Country Number 3: Rwanda

Kigali, Rwanda (Mar. 12-17)
After a frustrating morning of being told several wrong times for the buses, trying to figure out whether I could cross the border at a different place than my VISA specified without any concrete information, a cell phone conversation with the border guy which comprised of me asking questions and him constantly repeating "You come to Katuna", and finally my cell phone service going out when we lost power, I caught a ride with a friend of the Kampala coach manager and made it to the Katuna border crossing.

After all of the drama, the specified border crossing didn't end up being an issue at all. The major issue was a millimetre long tear in my US $20 bill, which made them refuse to accept it. I converted the last of my Ugandan shillings for another $20 and we headed into Rwanda.

I have encountered some TERRIBLE driving in my 3 months in Africa, but I had about 15 minutes of sheer terror before it occurred to me that unlike Tanzania and Uganda, Rwanda is not a British colony. Rwanda is basically just mountains, so you are constantly whipping around mountain corners. I couldn't understand why, no matter which way we were turning, our driver almost always chose to drive on the wrong side of the street. I don't know if he sensed my terror or perhaps noticed me anxiously leaning to check for cars every time we rounded a corner, but he finally said "Do you drive on the right side of the road in Canada also?"

Right in the centre of Rwanda, it's capital, Kigali, is a very stange and out of place city. The countryside looks just like the rest of East Africa, covered in farms and mud huts, but is even more beautiful as these spread over towering, misty mountains that are covered in lush greenery. Kigali, in contrast, has perfectly paved roads, brick sidewalks, ultra-modern street lights, painted curbs, a giant fountain, and even little reflectors along the side of the streets.

After the genocide, the western world dumped aid money into Rwanda out of guilt for not doing anything sooner. In an effort to keep it coming, I am told that Kagame did things to make it appear that Rwanda was very prosperous. Someone said it is actually illegal for them to have grass roofs (they must use tin)or to not wear shoes.

Whether or not it was the right way to spend the money, it certainly makes certain parts of Kigali feel like you never left home. For my first dinner in Rwanda, I went out with a bunch of guys from my hostel to a new place that had opened. It actually felt like Earl's, I was so weirded out. Everything was made of beautiful dark wood, there were leather couches, there were decorative carvings in the hardwood tables. There was a Heineken party going on there, complete with Heineken pillows and even those obnoxious "Red carpet" backgrounds for photos that they have at all of the douchy parties in Toronto. Something about being in a place like this when I travelled all the way to Africa and there were people in mud huts about 15 minutes away just rubbed me the wrong way. After a pricey dinner, I got out as fast as I could.

I spent my first morning in Kigali at the Gisozi genocide memorial. After feeling like I was reading a fiction when I read Romeo Dallaire's "Shake Hands with the Devil," I thought that when I got here it would somehow hit me that it was real. Gisozi was very interesting and informative, but those big, beautiful, well lit boards with colourful pictures hardly elicit an emotional response.

When I was walking through the garden outside, there were two women sitting on a bench and crying. I felt very strange, like I was somehow invading on their space and their tragedy, so I put down my head and hurried by.

Upstairs was the history for a bunch of different genocides including Nazi Germany, and a third room had pictures of adorable children with details on what they wanted to be when they grew up, what their favourite food was, and how they died: grenade, machete, etc. Its just so hard to imagine that someone could actually do that to those small, innocent children.

After an emotional day, I had a change of pace for St. Patty's Day. They don't really celebrate in Africa, but we got a group together at our hostel, managed to find a mzungu party, and ended up having a really fun night.

Gorillas!

Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, Uganda

I got on the bus just in time to escape the INSANE rain storm, but unfortunately that didn't prevent the rain storm that occurred right over my seat about 30 minutes in. There was pretty much a waterfall leaking through the roof directly onto my seat. The buses are usually rammed so I figured I would just have to deal with it, but eventually a worker noticed and found me a dry seat. I snuggled by wet body under my kanga and tried to get some sleep.

I arrived at my hostel in Kabale at 7:30 am and managed to work out a deal with them whereby I could pay for everything the next day when I got money. The kitchen wasn't opened yet so I went to sleep for a few hours.

