is also very repetitive and often quite bland. It's just the kind that makes me want to whisper to those around me, "you know, there's so much more out there!" But everyone around me really loves what they're eating! Unfortunately, despite pre-Africa good intentions, my African diet is possibly having the reverse effect—hence the need for the weekly runs!

THE UGLY:
1) Corruption City
You can see it everywhere, especially if you start to look. Police stand at checkpoints along highways less to secure safety procedures as to secure some extra pocket money. Muzungus play a bizarre role in all of this as well as the general held belief is that if you’re white you can get away with anything as long as you’re willing to pay enough—1, 2, 3 million Ush and up. And well, the truth is here, they usually can. The potholes are another huge symbol of the corruption that plagues the country. Money meant to repair the enormous craters that plague 2/3 of the streets here never reaches its final purpose, or at least not for years. I’ve heard numerous Ugandans express their frustration over this embarrassment on behalf of the government, as the state of the roads are a daily reality that add to the chaos of city traffic.
2) The value of life
This of course is very difficult to write about fairly from my perspective. I come from a comfortable western upbringing, so I really can’t begin to comprehend some of the practices that go on here, but some of them really are confusing coming from a western perspective. The mortality rate is much higher, and you can see this in how children are treated with less permanency, as there may be 15 children in a family (with several fathers or mothers) and not close to as many will survive. Still, to see children who are 5, 4, even 2 or 3 years old wandering around the dirt streets near Meeting Point is very unsettling. It is also quite common for children to be beat in families, or in school even (although it is technically illegal) because parents go so far as to request they be “well disciplined” in school as they are at home. This is very hard for me to wrap my head around, as child services would be on such a case before the stick was out of the hand.

So there are just a few observations for now. But I know there will be many more to come.
It’s only Monday and it feels like it’s been a long week (I know all of you at your desks are rolling your eyes right about now!), but really those kids are TIRING. I have total respect for all my “real” teacher friends! I had really nice weekend in Jinja, complete with some cute kids trick o’ treating from palm tree studded banda to banda (decorated with whatever skeletons, ghosts, and pumpkins we could scare up—actually they use watermelons more here to carve. How’s that for a tropical Halloween?!) and plenty of lounge time by the pool that overlooked lake Victoria in the distance. Then today it was my first day of the rest of my life. Not quite, but I had the children working with “clay,” more specifically pink saltdough, which is really the kind of work I’d like to do later in life: art programs, specifically ceramics related, for underprivileged kids. The kids loved it, and actually really impressed me with their creativity. So not everyone made pink pigs—there were plenty of cell phones, snakes, bugs mixed in with the pigs, but I think they all really enjoyed having the freedom to make whatever they wanted.

But these were the oldest kids, P-3. Tomorrow, it’s on to P-1. Wish me luck, I will need it.

Feeling Good

You know, there are those moments here when I feel completely hopeless about the work I'm doing, and then there are times when I feel like things are really coming together. I finally feel like I have some grasp on the art projects that I’m trying to do here and the way to present them to the children, and I’m really looking forward to the coming weeks. This week we (Veronika, the new volunteer is helping me with the classes) helped the children do “self-portraits”—and I use this term loosely because I was pleased if and when all of the boys understood that they should draw boys, and likewise for the girls. Next week we are going to use saltdough that I am going to make at the office. It’s homemade playdough that can be baked to harden it. It’s made from flour, salt, oil, and water. I can’t wait for this project. We are going to make little pink pigs. It’s no ceramics, but I’m really excited to give these children a chance to do something different. Not that drawing isn’t wonderful and the children certainly love it, but here they will have a chance to mold and shape something three dimensional. Let’s hope at least! ;)

