Back! Uganda to Zanzibar

I know that people have been wondering what has happened to me and in more than one telephone conversation my father has reminded me that it is time to write again. He told me that people have been asking after my well being and I should knuckle down and put these kind people at ease.

I shall start off this blog with a big HAPPY NEW YEAR. And now I need to go way back to the beginning of December to catch up with travel writing!

Kenya: 2 December – Lake Bogoria and Lake Baringo

The day finally came when we left Kembu Campsite and headed northwards again, across the Equator again, to see Lake Bogoria and Lake Baringo. It was raining just like it had been for the previous three weeks. We had a choice of the quick tarmac road round or the short dirt road to Lake Bogoria – we took the dirt road. I’d looked forward to the day I would have easy riding and so the hankering for tough roads took me by surprise. We didn’t get far down the road when it the dirt turned into thick red mud, as expected. I was in the lead. On a lot of the off road bits Paul would lead so I could see his bike wobble and avoid taking the same path but as I’d become so confident, I was taking the lead even on difficult roads.

The mud coated my wheels and all of a sudden it was as slippery as ice. When things get this hectic the primary course of action is to maintain a straight line and keep off the brakes. This meant I was unable to dodge a huge pothole that made the bike lurch violently to the side. The best thing to do in that situation is to give a bit of gas to straighten the bike up. I went straight into another pothole and the bike lurched right over to the opposite side. I looked ahead and saw a small patch of mud that had gravel on it and then slammed on breaks when I reached that spot. I finally came to an abrupt stop. The guys all pulled up behind me with wide eyes and instead of encouraging me to go further, they insisted that we turn back and take the easy road option. The bike had been lurching so far to the side that the boxes were hitting the ground and the guys were amazed that I didn’t have a spectacular crash. Pumped full of adrenalin, I didn’t notice that my ankle was quite so sore.

We made it to the Lakes through some beautiful landscape (with a few river crossings to keep the riding interesting). By the time we reached Roberts Camp at Lake Baringo the sun had come out. The place was extraordinarily beautiful, the rain was gone. There were hundreds of fascinating birds and hippo and other animals at the lake.

I was so excited about being in this lovely place teeming with wildlife that I kept doing little “Who-hoos!” and waggling my arse while I scurried about putting up the tent in a hurry so that I could get down to the lake. As there were no fences, I’d suggested parking the bikes in a V close to the car for a little protection. I thought I was being too cautious but then the manager came by and calmly said, “Actually, you should put the tent closer to the car. And if you need to pee at night, don’t go further than the back of the car.” We all looked at each other with big, excited eyes.

We all went to bed rather eager and at the same time nervous about the nocturnal visit we may receive. I’m a light sleeper but not long after going to bed we were all awake. I could hear grass being pulled and sloppy munching that sounded like it came for a pair of rather large of gummy jaws. I stuck my head out of the tent and could see Martin and Rickard’s legs dangling out of their very safe roof-top tent. We whispered to each other and they pointed, “The hippo is over there. And another one over there.”
I wished I was in their tent but there was no way I was risking even a short dash to the car. I’d never been so close to a hippo before! I couldn’t stand to look at it. I pulled my head back into the tent with my heart pounding. It felt like hours that I lay there listening to the massive, bad tempered animal chomp away. How could a vegetarian with a silly face and lumbering chubby body be so mean? At one point it sounded as if it was unbelievably close to the tent but when I braved another peek I didn’t see anything. In the morning Rickard told me that the hippo was less than a meter away. The reason I didn’t see it was that I didn’t realise that the grey mass was hippo and not just my bad night vision. In retrospect, it’s a good thing I couldn’t see it.

The next day I twisted my ankle while walking down some stairs. I had completely forgotten about smacking it the day before. It completely buckled. I’ve hurt my ankles many times but this was the first time I’ve twisted my ankle and had to lie down to deal with the pain. I don’t mean to sound really tough, but I don’t believe in crying over pain and I don’t like to whinge about injuries. But I tell you, it hurt like heck.