After a well needed breakfast, I started to try and figure out my plan for the gorilla sanctuary. Thank god they convinced me to delay my permit for a day because I never would have made it. However, the next problem was that the only reliable way to get into the park was to take a car for 250,000 Ush. I had a little less than 20,000 left at that point. We luckily managed to find a driver that would agree to get all of the money when my bank transfer went through at 3pm the next day, so I hitched a ride to Lake Bunyonyi with some Swedish girls for the day.

Lake Bunyonyi was beautiful, but around 3pm I started to get hungry again. I was very certain I couldn't afford hotel food so I made the 45 minute walk into town to try and find some local food. Nothing was opened, so the best I could find was two bananas for 400 Ush. One of the local guys offered to bring me to his house and cook dinner for me. I told him I had a boyfriend, but I think I should have gone for married with children because it had no effect on his repeating: "I'm 27 also. I'm not married..." Going to his house had bad idea written all over it, but he did help me get a cheap 3,000 Ush boda back to my hostel.

Watching "The last King of Scotland" while in Uganda is not exactly the best recipe for a good night's sleep, but rested or not I was up bright and early to head to Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.

After a short walk down the road, I headed down a steep slope into the jungle with my two guides. I am not sure whether I would classify it as hiking or falling, but by grabbing onto the branches and vines along the way, I managed not to tumble down to my death. I have done quite a bit of hiking now, but this was something entirely different. It was about a 70 degree angle; the ground was made of lose, damp mud; it is thick brush that they have to take down with a machete to enable you to move at all; and the ground is covered in a thick layer of broken branches and leaves so that you never know whether your next step will be on solid ground, into a hole, or will leave you sliding down the steep muddy slope.

We found the gorillas quite fast so it was quite a shock to all-of-a-sudden look up and see these black and hairy backs crouched beyond the cover of trees. I took a moment to look around, and they were everywhere: a massive male in front of me, a female eating leaves to my left, and two babies playing in the trees above them. Their facial expressions and mannerisms are so human; it is very strange.

We followed them through the thick jungle for an hour, then headed back.

Before the tracking, my guide had asked for my full name in order to write out a certificate. I declined and said I specifically did not want a certificate as I had nothing to do with it and it would be ruined by the time I got home anyways. She brought the subject up again later and said that it didn't cost anything, and again I explained that I just didn't want it. Her English was quite good and I felt that she fully understood after we had thoroughly discussed the subject twice. However, when I returned back to the park, there she was handing me the certificate with a huge smile on her face like she was presenting me with the Victoria Cross. "Thanks," I said.
Luckily, the ATM worked so I managed to pay off all of my debts. I spent the night hanging out with two girls, one of whom was in the Uganda Peace Corps. She told me this crazy story about how she was in a matatu accident, watched the driver die because he was impaled by the steering wheel and the conductor ran away because he didn't want to get in trouble for the driver's speeding. She flagged someone down on the street to help her since everyone was trapped in the back, then they tried to get rides for them to the hospital, but no one would stop since they are told that you can get AIDS from car accidents. She had to clean off her face, put on her jacket, and walk a few kilometres down the road to get a ride home. She said that when she drove by a couple days later, the matatu was still sitting there in the ditch. Who knows if the driver's body was ever removed.

I have been in Africa for a while now, but there are still things that really shock me. There are times when I feel a bit like I have entered Hobbes' State of Nature where it is every man for himself. It is a constant challenge to understand and come to terms with the culture and the different motivations people have for acting the way they do. Growing up in such a different world, there are many things I will never fully understand.

Kampala, Kampala, and oh... Kampala

Kampala, Uganda (March 8-9)
I was frustrated when I realized that the Uganda Wildlife Authority office was closed for women's day, so I would have to spend another day in Kampala to get my Gorilla permit. I was really ready to move on from Kampala.

I decided to join Alex, who was meeting a local friend, Fizel, in town for lunch. His friend had some really interesting stories about his family, who were involved in the Ugandan government. He also told us about his experiences when he had been arrested. Some guy offered to sell them a stereo system, and the police followed him there and raided the place because it was stolen. They arrested everyone.

When you go to jail in Uganda, they take you to this one cell with no beds and just a bucket for going to the washroom in. There is one cell for men and one for women; that's it. If it is crowded then sometimes you can barely sit down. We actually went to the police station and they showed us the cell. It didn't look like somewhere I wanted to be. Apparently, they can stay there for months before they get transferred and people are always very sick by the time they get out.

