The Nile is a Long River

A group of us from EWB headed out to the nearby touristy city of Jinja which is particularly identified by its location at the source of the Nile on Lake Victoria. A two day visit turned into four for me as the rest of my group, limited by time constraints, headed back to Nkokonjeru. We rocked up six strong and headed strait for "The Source of the Nile," a nicely manicured park space with a bar where you can hire a boat to take you to "The Actual Source of the Nile." We were content to observe by land, soak up some invigorating negative ions, and steep in the magnificence that is the Nile. We also grabbed a beer and watched the first Arsenal game of the season at the bar.

Consulting our guidebook the four of us left found our way to a backpacers hotel to crash for the evening in relative luxury, all you can drink tea and flushing toilets. Being young and ambitious, three of us headed out for the evening to a nearby riverside resort bar where a birthday party was rumored to be. The scene was piled high with better offs, mostly whities, enjoying the gift of wealth. I was struggling to catch my bearings, to relate this scene with the rest of my trip. The moon was eclipsed just then giving the night a magical air. With some encouragement from a local African bartender a gaggle of us arranged for a taxi-bus and headed into town for a more cultural experience. We wound up at Babel or was it Babez, I couldnt tell from the sign. It was quite a nice bar really and the popular beer, Club, than at the whitie resort. The beer slogans on the bilboards are fantastic. They all relate drinking a particular beer to riches and success as opposed to bikinis. They go something like, "Your time for greatness has come," or, "You have earned everything you can imagine." I made both of those up but thats the jist.

After Babez our clan rambunctiously jumped onto the motorbike taxis, boda bodas, and zipped off to Sombreros, a night club. This place was no joke. Full black lights with psychodelic glowpaintings on the walls, mirrored ceiling, heavy sound system, two bars, and a dress code unenforced for whities (several of us were in flipflops). The place was packed and the vibe was good, no ass holes. We managed to dance sweatily for a few hours. Some of my comrads were borderline euphoric in spite of a lack of drugs. We made it back dangerously on the bodas and congratulated ourselves on a night well done.

The next day the four of us rented mountain bikes and took a hand made map to explore the area instead of the traditional whitie experience, rafting the Nile. A bicycle tour was an awesome idea. We cruised around some idyllic villages with circular mud and thatched huts mixed with brick and corrugated metal homes and hand cared gardens filling every acer. Once again I struggled to justify why we humans should live any other way. Is this really the pinnacle of sustainability, possessing the means to support yourself from the space immediately around you, shelter, food, water, friends, adventure, without a drop of industry. The only signs of industrial hell were the western clothes and yellow plastic 20 liter containers everyone uses to collect water from the hand pumped well. And cell phones of course. Obviously, I wouldn't ask everyone or even myself to live in a similar way but it is something to consider, some sort of a perfect balance.

At the end of day two I had decided to stay behind and do the unthinkable that every other whitie who passes through does, raft the first 20 km or so of the Nile. I have heard several bad stories about this endevour but just as many excelent ones after staying at the backpackers hotel for two nights and no body seemed to be dying or getting maimed only frightened that they would drown. The controversy is over a rafting trip that consists of half a dozen class 5 rapids and a few sixes which are better left alone. One of my friends from Davis decided to join me. We were paired with four young Dutch kids who I hit up for a possible place to crash when I come through Holland. Our raft seemed to be cursed or at least stupid as we flipped on most of the larger rapids. The highlight for me was getting stuck over the edge of a 3 meter water fall. One of the Dutch kids fell out of the boat in the rapids immediately before the water fall, real bad timing, so our guide stopped steering in order to pull him back it. Consequently we missed our mark and wedged up on the rocks. I was in the front and had a fantastic view over the end of the boat down to the water below. The guide spun our boat backwards off the rocks and over the falls where we proceeded to spill our into the watery turbulence. Falling off wasnt so bad as long as you remembered to take a deep breath before hand and relax, to let the river do with you as it wishes. Chances were it would just float you back to the top where you could find your raft down river a little. All told we survived the most difficult rapids without flipping and had a good time.