4 December: Uganda – Kampala

We left Kenya on a high. I was feeling a bit determined to get to Kampala as soon as possible as we were already a week later than we’d promised to arrive at Safe Alternatives for Youth (SAFY) and the later we arrived, the later we left... This would have implications for further on. It’s so hard to set dates when you travel. The roads were mostly good enough, bar a few massive boulders, numerous pot holes, stretches of road works, mental truck drivers, dust and pushy matatus (minivan taxis), but with a relatively stress free border crossing. By 7pm we arrived in Kampala completely exhausted and dirty and having completed over 500 km, a long day. I was frazzled as every single time I changed gears and every time I put my foot down my ankle hurt. I was pleased to be there but was in a grouchy mood.

Throughout my trip planning I hadn’t considered linking with a charity. I didn’t see any point as people appeared to just use the charity to get sponsorship and didn’t seem to actually care about the issues they were supposed to be supporting. So when I tentatively asked Stand Up For Africa if I could help them, I hadn’t thought about it much or how involved I’d become. I just knew that I’d give the fund raising a bash (with SUFA’s help), have some interviews that would help SUFA get some publicity and finally ride via Kampala to meet Safe Alternatives for Youth and find out about the project’s progress. I didn’t know what was expected of me or what I’d be facing. I had no idea at all. I didn’t even know if the money had been raised. I hadn’t yet even found out about the whole thing with my ex-colleagues or just how tough things had been back in SUFA’s office in London.

Before we arrived in Kampala I didn’t really have any time to imagine what I expected Rita to be like but she arrived with a bright open smile and very pregnant belly. She was well spoken and so down to earth and unpretentious, unlike any lawyer I’d ever met before. Rita filled us in on the background of the NGO and how she felt compelled to do something about the kids she saw on the street near one of the law centres she frequented. They’d been working on this project since 2002. With a new centre they will be able to increase the range of skills training to even more young people. Finally I found out what would be expected of me and Paul too, we had dates, plans, etc and I asked to see a doctor.

That afternoon we went to the SAFY centre in Kitamanyangamba. With my ankle as sore as it was I found it difficult to pick my way around the slum that had deep ruts where the constant rain have cut the soil away. I still felt a bit odd, uneasy, about being there and was acutely aware of being the “generous mzungu” and felt a little embarrassed by the attention I was getting.

At the moment SAFY has a small office in one of the slum areas of central Kampala. The centre does what it claims to do which is: offer a safe alternative for youth. They organise social and sporting events and have a drama club. They offer advice when teenagers arrive with problems and assist them in making the right decisions and include sex education and free condoms. They have access to computers and give free training. When the new centre is built the education courses will include skills like carpentry and training on how to run a business.

Having put up with the NHS for the past eight years of my life, my expectations of health care are nice and low. So when I arrived at a medical centre in Kampala and had x-rays taken within 10 minutes of waiting I was really astonished. The radiographer came back out with a grave face and announced that he needed to show the patient something. I hobbled after him. He pointed out a big fracture that was very obvious even to my ignorant eye. He said I needed an orthopaedic surgeon and so I hastily called in Rita’s boyfriend and looked at him pleadingly as he examined the same x-ray. I sat down and another man was ushered in, more x-rays were taken and 15 minutes later I saw the orthopaedic surgeon. He asked me about my biking and how often I had accidents. I told him, that from time to time, especially recently I crashed and had trapped this very same foot under the bike on a few occasions. I explained that I’d had a particularly bad crash on the BMW off road training course and my ankle had ever since not been quite the same. However, this twist had really hurt. He had gathered all his facts and then gave me the full story: There was indeed a fracture but it was an old fracture probably the crash I’d mentioned. The bones had healed apart rather than knitted together and that is why there was this 5mm gap in the bone. This accident had torn ligaments. “And so,” he looked at me sternly, “You need to let this foot heal. When it rains the water runs down the same ruts and this injury will only get worse.”
I gave my sincere promise that I’d take it easy. Besides, this time I was really suffering. I was then slapped with the bill for this speedy, efficient medical attention including x-rays and medication. It came to a whole 20 British pounds and I’m now even more unimpressed with the NHS.