He also took us to the local Bahai temple, which there are only a handful of in the world. I had never heard of the Bahai faith before, but it is very interesting. They believe in multiple prophets and accept the prophets from each faith: Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, etc. They accept worshippers from every faith in the temple and actually keep the holy texts from each faith there as well. There is no preaching as faith is personal and based on your own beliefs, but they have readings of the different holy texts that the Bahais attend. I think there is something really beutiful about that kind of spiritual openness.

I wanted to spend my last night in Kampala in true local fashion, so we picked up some local banana brew for 1,000 Ush off the side of the road and headed to the ghetto near Kabala Gala. Our first bar was the size and shape of a truck trailer. Fizel taught me how to open a beer bottle with a lighter, while we watched two prostitutes try to pick up a man in a suit. I was the only white person around for miles so I didn't have super high expectations for my washroom break, but I was hoping at least for three walls: didn't happen. The waitress showed me to a corner behind a porch that was about knee height; that was it. That was what I got. The men's corner was a little further along so they were walking by as I was squatting there. It was the full local experience.

I finally got my permit the next morning and I originally wanted it for the next day because I was taking the bus that day, but the woman there convinced me to wait a day just in case since you lose the permit if you don't make it there: what could happen? I thought.

I hopped on a boda headed to the bus station which tried to pass through a narrowing gap between a car and a curb and just stopped in time, knocking the mirror off of the car. "Can you not kill me please." There was a joke at Backpackers that I would never leave Kampala because I kept returning. I laughed a bit that if I had died there, I never would have made it out.

I got to the bus station and encountered the usual frenzy of men screaming in my face and grabbing my arms. I went straight to the Link bus people since I know they are actually working there and are less likely to overcharge me. I told them I was going to Kabale and they said, "which one?" I wasn't prepared for this question, but I thought maybe there were two different areas in Kabale. I showed them the spelling and showed them my hotel in Lonely Planet, and they directed me to a bus.

The entire time, one random man had not stopped following me and now that he had heard where I was going he grabbed my arm and started trying to drag me to another bus, despite the fact that I was right next to the Link bus and completely surrounded by Link staff. A fight broke out as they pushed this guy away.

Kabale is an eight hour bus ride from Kampala, after four hours the bus stopped and said we had arrived. Something was definitely wrong. As I started asking around and looking at my map, I finally realized that we were in a village called Hoima, which is 4 hours North of Kampala. Apparently, there was a place in Hoima called Chiabale, which is where they thought I was going (I find most locals can't spell). The fastest way from Hoima to Kabale was back through Kampala. I was going back.

When I started asking the workers there, they were insisting that I had to sleep there. Hoima isn't in my Lonely Planet and the last time I wung it was when I ended up at Jakov, so I informed them that I definitely wasn't sleeping there. After their continued insistence, I finally asked to speak to the manager. He argued with me for a while, then finally agreed to help me find a ride back to Kampala. We found a matatu right away, and it was only about a two minute walk from the bus; very easy. I somehow convinced him to give me back my money and pay for most of my ride back to Kampala; customer service isn't usually that good in Africa.

So after a very uncomfortable (I was on the folding seat) four hour matatu ride, I arrived back in Kampala at 10:30 pm. I was running low on cash, there was nothing left in my chequing account, and I still hadn't found somewhere with internet that I could do a transfer. Anyways, I had no interest in going back to Backpackers, so I went immediately to the bus station to see what was the first thing I could find out. I was directed to a bus that said they would be leaving at 6am and would be the . soonest bus out to Kabale. I resolved to sleep on the bus and decided to just go and get some food. The driver said it was too late and wasn't safe, then after getting someone to cover him, he offered to take me. As I explained to him my situation, he eventually revealed that there was a night bus that would leave at 1 am. He called a friend and confirmed that there was space. He ended up escorting me the whole way to the Jaguar bus station and helping me to buy my ticket. He even tried to pay for the boda ride because of my money situation, but obviously I couldn't let him do that.

I still wasn't sure what I was going to do about money since I had very little left and would still have to wait another 24 hours after I finally found somewhere to do the transfer. Texts to Canada are completely unreliable, but I sent one to my dad and hoped for the best.

