I don’t know how I can quite put into words what has happened in the last 24 hours, but I will try and paint a picture of the events as best as I can remember them.
We left Masaka yesterday morning for a bus ride to Kampala, where we were to catch another bus onwards to a little outside of Jinja, a town which has the beginnings of the River Nile. We were heading to stay with Robert’s parents and family for the weekend; they live in a remote village which takes some getting to, but the estimated journey time was around 4 hours, so not too bad in the scheme of things.
Everything was going according to plan when we boarded the packed, but moderately sized mini-bus and arrived in Kampala around two and a half hours later. Myself, Robert and his friend Teddy, decided to grab something to eat (fried chicken, chips and a Coke!) before we left Kampala as it was around a further hour to an hour and a half until we reached our destination.
We then navigated to the Old Park in the boiling, bustling city where we were to board our second bus. We dodged between market traders, Boda Boda motorcycles and other pedestrians who all had somewhere they needed to be. In Uganda there are no set bus times, they simply sit in the station park until they are all full up and then depart. So we climbed aboard a cramped minibus, but as the first ones on we had to wait around an hour before we finally left the station. This might not have been so bad if we were sat in Haymarket Bus Station in Newcastle, but in the sweating conditions, it was hardly the most comfortable of hours I’ve ever spent.
Eventually at around 1:50pm, the bus pulled away – although I’m not quite sure how it made it out of the park as it was positioned between about six other buses all loading passengers. But it made it, by some miracle. The first 45 minutes of the journey was quite pleasant; even in spite of the fact my feet were burning due to the fact that they were sat directly on the metal shell of the vehicle, directly above the engine.
Coming to Africa, I was expecting the odd bumpy road. I was even fully prepared to be solely transported on them. But nothing could prepare me for the driving on the road between Kampala and Jinja. We were driving at a snail’s pace to avoid the natural speed bumps and potholes of the dusty roads as well as ducking and diving on and off the parts of the road that were tarmacked much to the curiosity of the other passengers.
I began to grow fearful when every time we veered off the tarmac the bus seemed to tip at a 45 degree angle to the side of the road, and knowing we were carrying a heavy load strapped to the top of the van I couldn’t help but instinctively lean to the right whenever this happened as if my own small body weight shifting would counter the weight on the top of the vehicle. My nerves weren’t settled when the bus stalled going back up onto the tarmac or even over potholes in the road.
The defining moment of the nightmare journey was when it started to lightly rain. The roads here, if not tarmacked, consist of a very thick red dust and the downpour of even a little rain was enough to turn the dust into mulch. I think you can imagine what happened… the driver turned into the mulch and we swerved first 90 degrees left, and then 90 degrees right. My heart on my mouth, I turned to Robert and asked (viz. pleaded) how much longer. He assured me that everything would be fine, and we would arrive soon.
Of course we didn’t arrive until about 5pm, almost three hours after setting off. This was mainly due to the slow pace because of the state of the roads. I stumbled off the bus when we arrived at the destination and met one of Robert’s other 11 siblings, John, 18, who is about to enter the seminary – the second brother in the family to do so. He had brought his motorbike so that Robert could ride me back to his family home.
Sitting on the back of the bike, still shaking from the bus ride, I began to take in my surroundings. We were completely in the middle of nowhere. We drove along a small main road, branching into a smaller road, branching into yet another small road, akin to a country lane in the middle of the Scottish highlands.
I began to appreciate once again the reason why I was in Uganda in the first place; the pilgrimage to visit the family of a good friend who I have heard a lot about over the last couple of years. My emotions were overflowing and as we drove past the mud huts of those in the village I began to wonder what it would be like if I had been in the random position of being born into a family here in Uganda.
We passed dozens of corn plants, banana plantations as well as cows and goats just plonked on the road side and many staring faces of children who would shout “Mzungu!” (White person!) as we drove past.
And here we were: Robert, Room 3, and Michael, Room 10, who had both met at a small village of our own somewhere deep in the Derwent countryside in County Durham two years ago, motorcycling through his own village some 3,500 miles away from our first meeting. It became difficult to tell whether the wind whipping my face was forcing tears out of my eyes, or whether the emotion of the whole day, the early morning, the terrifying bus journey, the once in a lifetime experience was manifesting itself.
We continued down the narrow road until the figure of his mother and father appeared over the hill. The first thing I noticed was the beaming, perfect smile of his mam, who although she cannot speak English, welcomed me as if I was her own son arriving home after a long journey. I met another of his siblings, Maggie and was shown around their home.
A lovely building set on some land somewhere I’m not really sure where we toured the place where we visited the piglets, saw the water pump, checked out the fire used to cook the food in the kitchen and even watched John and Maggie milk their cows. Am I really here?
We finished the evening with a lovely meal of chicken, pork, matoke (a kind of banana) all home grown as well as the staple, rice. We even tuned into a snowy broadcast of East African X Factor where a Kenyan lady called Shirley was voted off – it felt like a normal Saturday night, just many miles away from home. We ended the evening looking at the stars which are so bright here, especially as there is no light pollution around at night.
It really was a rollercoaster of a day – filled with nervous excitement, anguish and finally deep love. I have been warmly welcomed into the community and will never forget the 48 hours I have spent here. I am truly blessed to be able to share in the faith, love and hope of these kind people. Oh… there’s that whipping wind again!
I will be in the village until Monday where we will stop overnight in Kampala before heading to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania on Tuesday morning.
Pictures to follow as soon as possible.