Reflections of Uganda

Distance travelled:    650 miles (1040km)

Days in the country: 13

Actual days riding:      9

 I arrived at the Ugandan border in the pouring rain, it had been raining all morning and I was soaked to the skin. The immigration official was a big cheery guy who seemed to be genuinely interested in my story.

“How long would you like to stay?’ he wanted to know.

“How long can I stay”, I enquired.

“I’ll give you three months”, he said relieving me of $50.00 for a visa.

“This is a safe country, there’s no violence here, you can safely go wherever you like, you just go and enjoy our country”, he said.

“Thank you kindly”, I replied and headed for the door.

“Is your country really as dangerous as we hear,” he asked, alluding to South Africa.

“It depends on where you go, we’re still going through growing pains,” I said turning back to the counter.

“I have a cousin who lives there, he says it’s a disaster,” he said.

“ He says he can’t walk to the shops without hassle, can’t get anything done without having to bribe someone”, he went on.

“ I know, it’s not easy”, I said, starting to feel a bit defensive, not withstanding the fact that I live in the UK and have done so for donkey’s years. I’m as British as any Brit, and frankly I’m proud of it, but having someone other than a South African criticise the country of my birth really rankled.

“When will they learn that it is the majority that count and not the people at the top?” he asked.

“ I don’t think they ever will, they’re there to enrich themselves, that seems to be the goal, “ I replied.

“ But having said that, it’s human nature I’m afraid, only in my country they don’t seem to care about what people think, they’re all above the law, or so they think.” I went on.

“ I’m afraid you’re right, by the way this is my cell phone number, if you have any problems, which I doubt you will, give me a call”. He said.

Well, what could I say, here was a really decent genuine bloke.

“ Thank you so much,” I said.

“If you ever find yourself in the UK please give me a shout,” I said giving him my card.

“ I can’t see that ever happening I’ve a good job and am very happy here, but do you mind if I email you every now and then, just to see how you are doing?” he asked.

“ I’d love that, please do.” I said.

And with that I squelched back into the cold driving rain.

What a welcome to a country and what a great human being!

One afternoon two days later I pulled into a small nondescript town in search of a bank that would accept one of my credit cards. Getting cash has without doubt been the hardest part of this whole adventure. MasterCard is not accepted in most places, my Virgin Visa in some but not others, any hard currency that you have, in my case US Dollars, has to be in pristine condition and no older than 2006, I have $800 that no one will touch with a barge pole, not even the banks as they predate 2006, cheers Thomas Cook in Bishop Auckland who supplied the pre paid master card and the dollars knowing I was touring Africa, you really know your business!

 As it happened none of my cards worked anywhere so I was forced to change some of my dollars for Ugandan Shillings, at a crap rate I have to say, but I had no option.  It was still reasonably early and I had planned to push on and ride for another 3 or so hours and then try to find somewhere to camp but decided to stop and find somewhere to stay as I was totally pissed off with the constant battle and stress of trying to get money and just wanted to chill, plus I needed to work on my book.

I found a place on the main street across the road from a bar that was a step up from a cave but was cheap so I checked in.

The rooms in these places are rough, bed bugs, torn mosquito nets and dirty bed linen is usually the order of the day, I always sleep on my bedroll on the floor, the big plus is that you are out of the elements and can usually have a proper wash.  Sitting in the gloom of my room was not an option so I decided to go and sit on the veranda overlooking the street and do a bit of writing.

I’d probably been there for an hour when I became aware that I was not alone, I was being watched. I looked up and there was a rather tatty looking individual standing on the pavement glaring at me. Now those of you who have followed my trip will know that I have very little time for this type of crap, so I looked up, met his stare and went back to what I was doing.

“Give me your money white man,” he snarled.

Given the hassle I’d been having getting my earned money I was in no mood to be arsed about with.

“Go get lost black man”, I retorted.

”Just piss off and leave me alone, I’m not interested,” I continued, starting to stand up. My response flatfooted him completely, once his addled brain computed what I had said he launched into a tirade of drunken abuse, I've been here before and knew where this was going.

“Bloody hell, I don’t need this today”, I thought, packing up and heading for my grotto, leaving him ranting in the street, when there was an almighty crash.

“ That’ll teach him, a dose of divine retribution.” I thought, hoping he’d fielded a grand piano.

Turning round I saw that there was no grand piano only two motorcycle taxis that had somehow managed to crash head on and given the volume of the bang, at some speed.

Now, being a reasonably responsible type of bloke I dropped everything and ran out onto to the street to see if I could help, I was the only one that did I hasten to add. Everyone involved  seemed to be fine except for one of the passengers who had hurt his leg, but like the rest of the participants was really eager to get away.

He was clearly in a lot of pain and limping badly, I insisted that he sit down and I had a good look at his leg, I didn’t believe that it was broken, as there was no obvious sign, so after telling him to go to the hospital to have it checked out, I let him limp away into the crowd.

All the while I was subject to a barrage of verbal abuse from my mate and his buddies, who had all poured out of the bar across the road to gawp.

Ignoring it I went back to my grotto cursing USA Aid, EU Aid, United Nations Aid and anybody else that had intimated to these people that they’re were owed something.

Fast forward…

At about 3 am I was woken by a commotion outside my grotto. There were strident voices demanding to know where I was, doors were slamming, people were shouting. It was what you see on TV, people out of control, hysteria. It did not take the mob long to ascertain which was my room, and they started beating on the door, not long after the window was smashed.

Looking back on it I know I should have been afraid, but strangely I was very calm I felt nothing but contempt for them.

There was no escape, there was only one-way out and that was through them, not an option.  There was nothing to do but brave it out.  If they managed to smash down the door it would be game on, just how to handle it was racing through my mind.

It was crazy, drunk people wanting blood, broken windows and doors, police with automatic rifles, gun fire, people lying on the ground bleeding, a white man preparing to meet his maker, it was just mayhem, madness. But why?

Was it because I had refused to give some lowlife my money and then faced him and his mates down, or was it something deeper.

Africans are not racist, they are great people, yes, the continual demand for my money and possessions irritates the life out of me and I get driven to distraction by it regularly, but these are also the people who have welcomed me into their homes, helped me when I’ve been in trouble and have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome and at home in their countries, good decent people. In my mind this had nothing to do with Africa.

Idiots and thugs are the same the world over, this was not a Ugandan or African issue, it could have happened almost anywhere, low intelligence and alcohol have never mixed and this was the case here as far as I am concerned.

           

 What’s my reaction to one of the liveliest nights of my life?  All I can say is that shit happens; perhaps it could have been avoided had I not been so in his face, but anyone who knows me, also knows that I don’t suffer idiots, of any hue, gladly.

I never did call the bloke from immigration; he would have been absolutely devastated, it just didn’t seem right; the decent people in this life need to be insulated and protected from this type of crap.

Apart from a boating incident on Lake Victoria, more of which later, Uganda was amazing, friendly people, beautiful countryside, expensive, though nothing like Rwanda. Would I return, with out a doubt!

 “ Just wish they’d have let me shoot a few of the bastards!”

Marks out of 10

A solid 8

Punctures

1  pathetic slow one!