I found some chips in Kampala for 2,500 Ush and bought a 500 Ush chipatti on my way, but couldn't really afford to eat anything else. I hadn't eaten anything else since breakfast at Backpackers. I can not explain how happy I was to get a text from my dad saying that he did the transfer. I still had no idea how I would survive until 3pm the following day, but at least I knew money was coming.

Looking on the bright side, I was finally getting out of Kampala.

Merchison Falls

Merchison Falls Park, Uganda (Mar. 6 - 7)
Despite my inability to pay $80 each way to get in an out of the park, I managed to make it to my Merchison Falls cruise. I woke up early to make it to the gates before they opened at 7am. I think it was the first time anything has ever happened early in Africa, but I arrived at 2 minutes to 7 and all of the cars had already been let in. Things didn't look good for catching another tourist car anytime soon, but I waited and hoped for the best.

After about 10 minutes, two beer trucks rode in; I found my ride.

So there we were: Me, Silver, Julius, Balu (the dashboard bear I named), a truck full of beer, and about 200 swarming biting flies, bouncing over the roads past monkeys and gazelles to the Nile River.

I made it to my destination, but was too late for the morning cruise so I had to wait until 2:30. I managed to get a free ride on the ferry to the other side of the river and had lunch of chicken and chapatti, with a local I met that worked for a charity/tour company, next to a group of warthogs.

Standing on the boat amoung the frenzy of clicking cameras as we floated down the river, I have never felt like such a tourist in my life. I generally try to avoid those types of tours, but I did get to see a lot of hippos and crocadiles very close-up, which I didn't really see on the Serengeti. We didn't get as close as I expected, but the falls themselves were really cool: it was this powerful flow of water that wound around this narrow passageway of rocks.

On our way back to shore, I got to work. I think there were about 50 people on the boat and I talked to at least 40 of them, including the entire crew. Not one person was leaving the park that night, things didn't look good.

The captain told me he would let me know if he could find any workers leaving the park and told me about a cheap campsite I could stay at, but I had left all of my bags at Boomu. After waiting at the entrance to the Nile for about 15 minutes, I realized that, bag or not, I was sleeping in the park. A Merchison Park car came to pick up the ranger and offerred to drive me to the campsite. I learned that the driver, Tom, was actually the manager of the park. I think he was a bit worried about me so he gave me his card before he dropped me off and told me to call him if I had problems getting out in the morning.

I was there for about 10 minutes, when I ran into these two Germans who looked a bit lost. Someone had told them that they could camp for free at the top of the falls, so they hadn't brought enough money for accomodation. I told them I could pay for their accomodation if they would drive me out of the park in the morning. The only problem was that they were planning on doing a game drive in the morning, so wouldn't be leaving the park until around noon the next day. My park ticket was for 24 hours, so I would need to pay another 90,000 Ush if I left after 7:30 am. When I finally got service, I managed to get a hold of Tom. He said it was no problem and to just call him at the gate the next day.

I had to wake up with the Germans and go to the game drive launch area to wait for them to finish. I wanted to get breakfast, but the only place was this really fancy hotel with a 45,000 Ush buffet. I talked to the hotel manager and asked if there was anything else I could get, since that was really expensive. She told the restaurant manager that I would just be having a light breakfast and gave me the buffet for 12,000 Ush.

I spent the morning napping by the pool, watching the lizards crawl by, and listening to economics lectures (I left that part out when the Germans asked me what I had done all day). Then at 11am, we got in the car and headed for the gate.

We arrived at the gate and, as expected, the ranger told me that I would need to pay for another day at the park. My phone was dead so we used his phone to call Tom and he waved us through. I was actually quite shocked that I managed that whole thing with only a few minor speed bumps.

On the way home, one of the tires literally blew up. I have never seen a flat like that in my life. About a quarter of the tire was melted and ripped off. About 7 locals stopped to help and basically changed the tire for us.

By nightfall, I was back with my friends at Backpackers in Kampala. I was determined to get out for good the next day.

Getting to Ziwa

Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary, Uganda (Mar. 3 - 4)

I had been feeling sick for two days, so it took me a while to get up, pack, and finally get to the bus station. I wanted to get some last minute food before the bus left and I was still feeling a bit nauseous so I asked a man if he knew where I could get salad. He took me to a local place next to the bus station and they confirmed that yes, they did have salad. Then they asked me what I wanted with my salad. "Just salad", I said. "Oh we don't have salad. Can I make you chicken and chips?" Because obviously they are basically the same. I never did find a restaurant that served vegetables, but I got some fruit from a woman selling it on the bus.

