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.