So today is just absolutely beautiful, sunny and breezy, and that always makes me a little mindless, I just can’t focus. But after a morning of some art prep work (for 200 some kids even the smallest idea takes a lot of time!) and a delicious rolex (omlette wrapped in a chipati--pancake) for lunch, I came up to see my cousin and now buy ingredient for the saltdough. I’m also trying to make all my travel plans for the coming months. My parents will be here in December for 2 weeks which I’m really looking forward to. We are going to go to Queen Elizabeth Park and also the Serengeti, but first we need to book everything, which always gives me a headache. Then I have to secure a gorilla trekking permit so I make sure to get a slot before I plan to leave Uganda. There are only 16 permits given out for each day and they book up often months in advance. Then I also have to book my flight to Australia to meet up with my old roommate and her brother there around the end of January, not to mention my plans for traveling down to South Africa overland which is where I would like to fly out from. All of this requires far more time and money than I can ever seem to muster, but for all of it’s overwhelmingness (I’m coining that term!) it’s also very fun to think about all the possibilities. And then really what I’m supposed to be doing right now is finishing up my business school applications—the first of which is due in 10 days—yikes!

This weekend I’m off to a Halloween party of sorts in Jinja. A handful of ex-pat families have started the tradition of booking a hotel and creating a Halloween party and trick o’ treating event for their kids so they don’t miss out on the holiday. I’m going with Kim and Ben (who will be quite a cute spiderman) for Saturday night. I must say, something the US does some things really well—and Halloween and Thanksgiving are two of them! I will be sad to miss them both this fall, but hopefully this weekend will give me a little dose of home! Happy early Halloween!!

KH3--Hashing Kampala Style

That stands for Kampala Hash House Harriers. After I attended a Hash in DC in August with my old college roommate and runner extraordinare, Alli, she tracked down and sent me the link to the Kampala chapter of Hash House Harriers International, the self-proclaimed “drinking club with a running problem.” I’ve been meaning to check it out since I got here, but something always came up, so I was determined to make it to the practice this week—which happens every Monday at different locations all over town depending on the week. This week, it happened to be just up the street from my house in Bugulobi.

I had the school driver drop me off at the office building where the Hash sign-in was being hosted. Yes, I not have a driver!!!! So amazingly exciting. It makes my life SO much easier getting to and from work, and not having to wake up every morning in fear of my pending boda ride! So, I arrived at the Hash, changed into my running clothes, signed in and paid the 6000 Ush fee ($3-4) and took off after the group down Lithuli Ave. I stopped to walk (yes, okay, I’m out of shape!) with a girl named Rachel, a student at Makere University here in Kampala, and ran with her for much of the time. We ran out into the swamp and slum area—over 120 runners, hashers (joggers in Hash speak), and walkers. I managed to stick my left foot into what appeared to be a ditch filled with black tar water, but apparently was more likely to be fermented sheep feces. Awesome.

Mud-flecked (it had poured earlier), sweaty, and exhausted we wound back into the neighborhood and to the office complex. And I must say the set up was quite impressive (and I’m told every week is like this if not even better). There were two big tents set up and water, bananas, watermelon and pineapple upon arrival. After some stretching, the “ceremony” began. For those of you who have never hashed, it’s a bit hard to explain, but basically it’s a grownup running fraternity. On the trails, the hares are the people who make the course and try to trick all the runners by misleading them with marks until they find their way finally—like a treasure hunt for beer.

At the ceremony, they usually get berated by the disgruntled runners and forced to drink copious amounts of beer, along with those who are accused of other violations of sorts—talking too much, walking when they shouldn’t, general misbehaving. Oh, and everyone has inappropriate official nicknames (I will leave these to the imagination) if they are repeat runners, so it really is like a frat! Also at the ceremony, newcomers get introduced—including me of course! So I had to stand up on a crate, say my name, where I’m from, what I do in Uganda, if I’m single, and what my cell number is (um, I did NOT answer that one). Then I said who had made me come to the run—that would be Tim, a friend of Amy’s who she put me in touch with about the hash. Together, each newcomer and our sponsers chugged a beer as they chanted some song that was probably inappropriate song though I couldn’t quite make out the words.