I knew I was leaving pretty late when I arrived at the bus station at 3:30pm, but I was told it was a three hour bus ride so I figured I would still arrive at a decent hour. I am not sure why I thought that. The bus driver told me we would leave by 4:00 pm at the latest. We left at 4:30 pm, went to get gas, then got stuck in rush hour traffic so that it was about 6:00 pm by the time we got out of Kampala. After stopping several times for technical issues, I started to realize just how late I would be arriving. I decided to call ahead to the hotel where I had made a reservation to make sure I would have a ride ready. I received a text back that said, "Cathy am sorry its too late now. our gates close at 6pm." It was too late. Too late to tell me not to leave Kampala as I was now due to arrive just after 9pm, at the closed gates, by myself, in the pitch black. As I pictured myself sleeping in a ditch somewhere, I called her to explain that this would have been excellent information to receive when I actually made the reservation.

Meanwhile, the man next to me, James, had still not ceased talking about how expensive his school was, how prestigious his being a lawyer was in Uganda, and his constant name dropping. It seems to be a universal thing that a bragging man is completely unaware of your sarcasm when you say, "Wow. That's amazing. You are such a hero."

The manager of Ziwa finally called me and said that if I paid 60,000 Ush then they would pick me up. I told him I was confused about why, if a boda ride during the day costs 5,000 Ush and the real issue is the opening of the gates and not the ride, it should cost that much. He directed me to call someone else. He continued calling me and ignored my requests to text since my phone was dying. I never ended up getting an explanation and then my phone died. My neighbour's name dropping finally came in handy as he knew the manager, but his phone finally lost service for good. Getting off the bus without knowing where I would go or whether I had any means of transportation or a place to stay seemed like a very bad idea, so my only option was to continue to Masindi.

Masindi isn't in lonely planet, so I had to trust my neighbour to tell me a place to stay. I could tell by the name Jakov (he thought it was spelled Jakoff) that this was not a Mzungu place, but James said it was clean and it was only 15,000 Ush a night. Clean was a generous interpretation.

At first inspection, the sheets smelled clean and there was a mosquito net and a padlock on the door. James was leaving and I didn't really have any other options at this point, so I set down my bags and went to get food. As I sat at the bar eating my chicken and chips, I got live entertainment watching the cockroaches crawl up and down the bar.

When I got back to my room, I realized the full extent of what I had signed up for: There was a large hole in the bathroom ceiling where a person could definitely fit through and hanging on the side of it was a used condom; the sink gave you just a trickle of water and the dried toothpaste on the back of the toilet made it obvious that I hadn't been cleaned in a while; in addition, the toilet didn't flush and there was a big pile of some stranger's poop floating in it. I managed to get the door closed so the smell wouldn't permeate the room, but had a mild moment of panic when I realized there was no door handle and thought I might be stuck in there with the poop. Luckily, the cracks in the door were large enough that I could still open it. I reasoned that poop in the toilet is better than poop mysteriously appearing on my bed in the night, so I tucked in my mosquito net and went to sleep. You need to appreciate the little things.

After getting sent in the wrong direction by some Link bus workers (apparently they thought I was asking them how to find the bus directly beside us as opposed to the link office), and the usual fight to get the right price for the bus ticket, I was on my way to Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary.

I arrived prepared to pay $35, but they told me that it would be almost double that because I would need to rent a car since the rhinos were far away. I told her that I couldn't afford that and asked what my other options were, to which she returned a blank stare. They said I might be able to get a car with someone else and as we were trying to find someone, the guide finally came in and said that he didn't mind walking me if I could handle walking 45 minutes. I assured him this wasn't a problem and we headed out.

It was about 15 minutes to the first rhino and another 5 or 10 to the second group. I think he meant 45 minutes for the whole walk, which severely saddens me to think that the majority of Mzungus can't handle a 45 minute walk on flat ground. My guide had actually seemed very concerned that I wouldn't make it.

