Kenya we arrived in Kampala, Uganda. It was raining. We were tired,
mostly from sporadic winks of sleep throughout the night on the bus
and then our early morning walk in the dark over the border. Let me
tell you about the border.
We arrived under starlight. The big dipper
was turned upside down and we were met by men shining flashlights on
Ugandan currency, trying to get us to buy some. Once stamped out of
Kenya, we walked down dirt roads. The straight road was well lit so we
headed down that one. Then we were told by some random guys on the
grass saying “no no no!| and to go left. I looked left. It was an
almost pitch black road. Oh, so we’re not supposed to take the well
lit road to the boarder crossing but the winding, dark scary one? Ok,
this isn’t sketchy at all… So off we went, through the dark and
eventually found some more currency exchangers with their flashlights
and some buildings with lights on them. After waiting inside for
awhile we had our visas paid for and were stamped into Uganda. I
needed to usde the washroom which was nearby. I start to walk in. The
attendant asks me for money and says I can’t use it if I don’t pay. I
tell him I have none on me (which is true) and head on in. He says
pay, I say no. Especially when I had just seen Grant walk into the
men’s room on the other side and there was no attendant there asking
him for money. I figured it was probably a ruse. Then it was back on
the bus for the last leg of our journey while Iron & Wine tried to
sing me to sleep. Boy with a Coin is my favorite song.
So, we made it to rainy Kampala. Thank you Kampala Coach, you were a
great choice with your spacious seats and red interior, I wouldn’t
argue if we meet again. After arrival we had a lunch break of PB & J,
then strapped on our packs to walk through the wet, crowded and muddy
streets of Kampala to a different bus station that would take us to
the town of Soroti, which was our ministry location for the month of
February. We got to the bus
station and my legs were completely covered in mud from my flip flops
spraying stray mud up.
Note to self: Don’t wear flip flops on travel
day.
Then we were swarmed by Ugandans asking us where we were going and if
they could take us to the proper bus. Among them were guys selling
everything from soda to watches and beard trimming kits. I’ve learned
while on the race that I can get claustrophobic when there are too
many people around and I can’t move or get going to where I need to be
while people around me are all asking me questions that I don’t have
the answers to. I don’t really panic but I get overwhelmed and don’t
know what to do from that point on. Usually trying to find space and
escape is at the top of the list though. After looking around for a
cue or decision confirmation from my teammates and not getting one, I
finally say we’re going to Soroti and just start following the first
guy I see. We’re marched between the narrow lanes between buses to put
our packs underneath. Some guy from a bus puts his hand on my shoulder
and calls me his wife multiple times.
Finally the packs are put
underneath and we get into the bus. The seats are covered in hard
plastic and some of it is torn or worn through and the fabric
underneath pokes through. There isn’t alot of leg room and when I sit,
my knees are pressing against the seat in front of me. I sit down on
the nasty seat, feeling disgusting with my muddy legs and the fact
that I’m wearing shorts at the moment and can feel the plastic covers
against my skin. All I can say in this moment is “I feel gross.” Joe,
who’s standing, looks down at me sympathetically and pats my shoulder.
Then I find out we’re moving to the back of the bus. So out I slide
and I gratefully go to the back. Only to find some rusted out seats
held up by a tightly knotted rope that were swinging back and forth
slightly. Also some of the window slots were missing panes. I sat down
with my daypack in my lap next to Joe in a crowded seat once again and
resigned to my fate for the next few hours. Still feeling overwhelmed,
I pulled my knees up and buried my face into my pack, trying to escape
from everything.
(You should note here that Soroti is 300 kilometers away. I thought
we’d be there in 4 or 5 hours. Little did we know that it would take
us 7 or 8 to get there. This probably wasn’t helped by the fact that
it took us an hour to get out of Kampala and all of its mad mad
traffic.)
To be continued…