Then we were treated to a small catered dinner of kebabs, roasted potatoes, veggies, as well as liquor, beer, and coke—I stuck to the nonalcoholic beverages post chugging of beer. I sat with some Ugandans for a while who were very nice and said I’d see them next week, and promised to be back next week. At this point it was now pouring and it was time to figure out a way home—ah, the perennial dilemma. Boda time! So I walked to the gas station (yes, sadly the landmark of my neighborhood is the Shell station—everyone in town knows where Shell Bugulobi is), and bargained for a ride down the avenue for 1500 Ush. Perched on the back, bracing my legs and bag, clutching my bag, and with my small black umbrella raised in one hand we skidded down the wet road in what felt like torrential downpour as we were driving directly into the rain with speed. I arrived back at my house grateful to be alive (this emotion seems to happen quite a bit here!) and after a gloriously hot and much needed shower, I was asleep before my head it the pillow I’m quite sure.

De Nile

Excuse my cheesy title, but sometimes I have these moments when I’m here where I have to pinch myself and remind myself where I am. I will literally say audibly to myself, “Oh my gosh, I am in Africa.” There are times when I feel like I’ve stepped out of a Save the Children documentary and then there are times when I feel like I’ve stepped into paradise, because Uganda is most often breathtakingly beautiful. Then land is so green, with lush forests and banana trees that grow wildly, rolling hills and views of Lake Victoria, or in the case of Jinja—also the famed Nile. Jinja is, in fact, the home to the “Source of the Nile” or so it claims. The Nile flows out of Lake Victoria and north towards Egypt at the junction that makes up Jinja, and thanks to that there is some spectacular water and therefore, spectacular water sports—namely, rafting and kayaking. I had a chance to experience these this past weekend in Jinja.

I drove to Jinja with Amy on Saturday late morning which is about an hour and a half from Kampala. It would be far less if not for some pretty horrendous roads, or “roads” as I prefer to refer to them usually. Amy drove us to Bujugali Falls when we arrived near town. It is a beautiful overlook of falls on the Nile, as well as the site of Nile River Rafting, one of four rafting companies in Jinja. Amy used to work for a rafting company there, so she knows many of the rafting guides, and she was there to visit them. After a Tusker beer overlooking the Nile, we grabbed lunch in town on the main street. Jinja is much smaller than Kampala. Perhaps a Charlottesville to Washington, DC—though not really at all of course! Jinja lacks many services but is quieter and has less traffic and more fresh air, so it’s a great, quick getaway. Then we headed to Nile River Resort to use the pool—and the swim-up bar. It was a beautiful day and we met up with some of her friends to lounge on the cushioned chairs, swim in the pool on a terrace overlooking the Nile with thatched roof huts and palm trees. Not bad!

After a few hours there, we took a walk to the Source of the Nile and had a drink there, sitting right on the bank as the sun went down. We showered and got ready (not too ready—apparently water supply is just as precarious in Jinja as Kampala if not more so) at Amy’s friend’s house where we were crashing, and headed back to the NRE campsite and bar to watch the big World Cup Rugby Final—England vs. South Africa that was being projected on a big screen—and feast on barbeque. South Africa pulled out the win, leaving the Brits (I was for them) in a sad state, but you would know from the atmosphere. It was just an awesome, lively spot.

The next morning we relaxed and Amy and I tried to convince ourselves that whitewater kayaking was a reasonable decision, because that is what we had made a plan to do the previous day. So a group of 8 of us went to pick up a few kayaks, tandem kayaks (for Amy and I and our respective guides) and a raft. We rented a truck and loaded all the supplies in with the raft on top and all climbed in for a bumpy ride to the take off point on the River. We arrived and I clambered into the front seat of my tandem kayak with one of the guys (my guide) in the back seat. I was strapped in with a lifejacket, helmet, and rubber wetsuit-like waist jacket that snapped over hole I was sitting in in the hopes of keeping water out. Yeah, that didn’t really happen. The first rapid and I “swam,” basically a term for messing up. The rapids look quite scary from outside, but when you’re in them—wow, I am just in awe of the power of masses of water. It was simply terrifying. We rolled under, and after a few seconds of water pounding my head, I pulled the safety strap and freed myself from my kayak cage (as did my guide) only to rise above the water and be pummeled by rapids. After swallowing lots of water, I finally emerged from the rapid and was picked up by the others in the big red raft. We caught our breath and got back in the kayak to try again. After some paddling, and meeting up with some other kayakers out on the river (one who is apparently the #4 kayaker in the world!), we headed for the next rapid. And yep, I swam again. This time I thought I might die. Just for a split second, but boy, is that enough. We were about a third of the way through the rapid and rolled, and I just panic and pulled my safety strap just a second before my guide was about to roll us back upright. Too late. Those waves were massive. I sputtered and tried to catch my breath and was pummeled by another one crashing mercilessly down on me. I finally emerged at the other end sputtering, and was hoisted into the raft once more.