I saw a total of 5 white rhinos: 2 adults and 3 babies. They are really interesting animals because you get this feeling that they are from another age. Something about them seems so old and dinosaur-like. They just don't seem like they belong in our world.

After some lunch, I caught a boda boda back to the street, a matatu to a street corner that served as the taxi stand, and got a ride to Masindi with some doctor. There, in Masindi, I found the largest Mzungu price increase so far: three-times the actual price. After some threats to call my hotel and ask them to send someone, I managed to get the right price.

My hotel, which was right outside the gates to Merchison Park, was called Boomu Women's Group, and had these cute little mud huts with grass roofs that you sleep in. During daylight hours, I felt like I was in some kind of bird sanctuary because the sound of the birds was so loud and constant. They made me an excellent African meal for dinner, definitely the best in Uganda.

Ugandan Justice

Kampala, Uganda (Feb. 25 - Mar. 3)
 
Originally, I just wanted my money back because there was no way I wanted to pay $40 to the people who hit me in the face. However, as I started searching for contact information online, I discovered a post that said "caution" and basically said that you should be careful of fines and pay right away because people were frequently beaten up in the parking lot for failing to do so. When it occured to me that this was merely an escalation of previous and frequent violence, which he expected to get away with, I decided that I had to do something.

Kampala Legal Process:

1. File a report with the police: The majority of people I have talked to have told me that the police are useless and will not do anything. I figured that if they are corrupt, then charming them a little couldn`t hurt. I gave my statement to a police officer named Vincent. He actually would have been quite charming if he hadn't been vigorously picking his nose the entire time he told me he loved me. My statement was handwritten on a piece of blank white paper and I wrote out my name and details at the top. He recorded the incident in illegible writing in a large ledger.

2. Obtain medical evaluation forms: Vincent took me next door to a shack at the edge of a small, impoverished neighbourhood. The shack read "photocopying", but the window was closed. He called to some woman washing her clothes in a bucket in front of her house and she walked off. Another woman came over and opened up the shack. It costed 1,600 Ush to photocopy the forms. Considering that is more money than many Ugandans make in a day, I find it unlikely that many Ugandans would make it even this far in the legal process.

3. Obtain medical evaluation: The next morning, I headed for the hospital to obtain my medical examination. I have a sneaking suspicion that a visit to Mulago hospital may have been the inspiration for the movie The Labyrinth. When I first arrived, a girl on the matatu directed me to the other side of the hospital grounds to the information desk. The information desk directed me back where I came from to find the police assessment centre. I stopped into a building to ask for more directions, but the workers at the front said they were new and that I should ask a woman at the back sitting on a bench next to the desk. When I told her that I was looking for the assessment centre she said this was it and to wait for the receptionist. She returned 20 minutes later and directed me across the street (there were also radioactive signs everywhere so I was glad I got to spend so much time there). There were no signs, but inquiry informed me that I had found the area. I asked at the first building and they directed me down the maze of crossroads. At a fork in the road, I came upon the first sign and headed down towards another building. I passed a signless building, which I hoped wasn`t the place. I passed two large windows that were blocked all the way to the ceiling by a mass of what I presume was an unorganized pile of patient files. After further inquiries, I went through the next building and circled around almost back to where I had started. I found a small building with two police men in it that I thought must be it, but they directed me back to the gates where I had first entered to enquire with the police officers there. They directed me back towards the radiology building and around the corner to another group of police officers who finally directed me to a neighbouring building. The first room I saw was filled with coffins, but a guy named Ronnie finally directed me to the room next door. I had spent around an hour wandering around the hospital at this point. Ronnie called the police surgeon and said that he wouldn`t be there for another two hours, so I went to get lunch.

My journey through the hospital

I returned to the hospital after 2 hours and Ronnie was gone, so I asked the woman making notes in a large ledger. She said she didn`t work there and was just doing the work herself because it was the only way it would get done. A woman sipping a soda walked in and gave me a look like she might work there, so I tried again. I guessed right this time (although she was doing less work than the woman who didn`t work there) and she told me the police surgeon would be there in another 2 hours. I told her that I had heard that line before and would like to be certain that he would actually come this time. She walked out and a man in a suit came in and told me that the doctor would never come and that I needed to go to Bwaise and pay 10,000 Ush to get the assessment. I didn`t really want to pay more money into this process, so I asked why two people had told me that he was coming if that wasn`t the case. When I pointed out who it was, soda woman finally took the straw out of her mouth and confirmed she had indeed told me that. Suit man began lamenting and scolding Ronnie, saying that it wasn`t his job to direct me, when finally another man piped up and said that the doctor would be there in five minutes. Three hours later I had mastered the Hanoi game on my phone, soda woman still had not done anything that looked like work, and they informed me that the doctor was too busy with autopsies and wouldn`t be able to see me.

