Go Down

Nyabugogo Bus Park

Well, I’m sitting on the lawn in the garden of a beautiful guesthouse, the G8, somewhere in the suburb of Muyenga.

It's been quite a hectic few days, but slipping into relaxation now. D and I had a mental rush to get the bus from Nyabugogo at 5:30 in the morning. I never thought about how we’d do that. I didn’t think that the motos and buses would still be asleep. His friend picked us up, but was really late, and we arrived about 5:35 – pedal to the metal. Impressive driving, but I saw my life flashing before my eyes! No seat belts and two-wheeling it around roundabouts. Made it though, and got aboard the Jaguar, which then proceeded to sit in the bus station for another half hour! The sun was rising fast by the time we pulled out of the petrol station and got on our way.

About two hours later we reached the Ugandan border.

Ugandan Border

D was in a grim mood. He doesn’t much like the crossing. Having now done it myself, I can see why. It’s not a pleasant experience at all, especially if you’re white, as they charge you $50! I also got a bit of hassle from a bored border guard who wanted to question my papers – the green card – as he appeared never to have seen one before. Not that it’s any of his business, as I’m travelling on a British passport anyway. He was a right sod.

First, you have to queue to sign out of Rwanda. Then, you have to walk about quarter of a mile, through two crossing checkpoints, to sign in to Uganda. You pay your money if you’re white or western, then get back on the bus. It’s a really subdued atmosphere and it would seriously put me off as a tourist. If I hadn’t gone with D I’d have been bricking it, with no idea where to go.

On the up-side, the scenery is lovely and Rwanda at that time in the morning is a country of white mist. It's like driving through heaven or something, with the occasional village materialising out of the clouds.

Rwandan Mist

There were plenty of crested cranes, which are the national bird of Uganda, and whole flocks of marabou storks en route. When you pass through into Uganda, the roads soon become very straight and the hills are large and sweeping so you don’t suffer the same travel sickness as a trip down South. It’s also a lot hotter, though. Sweltering, with no cloud cover.

The bus itself costs around FRW 7,000 (£7) and the journey is about eight hours. Jaguar do have an annoying habit of subjecting all passengers to Swahili soap operas at ear-splitting volume, which pissed me off quite a bit and made the long, long journey just that little bit longer.

[NB 2013: Actually, I think it was Yoruba soaps from Nigeria, which are really popular throughout most of Africa. One of the best scenes was where an irate man confronted his jealous sister-in-law shouting "My penis! You stole my penis!" then turned her into a demon.]

We finally rolled into Kampala, and it is impressive – a proper city. Kigali is piddling in comparison. Every street here is lined with food vendors, amazing clothes shops, and even full-on supermarkets and skyscrapers. Wouldn’t see any of that back home.

D found us a couple of motos and we hauled our luggage onboard. Motos here are scary. Traffic here is very scary. There is absolutely no right of way policy, and motos don’t carry helmets – a sin for which I could get into a lot of trouble with VSO, but there wasn’t any other option.

We booked into a small hostel called the Jaguar (of buses fame) Hotel. The nearest and easiest place to stay on our budget. It was adequate, though the bed was a bit small for two and, more disturbingly, they had a major mosquito issue. I’m not on my prophylactics anymore - I’ve been bitten half to death. However, there was a hot shower. Although, the heat of Kampala meant that I only wanted a cold one! There's also a TV, for which the remote control was with the receptionist. The signal was so sensitive that we had to watch anything she was watching lol

It was a good enough place to put our heads down. D was eager to get out and see some people, so we got on a bus across town. I’m never too sure where he is planning on taking me. There's still a little of the African mystery syndrome about him, but we always go somewhere romantic – a slum.

Kampala Slum by inainchina

Kampala Slum by ydnastra

Kampala Slum by ficubc

[NB 2013: Go Down is situated in Naguru. Check out the Twekembe Slum Project and the slum map.]

This was my first introduction to Kampala: stagnant, rancid water; piles of trash, children with distended belly buttons playing with fire from the rubbish burn; mud huts, dereliction and extreme poverty.

Nice.

This was where some of D’s old friends were hanging out, including the father of the kid that got raped by her teacher, and a couple of musicians. D told me he used to teach on the site. It's nicknamed Go Down because you have to go down the hill to get to it. He had about 40 kids, but then investors came and bought up the land for development. They apparently evicted thousands of people. There’s just a handful left now, others have founded new settlements or become completely homeless. Alicia Keys apparently visited the site some time back and helped to set up a project. 

I’d never seen anything like it.

We also caught up with another familiar face – E – who is apparently going to move to North Uganda now. Nuff said.

[NB 2013: I had given him money to come to Uganda to complete his driving license, because Ugandan drivers are apparently more trusted in Rwanda. A lot of them drive the buses. The idea was that he was doing this so that he could get a better job and contribute to his children's education. Rose and I became friends, and E, she told me, was her ex-husband. He hadn't come back from Kampala and, when we caught up with him, it appeared he had no intention of doing so.]

The next day we went for food at a bar in another area. The food here is goooood, both in the supermarkets and in the bars. It actually has flavour! We visited another township, and some more of D’s friends who he grew up with, then we went to another bar - just the two of us - and drank and talked and watched football.

Kampala is a crazy, crazy city of chaos. Driving is mental, streets are packed, it’s just totally random. D prefers the weather here, which is notably warmer, but prefers the quiet of Kigali. I agree, it’s amazing to experience this, but Kigali is homely. Although, I’d certainly take the customer service back with me. You can get food and beer here at a British pace, rather than Kigali, where you’ll get a beer between 15-20 minutes after ordering and food up to an hour or more after that.

Yesterday, I also located Barclays Bank, which is very big here, and also amazing - no comparison to Kigali. No dumb chair-hopping queue where everyone sits on chairs and moves along them one by one until you reach the counter. I managed to access my British account and took out some cash. Essentially, it’s my first holiday in six months and I intend to enjoy it. We brought enough money to get by, but I feel like being comfortable. The exchange rate here isn’t bad either – something like 3,000 USH to 1,000 FRW, so in our favour.

Hence we’ve just checked into a lovely guesthouse in a very quiet area, with a huuuge bed and no mosquitoes! Hezah. Tipety-tapping away now. Going to relax and wait for D, who has popped back to town to find a friend and pick up food.

P.S. In case you were wondering, the IT teacher agreed to keep teaching after having the exact same discussion about money with my boss, who is Deaf and took no hostages ;)

[NB 2013: Video below showing a project in Uganda's oldest slum, Kisenyi.]