After that one, I decided to take a go at rafting for a bit. I was with my guide and two Americans (one from Washington State and one from Lousiana) who work for a travel rafting company and have rafted trips all over, including Chile, and have two coming up in India and New Zealand (hmmm, maybe I should become a rafting guide…don’t worry, Mom, I’m clearly not really cut out for that!). We chatted, drank some beers, and hit the next two rapids, which were excellent, and I did not swim—hooray!! Amy meanwhile was doing much better than myself and she and her guide had not swam once. But her nerves had had enough all the same, so she swapped with me and I took one more go at whitewater kayaking. And on this last rapid of the day, The Nile Special, we made it! I only remember a few moments of terror, and actually it really is such a rush of adrenaline that in retrospect the whole day was a lot of fun. But let’s just say I’m glad I lived to tell about it. We climbed out of the kayak onto the rocky bank to watch the single kayakers “surf” the Nile Special. And were they impressive! Each would tow themselves out into the middle of the rapid waves with a towrope and then spend up to a minute or two riding the waves and maneuvering turns and riding the crest before dropping back. I wish I were brave enough to want to do that, but I just don’t think I really am! It does look like an amazing thrill though.

At the end of our journey, we landed at a small island called the Hairy Lemon. This lodge is a legend in Jinja and it really is such a beautiful serene spot—a tiny green gem with banda, a bar area, and flowered landscaping. We had a drink and then headed back to meet our truck that carried us and all the equipment back to Jinja in the moonlight. I was exhausted and bruised but very content, and happy to head back for some pizza, Jinja style (the restaurant had shut down their ovens as it was late and cooked them over a charcoal flame—not bad considering!) and sleep so that we could drive back at the crack of dawn this morning for work. And now I have a case of the Mundays—I want the weekend back!

Loooooonely, I’m Miss Lonelyyyyyyyyyyyy

This, of course, is absolutely not true. I’m definitely more of a people person, and after too much time alone I start to go a bit crazy. But to be honest, I’m quite content usually that I came here alone. There are pros and cons to traveling with someone else versus solo, but I’m grateful for man of the pros: mainly, be able to do whatever I want, when I want to without asking permission. It’s pretty great. That, and there is priceless satisfaction that comes when you successfully maneuver a complicated new situation all one your own (although one dare not get cocky as someone is probably lurking around the corner ready to steal your wallet!).

The downside of course, is that you’re very much alone. And you have to make friends, seriously—like, middle school cafeteria-style. Well, geez, nothing could be that bad. But you really do need to put yourself out there if you want to get anywhere. So I’ve been forcing myself to make that little bit of extra effort, even when I really don’t feel like it. I essentially invited myself on Pia and Mette’s chimp vacation, which they were actually totally happy about (I think it mixed up their doubles monotony!) and ended up having such a great time.
And, I’ve now been on not one, but two “blind dates” with someone who knows someone. And they’ve been pretty fun actually. When you just give yourself over to the fact that any muzungu here is a bit isolated in some sense just because they stand out, then it’s really pretty easy to connect with people. And you soon realize that everyone here knows everyone else—especially in the ex-pat community. I had dinner with a friend of a publishing friend of mine two weeks ago (thanks, Katherine!). She is living here with her husband who works for a foundation here and writing. We talked about New York and the food we missed there—there’s a lot! In the small world department, a woman who works for the ambassador who I had contacted about Yom Kippur services in Kampala also recommended that I get in touch with her when she heard I had been working in publishing in NY. Yep, already done that I said! Then last night, I had no plans, so I just texted this American girl who is volunteering through the same organization that Judy and Lew, the American couple who just left MPK, volunteered through. She has only been here one week, and so frankly, just being new to Kampala gives you plenty of material to talk about (and reminisce about the US ;) )

So, I’m getting the hang of this. It’s not easy at times, but it’s good practice for life really. And now, my housemate, Amy, has invited me along for a trip to Jinja—so of course I said yes! Have a great weekend!