I went to Bwaise and the examination took about five minutes, just enough time for the doctor to fill out the forms. He barely even looked at me.

4. Obtain stamp from hospital police station: I headed back to the hospital to get the stamps from the police station. I also needed another photocopy of the forms, which Ronnie helped me get.

5. Submit forms to police station: I finally arrived at the police station, but the police there told me to call Vincent as they didn`t know how to help me. Vincent showed up, slid the papers under a door, told me he loved me, then asked me for money to buy phone credit.

6. Witness Statement

7. Follow-up: I left Kampala at this point, so not sure what this entails. They said they would stay in touch with the people remaining in Kampala.

What I learned from this is not how annoying it is to get anything done in Uganda (I already knew that), but that it would be nearly impossible for the majority of Ugandans to pursue this process as they would not be able to sacrifice two days of work and would not be able to afford it. I suppose this is what gave the bouncer at Cayenne so much confidence that he wouldn`t be punished.

I continued pursuing the matter with Cayenne as well. I finally spoke to a western woman who seemed very reasonable and said she would contact me when she reviewed the tapes. I finished the day, finally confident that something would be done.

That night, I received a phone call from the woman at Cayenne who told me she reviewed the tapes and couldn`t find any evidence that he hit me. She wouldn`t say it outright, but basically accused me of lying. I had spent the entire day and a half previous pursuing this and now my only hope at Cayenne had been shattered and the police wouldn`t likely do much without the video evidence. That bouncer`s line right after he threatened to poke my eyes out kept ringing in my head; he knew they wouldn`t believe me. This was the second time I cried since I got to Africa.

After a mental break at Sipi Falls, I decided to give Cayenne one last chance to make it right or I would use the only weapon I had left: tell my story to anyone who will listen. I made a meeting between me and Alex, the head of security, and the head bouncer. They made such logical arguments as:

- if he hit me as hard as he could, I would be in the hospital. Therefore, he couldn`t have hit me at all

- Nairobi is very dangerous, and there the situation would have been worse.

- bouncers are very stressed out because they may have situations going on at home

- since I want the person who hit me fired and I want my money back, this was proof I was lying.

They proceeded to try and convince me that I hit myself in the face and explore other methods to accuse me of lying. They admitted that he had threatened to poke my eyes out, but they felt this was a non-issue. Finally, I stopped the conversation in the middle of yet another circular and non-sensical argument meant to convince me that I was a liar, said goodbye, and walked out.

African customer service at it`s finest.

Sipi Falls

Sipi Falls, Uganda (Feb. 26-28)
I needed to get away from the legal issues surrounded Cayenne for a while, so decided to go to Sipi Falls. After a 3 hour bus ride to Mbale and an hour cramped Matatu ride to Sipi Falls, I arrived at the Crow's Nest hostel. It was about 7 or 8pm when I arrived, so it was completely pitch black. Standing at the corner where we stopped was a large group of local men, whose intentions I was unsure of. The man I was talking to on the matatu told me that Crow's Nest was just up the dark pathway leading into the woods and that the man standing there worked there and would escort me. I didn't really have much choice but to trust him, so I grabbed my bags and headed into the dark with him. I think he could sense my uneasiness because he eventually presented his guide permit, which made me feel a lot better.

When I arrived safe and sound at Crow's Nest, I gladly gave him a tip as that was definitely not a trip I would have wanted to make on my own. I reserved a room in the nearest hut, just up the cliff, and settled in with some new friends in the lounge.

It was difficult to see much that night because it was so dark, but the hostel is situated on the edge of a cliff that surrounds a massive valley and is directly across from the largest waterfall. The wind, I suppose due to the landscape, was the most intense I think I have ever experienced. It was unrelenting that first night and combined with the outdoor toilets and creaky wooden doors, it gave the place a feeling of an old horror movie. Despite the beauty of the large white moon that lit up the sky, during my trip to the bathroom in the night I was practically running back to my hut.