I bunked up for one more night with the whities at the backpacers hotel and joined several truckloads of overlanders, the worst kind of whitie; they never stay for more than a day. In the morning I overloaded on a couple of Ugandan breakfast burritos called Rolexes, and headed up the hill where I had bicycled just two days earlier to visit Shannon's workplace, SoftPower Health clinic where she had volunteered the better part of a year ago. Shannon had given me some photo albums to distribute to her friends there and I carried them like passports into the village. I found Judith, a young Ugandan doctor at the clinic and delivered the first photo album. The clinic is paired with a brightly colored educational facility, Soft Power Education which shows signs of influence all over the extended community. Judith had her hands full and called her friend, Saji, to escort me to her host family's house to deliver the remainder of the albums. My visit was a surprise but I was received very warmly by Sylvia and Mama Rosie; they had seen my picture before and recognized me when I demonstrated my knowledge of Shannon. They live in a beautiful house with gardens of sweet potatoes, bananas, cassava, corn and beans, chickens scurrying about, cows chewing and mooing, goats doing their thing and nasty pigs wallowing in mud as they do. I was overcome by the zen of it all and asked to stay the night. My photo album passport got me in. I enjoyed the day meeting the neighbors and all Shannon's old friends, running errands and watching my hosts cook. The managed to over feed me twice in too days. Their trick is to give one dish after the other unexpectedly with the last one being the most starchy and heavy. The food was good though. Wholesome filling vegan stuff. I had a surreal time hanging out when night fell. These flying ants appeared unannounced from holes in the ground and dissapeared by the hundreds into the sky like a squadron of fighter planes heading out to a fierce battle. A small child from next door scurried over and began to collect them in a cup as they emerged from their holes. Apparently they are a delicacy when fried. I joined Moma Rosie and Sylvia in the kitchen, a brick room separate from the house with a charcoal burning metal stove and an open fireplace while they prepared our supper. The room filled with smoke above our heads like a high fog; it was pouring out the ventilation holes one of the walls. It was quite dark except for an oil lamp inside a semi clear plastic bucket. We had dinner by candle light. The man of the house, James, had joined us after a long days work of construction in Jinja. Not much conversation was made but the meal of beans with spaghetti plus cabbage and ground corn or posho was very good. I slept soundly in the very bed Shannon had endured for three months not long ago.

Then next day (today) I am stuffed and on my way back to Nkokonjeru to continue my work. Whew, that was a long one.

Feeling Special in Nkokonjeru

There is a sign in the central mini cathedral space of my lodging that read "Dear Friends, Feel Special in Nkokonjeru." "With Pleasure," I respond assuming the sign is meant for me. I am staying at a top notch facility, the Mother Kevin Convent. I am so lucky I even get a flushing toilet and a shower (cold water only). Sister Benna cooks the 8 of us staying at the convent the best food in town for breakfast and dinner. Real delights from her garden and the local market. At $13 a day for room and board I am feeling very special indeed.

The town of Nkokunjeru is very amiable, small but sufficient and friendly. A hill not far outside town dawns paired water tanks and brand new cell phone towers for both MTN and Zain. A third is going up. A football field similar to the one I enjoyed in Kampala lies near by and my mouth waters for a vigorous game.

I have found a beautiful irony here. The is nearly everything my permaculture friends back home could dream of. Vegetable gardens of great variety, corn, many different tubers, cabbage (did you know cabbage could grown in the tropics), matoke (unripening bananas), tomatoes, green onions, and a plethora of tropical fruit trees, even avocados and oranges, saturate the landscape. Intercroping? Of course! And all the homes are made of mud bricks hand built and fired locally by independent artisans or strait mud and stick construction. Everyone bicycles or walks around town and takes public transit to the city at about 1000 people miles per gallon. Beat that Bay Area Prius commuter. Did I mention that all the livestock are grass fed foragers? The irony, of course, is that this sustainable utopia is only possible because people are so poor here. If it were financially possible everyone would happily own an Excursion. Oh well. This place is beautiful for what it is, for how ever long it lasts.