During the first couple of days at SAFY I felt awkward. The first thing in my “programme” as it was called, was to go to a centre for vulnerable children, many of whom are orphans as a result of parents dying from AIDS and live on the streets. I watched the SAFY drama club doing an educational performance on HIV/AIDS and drug abuse. I could tell that they were all checking us out as much as we were checking them out. The “programme” included visiting some of the SAFY members homes, but having grown up in SA I’d already been to slums and seen poverty so this made me feel frustrated rather than educated. I didn’t want to look at poverty, I wanted to get stuck in and do something meaningful with the kids. In the evening I had dinner with Rita and the other founders of SAFY and I suggested that I make a small video following the lines of the play as I’d noticed the kids were interested in my tiny digital camera. They agreed that it would be a nice thing to do. So I had a task, a mission and a real reason to be there.

Also, since hurting my ankle I found myself in a very black mood. I wasn’t coping well with living in a leaking tent. We had daily down pours and often centimetres of water flowing around the tent. I couldn’t sleep. Every thing was wet. All my clothes were muddy and I was constantly grovelling around in the mud. I was struggling like crazy not being able to walk properly or ride my bike without pain. I didn’t know how long it would take for my foot to get better and what implications this would have on the trip. Paul and I were also finding we needed some space in the relationship as the 24/7 thing was making us crazy. I was even getting annoyed with the Swedes. The only thing I could think of doing to relieve my morose mood was to get focused on something and work. Work has always been a solution for me. Working hard meant I had less time to feel sad.

Over the next two weeks I went daily to the SAFY centre and, well, made a film. Medy who was the hands on fellow in the office helped me with meetings and introductions during the first two days and then just let me get on with the project. Paul had escaped to Jinja to go river rafting for a couple of days and when he got back was quite surprised that I’d written a script and motivated the drama club into preparing for a the making of what was growing from a little video into a proper film. I had the kids doing drama rehearsing, organising locations, translating into Lugandan, scheduling and generally understanding the complexities of film making. Paul then also got stuck in and rushed about Kampala traffic on his bike carrying out errands and sorting logistics. I was completely focused on filming but found my friendships with the lead actors growing daily. The more I knew them, the more I liked them.

Kampala is a city full of contradictions and one cannot take any thing for granted. I found myself in the slums having friendly conversations with people whom I got to know and like – I was more at ease there than in a coffee shop in London. How wrong it is to think people in slums are less intelligent or progressive in their thinking. But life in the slum is tough. There are hardly any proper roads, there is no water management, very little waste management, electricity is on and off all day, for all the rain, the taps are often dry… and yet, I was meeting trendy, groovy, sophisticated people every day. I met kind, generous people who would stick up for me and negotiate non-mzungu prices for me. I met people who talk so casually about their lives and I’d discover that they are really extraordinary.

Time just flew and before I knew it my Zimbabwean friend, Ngoni, had arrived as promised. It was four years ago that I went to visit her in The Netherlands where she was completing her post graduate in Sustainable Development and I told her that it was my dream to ride my motorbike across Africa back home. She promised that she would join me for some of the trip – and here she was in Kampala – delivering her promise. I was delighted to have company. She laughed at my braided hair. It felt so good hearing her loud, infectious laugh. I’d missed her so much!

Unfortunately my time in Kampala was running out. I’d agreed that we would leave on the 24th December to make our way towards Zanzibar where the Swedes were desperate to celebrate New Year and I had to go as they were giving Ngoni a lift. We’d finished the filming but had massive problems in the editing phase. The electricity seemed to be off more than on and I was getting frantic. I had made everyone work so hard and some of the film looked so good… I couldn’t bear, at this point, to become slap-dash. I wanted to stay and edit but I managed to tear myself away to Murcheson’s Falls and get excited about the thousands of hippos even though I was itching to get back and try to finish editing before we left.

