Risky Business

Feeling like a Ugandan travel connoisseur, I decided to take the bus to Kampala and then on to Entebbe (where the airport is located) on the night before my flight to South Africa.  Augustine was returning from a work retreat in Kampala just the day before, and I felt it was unnecessary to ask him to immediately turn around and make a 12-15 hour drive.  After all, I had taken the bus solo before and rocked it.

And on the ride to Kampala that was true.  I even bought some things through the bus windows – like a true indigenous boss.

However, upon arriving in Kampala all of my bravado fell apart.  There are two bus stations in Kampala, and the one we pulled into did not have buses that continue on to Entebbe.  To further complicate matters, Jimmy Francis, who was supposed to meet me in Kampala to say goodbye, was delayed due to rain and was not going to make it.  I was on my own.

Well, shit. 

As soon as I disembarked the bus – with all of my luggage, mind you – I was enveloped by a throng of boda drivers and private taxis yelling “muzenga” and “Entebbe, Entebbe!”

 Knowing these were not the type of transit I wanted, I began to walk away saying NO as authoritatively as one can while also floundering with multiple pieces of luggage – which had to be mercilessly defended from their eager hands. 

Never let them get your bag, kids.  They know:  us muzengas hate chaos, especially of the poor and black variety, and the guy with the bag always wins when you hit the “Screw it – it’s $10” point.

But truthfully….I had no idea what my plan of action was.  In that moment, I just wanted to find a quiet corner to regroup, load everything onto my back appropriately and strategize.  Then the bus driver came over to me – a ray of sunlight. 

He slapped at the various grabby hands and scolded them away.   Turning to me, he gestured wildly to convey directions to the other bus park.  I can only imagine how my face looked in that moment, but it didn’t take him more than 15 seconds to register that hand gestures were not going to cut it.

He said “follow me” and crossed the street.  Not two minutes into that walk, he stopped a random in a suit jacket and spoke to him in the local language.  He then turned to me and said “You follow him.”  Lacking a better option….I did.

After a few blocks, the man turned to me and said “You want a taxi to Entebbe right?”  Ut oh.  No, I tried to explain that I wanted a BUS to Entebbe – a big bus.  [There are three types of transit in Uganda:  large coach buses, small mini buses (mini vans) and private taxis/bodas.  I had been told to avoid the small minivans if possible as they will often cram 20 people into a bus approved to carry 14.]

The man said “okay, okay” and we set off again. It was around this time that I began to get nervous.  We had been walking for a few minutes, and although we were still downtown and surrounded by the minivans, I was starting to wonder what exactly was going on here.  After all, the bus driver had told me it wasn’t far.  I stopped the man, whose name was Isaac, and tried to bluff.  “Are you sure of where we are going?  Last time I took the bus to Entebbe I took it from Horizon (the bus park we had arrived at).”  He looked at me skeptically and said “Really, let me ask.”

He stopped a woman on the street and asked her – in English for my benefit – and after incredulously questioning why I didn’t want a taxi, she finally confirmed that no, we needed City Bus.  This about the time I realized that down in Kampala, they call the minibuses “taxis” down here. 

She pointed us in the right direction and off we went.   But it was a trek.  Isaac offered repeatedly to get a boda, but I didn’t like the idea of being on a motorized transport with a stranger going to some unknown location so I insisted on hoofing it with my 40lb backpack, computer bag and purse.  All along the route, Isaac kept stopping to confirm the direction with people, in English.  I think he realized that I was slightly afraid of him and was doing this purely for my benefit.

When we finally arrived at City Bus, things did not improve.  For no apparent reason, buses weren’t running to Entebbe that day (its Africa).  Isaac turned to me and said I would have to take a taxi, and those departing for Entebbe were back the other direction and then some.  Just grand.

I asked Isaac why he was helping me, if he knew Jimmy Francis.  He said “No, but what am I going to do,   leave you stranded?  I was going that way to start and now I just want to make sure you get there safe.”

Sweet.  But Ted Bundy was sweet too.

He insisted at this point that we take a boda – even said he would pay.  After about a half hour of trekking all around town, I was sweating, exhausted and out of options.   I complied.  But I insisted we take two, and I spoke to my driver privately to repeatedly emphasis that we were going to the Entebbe taxi park.  To be honest….at this point was thinking there was a 60-70% chance of abduction.  I held a pen in my hand as a potential stabbing device.  Don’t mock – it was the best I could come up with!

But…lo and behold we pulled into a taxi/minibus station just a mere 3-5 minutes later.  I have never been so relieved.

But Isaac’s kindness did not stop there.  He asked for the name of my guest house and haggled with the minivan driver to make sure he would stop at the cross road for me, so I wouldn’t have to take a long boda ride from town center with all my stuff.  He negotiated the price and even told me what I should expect to pay for a boda “No more – they will try to ask, you say no.”

I thanked Isaac profusely and gave him back the money he had paid for the bodas.  I wasn’t sure if I should give more, or if he would be offended?  He shook my hand, wished me safe travel and was gone before I had the chance do anything.

I climbed into the minibus (ie taxi) and literally stumbled into a white teenager sitting in the back.  He turned out to be the son of a missionary who had been living in Uganda for 10 years.  We talked about our experiences for the drive, and he alerted me when my stop was coming so I could gather my things (which were all, suitcase included, piled haphazardly in my lap)

From there the trip was smooth: caught a boda, got the guest house and took a much-needed hot shower.  Afterwards, I took the owner’s recommendation and headed down to the edge of Lake Victoria for dinner and a drink on the water.

There, sitting on the sand with the lakelapping just a few feet ahead of me, I ran into my second act of Ugandan kindness.  A woman and her child, four men and a white German girl approached me and asked if they could join me.  Noticing there were no other tables, and well…I was sitting alone, I agreed.  We proceeded to share a drink and talk for awhile.  The German girl had come here to study abroad and met one of the men who she was now dating.  The men were his brothers, the woman:  wife and child of the eldest brother.  We had a pleasant conversation about travel in Uganda and my work in Lira.  Turns out the boyfriend actually helps fund orphans in school in Kampala.  We exchanged emails so I can connect him with Augustine.  The other brother and the German girl gave me their numbers.

In true Uganda fashion, food delayed and by the time it arrived it was nearing dark.  I ate quickly, apprehensive about the walk back to the guest house alone.  I have had enough adventure for the day.

When I indicated my intention to leave, the boyfriend said “Do you have a car?  You shouldn’t walk alone.  There are many bars and you stand out here.”  I said no, it was just around the corner and I would be fine.

He insisted.  No, we will come with you.  I had been fearing this moment – afraid this was some scam and I would be mugged on the return.  But the amount of contact information they had given me, the photos we took together and truthfully…the presence of the German girl…made me acquiesces.  The girl and her boyfriend walked me to the crossroad of my guest house (as far as I would allow) and then bid me farewell and safe travels. 

He insisted that I should call if I ever came back to Entebbe and I could stay at their house on the lake and eat all of the fruit they grow, which we had discussed since it does not grow in the more arid north.

This morning, I awoke to an email and a Facebook friend request.

Now some of you reading this may think I was taking too liberal a chance with my life and/or vaginal sanctity.  Truthfully, I wouldn’t disagree with you.  But sometimes you just have to read the signs, trust your judgment and believe in the good of people.  They just may surprise you.

Or hack you into tiny bits.  Either or.