A Matatu and A Movie

Ah, yes, where was I?

That’s right, the matatu ride from hell. Well, not exactly that bad, but I think I could die happy never doing that again—especially because more than once I thought I would maybe not make it back to Kampala alive. Pia, Mette, and I took a special hire taxi back into the town of Fort Portal after our lovely morning of money watching only to see the Kalita bus driving back to Kampala fully loaded. We could either wait for the next bus, which could take hours to load, or take a chance on a matatu. Our drive flagged one down, which was practically empty, so we decided to go for it. Big mistake! Just one short trip down the road and we were loading up to capacity—strike that: beyond capacity. Matatus are licensed to hold 14 passangers in its four rows, plus one up front with the driver. We had 24 (19 adults and 5 children). Just lovely! Pia, Mette, and I just gave each other weary looks as we crammed into the back row, sharing it with a rather large woman and her young son on her lap. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but there was not other option at this point, so we readied ourselves for a hot, sticky (plastic covered seats do NOT make for an enjoyable ride) long drive back to Kampala.

The experience was made only more hilarious by what happened about a couple hours down the road. The driver and conductor of the matatu clearly go wind that there were traffic controllers up ahead. They stopped the taxi, made 5 people get out and take a boda past the traffic controllers. The conductor paid the boda drivers and those 5 people loaded back into the taxi. Ah, the sweet smell of corruption. “So why do those traffic controllers even stand there if people just find a way around it?” I asked to no one in particular. “So they can have a job,” the woman next to me responded. Yes, that makes sense I guess.

Then it was time for the halfway “meat skewer in the face” which was made even more special because we were in a lower vehicle where the vendors could actually reach into the van and place the food practically in your lap. Aside from these incidences, the trip was consumed by some iPod listening and Harry Potter reading, as we braced ourselves against seats and each other as the matatu drove like a bat out of hell. But the ride was quick and we arrived in Kampala just after 4. I went home, took one of the dogs, Chiara, out for a run in my neighborhood (a very active weekend for a change!) and then crashed.

After such an outback weekend, I was more than happy to join Mette for a first-world evening on Tuesday at Garden City, an open-air mall in Kampala central that is about as close to first-world as you can get here. It’s a very muzungu place, and that’s just what I needed for a change! We grabbed some Lebanese food at the food court that overlooks the golf course that is right in the center of the city. Then we did a little shopping at Banana Boat, a craft store, where I bought a woven basket shoulder bag, scarf, and earrings, and then went to see a movie, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. Not necessarily a movie I would go see in the States, but here, it was just what I needed. A silly, stupid, funny Adam Sandler flick. Not much thinking required, cheap popcorn, and some gummy candy. Then we grabbed some ice cream (soft serve! Oh, Tasti D I, miss you!) and then visited a café called New York Kitchen where they sell bagels, potato pancakes, etc! Mette got a cinnabun to top off our gluttonous evening, and I settled on a bag of bagel chips, thereby complete undoing the healthy weekend, but sometimes you just need a break! But then it was back to reality with a matatu and boda ride home!

A Day with the Chimps!

