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.