There was no way I’d finish the editing. On my last day in Kampala I took the laptop to the centre and explained to a jam-packed room that this was the first editing draft, it needed more work and music. I promised that in the New Year, before I left Zanzibar, I’d finish their film and post it to them. I stood at the door and watched the children’s faces as they nudged each other and giggled when they saw themselves on screen. I was relieved I hadn’t made any big errors as there is a lot of Lugandan spoken and I had often guessed where and what to cut. I felt very proud of our efforts. I watched at the faces of the young stars of the show as they saw their debut performances and could hardly believe that this was their first filming attempt ever and they had learned so fast and been so good.

There were obligatory speeches in which I was thanked and I again promised to finish the project. I was quite moved and for the first time I realised just how much I’d miss the youths, especially the lead actors who had worked so hard with me for the two weeks. They had been dedicated, bright and made me respect them so much. I was outside dishing out balloons that were causing a bit of a riot when Hady (the female lead and peer educator) called me and said she had a song for me. I followed her back into the room. Hady’s face beamed as she and Medy lead a room full of bobbing heads yelling We wish you a merry Christmas at max volume. For all the Xmas carols I’ve ever heard, this was the best one ever! I plan to remember that rendition for the rest of my life as without a doubt it will cheer me up when I’m being a ba-humbug.

24 December: Kenya – Nairobi

I was sad to leave but all the rushing to get somewhere for New Year was annoying me so I was also pleased to just go. The first part of the journey was uneventful until we were about 250 km across the Kenyan border where the road turned to a mass of potholes and then traffic ground to a halt as there had been an accident that had completely closed the road. Paul and I could squeeze past the side of the trucks and continue but before long, the dreaded rain was back, and then soon after, the sun set and we were crashing through potholes in the dark with our eyes burning and straining to see through the rain. We kept going until just outside of Nakuru where we turned off to Kembu Camp and shortly the Landrover joined us. I knew the guys were disappointed that Xmas was turning out to be a non-event but it just is that way sometimes. In Europe it’s a big family thing with gifts and dinners. In Africa, it’s hot and quite often not celebrated at all. Kembu was celebrating it with a decidedly colonial feel. All the same, it meant the guys were emotional (if not, then just plain moody). I was tired and the loud merry drunk people bashing out carols on a clapped out piano weren’t my cup of tea and so went to bed early.

The next day I noticed that Paul was a bit out of sorts. I’d suggested that the Landrover just go ahead and meet us later in Nairobi so that we could travel at a leisurely pace. His suspension was broken and the ride the night before had shaken him up a bit. The roads were wet and still potholed. I thought we were taking it easy and I kept an eye on him as he followed slowly trying to avoid bouncing his bike about. Just as soon as the road smoothed out, I glanced behind me as I wanted to go faster. I didn’t see Paul’s lights. I pulled over in the soonest safe spot and waited. We’d agreed that we should wait two minutes before turning in case it’s not an urgent situation. Nothing. Then I saw a car pull over with hazard lights on. I turned around and went back not knowing what I’d find. Fortunately I saw Paul walking about but his stuff was all over the place. I could see he was shaken. His pannier had bounced off his bike and dragged the bike making him crash into a ditch. Honestly! He is lucky he fell into a soft ditch as it could have been under a truck. The 200 km ride to Nairobi felt like one of the longest rides ever.

Given Paul’s shaken state we spent the Xmas day in Nairobi. Ngoni and I went shopping. For me, it was the best thing in the world. I hadn’t realised that for six months I’d been deprived of female company. I’d not been shopping nor done any of the things girls like to do. I’d not really had any one to talk to for ages and forgotten how nice it was to natter about anything and everything.

But all was not well. Martin was getting moodier by the day and there was a frantic race to get to Zanzibar for New Year that was increasingly getting on my nerves. I wasn’t happy about it but agreed that given the bad weather, it was best that Ngoni travelled to Dar es Salaam with the guys and we’d follow a day later arriving on the 30th. I felt bad about the way things were with the guys and they were probably annoyed with me for holding their holiday plans up with charity work.