Yesterday was the primary school's field day, a festive event complete with sound system and DJ. A martching band was rocking out as well. Children in either green, red, yellow, or blue sporting outfits competed in dozens of events including the hurdles, balance a watter bottle on the head race, and my favorite, the get ready for school medley.

I'm off to the weekly market for some fruits and possibly to expand my wardrobe.

Its a breakaway, one on one with the goalie...

Took a taxi into the big city of Kampala where it all goes down. Mmm, the sweet sweet smells of poorly tuned two stroke and diesel exhaust swirling about in my nostrils like a fine young California Zin. If you want to buy a cell phone come to Uganda to shop. Every other shop is a licensed dealer, brightly painted either yellow or purple for MTN or Zain. Even shops that arent selling phones and minutes have the absolutely fabulous and fresh paint. My guess is cell adds turn over every few weeks here and the major streets get a new face in turn.

Major development, I successfully tested edible street food. Five hours later and my stomach feels completely normal. Followed fast food signage to the end of an alley inhabited by reputable people wearing clean slacks and button ups, sometimes ties. This look is the norm on the street. Some of the hipper kids wear designer jeans. Anyway, the food; three kinds of potatoie things, one purple, one sweet, and one corny and all of them better than a russet, and the infamous Ugandan banana mush stuff that tastes eerily unlike the bananas I know. I forget what its called but I will relearn soon enough I am sure. I avoided the brothie meat bowl that accompanies these fine starches but was very tempted as three pounds of starch can be tough to palate all by itself but I wanted to keep the variables to a minimum, if I got sick after eating five different things I wouldn't know who the culprate was. I managed to finish it all, to my surprise, with the much needed help of a soda to keep my saliva aliva.

In my first post I suggested a few themes I might follow. Lo and behold a beautiful football pitch cluttered with talented youth emerged between the airport and Kampala and my cabie was more than happy to hang out and watch the mayhem. There were two solid goals at each end, a regulation size field for sure but the pitch varied between ten inch grass, a worn ant hill hard dirt and loose sand, all enjoyable variables. My agent, the cabie, negotiated me a spot on the roster for the second half of a decently organized game with one team wearing jerseys and a whistled referee. Much to my satisfaction the level of play was very skilled. I came out hard armed with at least equal experience to any one else and by far the nicest shoes (I bought some all purpose soccer/street shoes). I almost scored a goal! Not really, it was a long shot but I struck the ball well off a volley with my head down and it screw balled nicely at the goal. The audience congratulated me. I was then recruited for the next game and even got to wear a matching Real Madrid jersey for the next game. Asked to play striker, I wanted defense so I could relax and catch my breath, I felt the pressure of expectation. Our opponents were skilled, more so than the last game, and my team was really small, although skilled ourselves. No one seemed to be intimidated or ranked as I often experienced playing in the US. Scronie kids and part cripples went head to with the big skilled players and did a brilliant job. The play was fierce and even. My team mates kept looking for me but I was pooped and efd up an easy breakaway and a couple other good opportunities. The crowd began to heckle me. I was shamed and determined to win back some honor for my team, but also exhausted from not being in shape. We were down one to zero at the half and I wasnt jovial as we switched sides. My team could have cared less and we came back, scoring two goals, both assisted by yours truly and won the day.

Anywho, I am stoked. That was football experience I hope to match and having grabbed it on my first day in Uganda Im feeling good about my chances.

Just Another Traveler Blog

Hello,

Thanks for checking out my new blog. This should be more fun than a Fresno Summer without popsicles.

Finally, I am on the cusp of my big, once in a life time, round the world adventure. No children, no car payments, no mortgage, just a pocket full of crashing American greenbacks and a year of my life reserved for anything. To give a brief overview, I will be traveling to Uganda, Northern Europe (Moscow, Holland, Belgium, Luxemburg), India/Nepal, China, Papua New Guinea, and Kauai. Themes include playing soccer, transportation and energy infrastructure, and snorkeling without a snorkel. The whole trip should last about a year.

Well, the plane leaves on August 4th at 6 am. Wish me luck and please pray for my safety (my back pack is bursting with Western medicine's best).