On Friday morning, after a rather frantic rush to the bus park in Kampala to meet up with Pia and Mette with plenty of money and cell phone issues to boot, I was not prepared for the journey ahead of us. We boarded the Kalita bus (i.e. Greyhound) for Fort Portal, the largest town in proximity to Kibale National Forest where we were planning on going on a chimp trek the following morning at 8am. First of all, the bus waits until it fills up, so while in theory it leaves on the hour, it doesn’t really. So we waited while the 11am bus waited until nearly 12 to be full of passengers (some even squeezing on to stand) seated in narrow plastic covered seats, no seatbelts or reclining, mind you. We took off, or should I say, stalled in the heavy Kampala traffic (it is truly a sight to behold) and finally climbed out of the city on narrow dirt roads. About two hours later, we reached the halfway point. Little did I know what this held in store. Men and women came hurtling over with shallow women baskets filled with meat skewers, chipati, bottles of water and soda, fried bananas, and more, shoving them up literally in my face, at the windows were the sole source of “air conditioning.” Later along the journey, two men came running over at a short stop to trying and selling live chickens—I’m not even kidding. It was unreal.

We finally arrived around 5pm and hired a special hire in the pouring rain to take us to Primate Lodge, our accommodation in Kibale National Forest where we had made a reservation. Pia, Mette, and I shared a small banda hut with two single beds that we pushed together to from a luxurious sleeping arrangement ;) After a warm, well-deserved dinner, we played some Yahtzee (patiently taught to me by the Danes) and passed out before 10, exhausted from the journey and all of those meat skewer assaults.

We woke up at 6am the next day to a nice hot breakfast and walked down the visitors center that was just a few steps outside of our lodge, incredibly convenient! Luckily, they were not all booked for the morning chimp trek, so we signed up for one, coughed up the $95 fee each that included a guide and the park fee and went back to our lodge for a cup of tea. At 8am, we received a short briefing from the park guides and then set off with our guide into the dense forest. There was plenty of beautiful thick foliage, dank black mud, and paths of red ants which we were careful to avoid. After about 15 minutes of edging past muddy ruts and over mildewed wood slab bridges, our guide motioned for us to follow and pointed up and listen. First we heard the chimp calls, low shrieks, then loud rustling of trees. Then there was the sight of a large hairy black lump dangling in the tree. From then, three hours passed quickly with plenty of squeals (yes, I definitely squealed with glee a few times) as we watched the chimps swing, climb, and gorge on leaves. Then there were the chimp babies which were just adorable. I’ll let the pictures do the talking (when they’re all load that is—soon I hope!)

Later that afternoon, I hiked along the Crater Lakes with a couple locals. I met this guy Benjamin on the bus to Kibale (Pia and Mette were sitting behind me) and seeing as he was the only other muzungu on the bus, we struck up conversation. Turns out he was French, had come to Uganda about 5 years ago to do logistics (nice and vague) for Doctors Without Borders, and then bought land on one of the crater lakes in the west of the country and moved out there. So after our early morning chimp trek, we had bummed a ride out of the National Park with these two other tourists and stopped at place called Chimpanzee Lodge for lunch (Great avocado salads and chipatis! The avocados here are incredible—probably three times the size of the ones you can find in the States) when who should we run into: Benjamin! He was having coffee with his friend, Victor, whose family owns the lodge. Small western Uganda! Pia and Mette were in need of an afternoon siesta, so I took Ben and Victor up on their offer to give a local tour of the nearby crater lakes, all of which are incredibly beautiful. The walk was up some serious steep hills (boy am I out of shape!) and afforded some spectacular views over up to three crater lakes in a row, surrounded by lush green landscape, reminiscent to me of Tuscany—nothing wrong with that! At one point torrential rains arrived (it’s the rainy season) so we pulled over and stoped in this thatched roof hut to wait out the heaviest rain, and helped the women inside who were shucking beans.

Ben lives in this one room brick house, but owns a large plot of land that runs down to the edge of one of the lakes. But boy, I think I would just go crazy if I lived out there—it is really quite remote. ThenBen and Victor escorted me to my campsite, this one on Lake Nkurbura, where I joined Pia and Mette. After some dinner and Yahtzee crashed early so we could get up for an early morning walk and to see all the monkeys that were jumping and playing in the trees above our banda. We watched them over breakfast of Nutella pancakes. Sweet life :)

Then there was the long trip back via matatu. Um, this needs full explanation, but my internet café is closing for the evening, so I will be sure to fill in the gaps later. Goodnight!!