At home in the Casa:
Today, I washed both my cloths and myself in a bucket. #watercrisis (literally).
This particular morning we awoke with one goal at hand–wash our stanky, dirty clothes. No problem because we’re pro’s at this now! Well, one problem, the water tank was just about bone dry. No worries though because we cleaned out the remaining water and managed to get the job done. Clothes hanging to dry on the lines… success! Until, of course, we went downstairs and found out there was no remaining water anywhere in the house, or in town, for that matter. Note*** we did not clean out all of the water in Mbale with our wash job. Apparently, when the power goes out the water runs out because there is no electricity to pump water through the city’s pipes.
Catch me at the bus park:
Africa time does not apply to buses, Ron Warren time does.
“The bus is scheduled to leave at 9:30,” said clerk 1.
Scratch that. “It’s more like 9-9:30,” said clerk 2. Actually, “you should probably be there at 8:45,” clerk 2 continued.
Me: “So we should be there no later than 8:45?”
Clerk 2: “Yes, definitely no later than 8:45.”
Me: “So we should really be there at 8:30?”
Clerk 2: “Yes, but 8:45 it’s okay.”
We arrived at 8:15 and without cause, concern, or notification the bus departed at 8:46 that morning. 9:30 bus, indeed! Takeaway: if you’re not 45 minutes early you’re late. The bus leaves when the bus is full, stragglers be damned.
En route to Jinja:
You don’t know what a bumpy ride is unless you’ve traveled in Uganda.
Speed humps are there for a reason. #respecthehump #kaliyawisdom
These are pretty self explanatory. Prepare to catch 2 feet of air while cruising on the bus every time you pass through a village. Basically it’s like getting punched in the gut every every 30 feet. Exciting, entertaining and funny at first, this ab work out is no joke.
In Jinja:
I’m drinking Nile Specials on the Nile River like a BOSS.
“Dude, I’ve got melted shot glass on my leg.”
Life is good on the Nile and beer tastes even better with a view like that. Although the next morning’s not as charming, especially when you’re sitting next to a bunch of British frat boys recounting their evening. For the record, paddle board fire shots are never a great idea. #justsayin
On the adventure home to Mbale:
You can’t escape the Matatu.
But seriously, you can’t and we didn’t. I vowed to never ride in one of these but I, along with Jack & KK, got bamboozled. There is no sign marking the bus stop, bench to wait or any hope or prayer of a schedule. There is however, a public toilet charging 200 UGX, a fair amount of trash, a few folks hanging around and a boda or two waiting for it’s next charge. We flew off the bodas at the transportation circle and towards the bus that had just coasted up out of nowhere. A man yells at us to hurry and confirms that this bus is headed for Mbale. Sounds promising until he tells us 3 seconds later that it’s full and that the other bus has already come and gone. This bus takes off like a bat out of hell and leaves us in the dust. There is no promise of another bus but we hold out hope and are prepared to wait. We pass the time with wishful thinking and stare down the road, squinting our eyes, in search of a bus.
Matatu after matatu pass, yelling at us to come forth, they’ll take us wherever we need to go! We decline each of their offers in search of better pursuits and are pleasantly surprised when a shuttle bus rolls up. 10,000 UGX to take us home to Mbale? No problem! We get on the shuttle bus and are pleased with our good fortune. This bus functions just the same as a matatu, stopping every 1-2 minutes in search of more passengers, but we accept this fate because it’s breezy and spacious and it’s not an official matatu. Flash forward 30 minutes and the man who took our money is demanding we rise and exit the bus. Pause for WTF moment! He boots us and delivers us to a matatu that’s waiting just behind the shuttle. The man assures us he’s paid our fare and that this taxi, full to the gills with 20+ people in seats made to accommodate 15, will take us all the way to Mbale.
We were sold to the lowest bidder and had no choice but to comply. 2.5+ hrs later and we reached Mbale town. For those of you struggling with a visual, think of the peeps as sardines in a can, chickens, goats, unhappy babies, large men who are 7 feet tall, a stench that could kill, steam room temperatures, stops every 1-2 minutes in towns and 70 mph on the roads in between, and a man hanging out the window the whole time fiercely soliciting his next customer. We threw on our headphones, cranked “Can’t Knock the Hustle” by Jay-Z and counted the kilometers to Mbale town. I’ll forever remember it as an incredible, hilarious,frustrating, stinky, hot and INSANE experience.
Perspective gained from the last 72 hrs:
It’s not camping, it’s real life.
From showering in a bucket to sleeping in a safari tent outside, and back again, the beauty of running water and electricity has not been lost on me. My bucket shower was somewhere between cold and exhilarating and our safari tent was cute. This has been my inconvenience for 3 days, but for all the people we see in the towns we pass and the ladies we work with, this is not a weekend camping trip, it’s real life. And though this experience has been no walk in the park, it has been fun and I am grateful for it.
"It's all happening." 