My first morning in Sipi, I met up with Robert who would be taking me to my 100 metre abseil, ten metres beside the main waterfall. Abseiling is pretty similar to the belaying portion of a rock climb in that you are slowly being lowered down a rope to the ground. It is different in the sense that you are in complete control of the movement and your spotter merely serves as a safety backup by controlling the speed of the rope behind you. Lowering yourself is accomplished by changing the angle of your slack to loosen or tighten the knot attaching you to the rope connected at the top. The first 20 metres or so you are pushing out against a rock, the rest you are just hanging there and slowly descending.

Those first few seconds when I started leaning over the edge and had really no idea how to work the ropes, were legitimately scary. However, despite my attempts to look at the small knot that was keeping me from falling to my death, or to look down at how far the ground was, I couldn't feel scared. It was absolutely amazing and beautiful to watch the water next to me pouring down 100 metres to crash on the rocks below, surrounded by the lush tropical green landscape.

I am not sure why they call it abseiling, but I do have my own theory: it was probably the greatest ab/core workout of my life to keep my body upright as I hung there 100 metres from the ground.

After abseiling, we hiked up to the spot where they do the rock climbing. They had asked me what I wanted for my lunch and I had originally decided on Chicken and fries as the vegetarian option of a tomato, onion, and cheese sandwich didn't sound very appealing. Before my abseil, they said they had no fries, would I like spaghetti. By the time I actually received my lunch, it was some tomatoes and onions between two pieces of white bread: the vegetarian option minus the cheese. This is Africa.

I have done indoor rock climbing before, but this was really not even in the same category. I did the easiest one first, but it was definitely not easy. First of all, you have no clue where to climb as there are areas where it basically just looks like smooth rock. My guide would tell me which tiny dents i could fit maybe my big toe or one finger into to push my way up. Once you fall, it is even harder because you need to pull yourself back into the wall with nothing to grab but a centimetre long hole in the rock. I have never done a workout like that where literally everything from my toe muscles to the tips of my fingers were exhausted.

I was planning on doing a hike to the other falls afterwards, but once I sit down for lunch there was no turning back. It was still light out, but I wanted to go to bed since I was getting a terrible migraine. I just needed to take out money first as I was pretty low on cash. I managed to catch a shared car that reeked of gasoline into town to go to the bank.

There are two banks in Sipi: Stanbic and Centenary (an African bank). Needless to say Centenary didn't work, and Stanbic ATM was malfunctioning, obviously. So by the time I paid my way back to the hostel, paid my bill, and set aside money for my trip back to Kampala, I had about 6,000 Ush ($2.40) to spare. I woke up early to watch the sunrise over the cliffs and took an early matatu to Mbale.

In Mbale, I finally found a Barclays and got some money out. I was starving as I hadn't been able to afford to eat anything since lunch the day before so I sat down for a big breakfast and considered whether I wanted to go back to Sipi to do the hiking and coffee tour now that I had money. When I realized that I forgot my phone there, basic math made the decision for me ($12 phone > $6.40 matatu ride).

When I got back to Sipi, one of the guides from Rob's Rolling Rock, Peter, was at the bus stop. The matatu driver gave me my change and I was confused why he charged me only 7,000Ush. "It's because I am here and that is the real price," Peter said.

I helped to make some delicious and fresh coffee right from the raw beans on my coffee tour. It is a much longer process than I realized. Then we went for a hike to the second falls. They were smaller, but even more beautiful than the first one. At one part, there is thick green grass growing underneath where the water trickles down so that everything you see is lush and green. You could walk right in behind the falls and some people even stood underneath them.

On my way back to Mbale (my third matatu ride between Sipi and Mbale) I finally figured out the mystery that perplexed me on our first trip out. On my first trip, the matatu pulled over and one of the three guys in the front seat got on a boda, only to get back on the matatu a few miles down the road. This second time when, again someone from the front seat got out, I thought I had it figured out. I looked out the windows for a police station and finally saw two white uniformed officers at a checkpoint by the road. They aren't allowed to have three in the front seat in Uganda so they have to take someone out when they drive past the police. I suppose it is a step in the right direction that Uganda actually has these safety laws as opposed to Tanzania.