26 December: Tanzania – Arusha, Soni, Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar

The self-imposed rush was annoying but the weather was so bad that I couldn’t face hanging about, not even for the Serengeti. Besides, the cost of everything in Tanzania is extortionate. On principle I didn’t want to pay those ridiculous prices.

Just 350 km north of Dar there is a small town called Lushoto that we’d heard that it was a pretty ride and as it was near to evening, we decided to go there. To our surprise the road led us through green mountains alongside a waterfall and white water river. Paul and I had stopped to discuss if we should go further when a chap pulled over and suggested we go to Maweni Farm. We agreed to follow him. As Paul’s bike’s suspension was broken, I was carrying a lot more luggage than normal. On good roads this is fine but the road to Maweni was a muddy rutted road with all kinds of obstacles that required me trying to manage a very heavy bike on a not so strong ankle. When we reached the farm a lovely lady greeted us with a smile I can only describe as angelic. It was the final straw for me after months of hard living conditions and various travel stresses, I finally burst into tears and had to quickly walk away and hide until I felt able to face the world again. There was no camping there but I wasn’t going to ride down again. Instead we were given a good rate that included breakfast and dinner and stayed in a luxurious safari tent in a tranquil setting. It was clean with hot showers and a flushing toilet. The food was a whole taste extravaganza. I realised that it had been a long time since I’d eaten a cooked meal that tasted good. One night in paradise with angelic people was not enough to make me feel entirely human again but it was a little comfort that make it easier to get back on the bike and do it all again the next day.

Reunited with Ngoni, we decided to spend New Year at a campsite in Kigamboni rather than pay the outrageous prices for accommodation in Zanzibar. We were camping right on the beach and it was pleasant enough. Besides, New Year for me has always been about setting goals for the coming year – I’m not interested in a party as much as a planning session. Ngoni and I spent a few days having real serious chats about serious things… and I think our theme of Success for 2007 is a great one.

On the 3rd of January we finally took the ferry to Zanzibar. Tanzania has been consistently overpriced and, so far, has consistently under delivered too. It is UN-believably frustrating dealing with this attitude. I understand it’s not possible to change this attitude as it is far-spread and ingrained but IT IS SO FRUSTRATING! In any case, besides having to fight with myself to control the urge to throttle people a few times a day, I’m enjoying Zanzibar. It is as pretty as a postcard. The waters are crystal clear and warm. The sand is white and as soft as a rabbit. It is peaceful and as long as you stick to sunbathing, it’s relaxing.

I read The White Massai by Corinne Hofmann – and blame it for having sunburn as I couldn’t put the book down. It’s an extraordinary story. It cheered me up no end to read about a woman who has more ludicrous ideas and is more stubborn than me. She fell in love with a Massai warrior and despite not even having language in common, left Switzerland to marry this man. I’d been watching these Massai in their fine traditional dress with arrogant attitude and had been intrigued. These men do nothing but strut about like peacocks and do feminine things like braid hair while their women have shaved heads and do all the work. Corinne gives such an honest, frank account, I think most of my curiosity is satisfied. Even though these men are girlie by my standards, their women are given less value than livestock. I’d never thought about love being a cultural thing. I guess I thought all people loved the same and would treat a loved one in a similar way – but it’s not the case. Again, I was thankful for being a Western woman where, things are not perfect, but I will have independence, freedom and be able to stand up for myself.

We have splashed out and spent a few nights in a bungalow with all the lavishness of running water and electricity. Ngoni has gone back to Zimbabwe to crack on with being a successful woman. I’ve finally finished making the SAFY film and, if I might say so myself, it looks pretty good. For a bunch of amateurs and a budget of about 50 US Dollars, I think we did ok. Swimming and walking on the beach seem to have done my ankle some good and it feels much stronger. I even woke up this morning and saw a refreshed tanned face rather than dog-tired one – what a pleasant change. I’m ready for the rest of the ride home and looking forward to all the comfort and friendship that home promises (and I’ll be writing consistently from now until I arrive safely).