Leaving Zanzibar

Fishing dhows on their way to the market

I cannot say Zanzibar was a waste of time. In six days here I managed to complete an open water diver certificate, watch European fat tourists in their natural habitat, get a few recipes of local dishes, and do some physical activity. I am now in Nairobi, waiting for my flight back to Entebbe, then Amsterdam, then Lisbon. I might just go to Nairobi for a walk, after all there is a long wait ahead of me.

Yesterday I took the final exam to become a certificated diver. Seating by the beach, the water calling me, there was not a lot of motivation for a test. I ordered a beer to get some inspiration and it worked: 90% when 75% was the minimum required. I cannot wait for my next dive, hopefully next month in Australia.

The problem with diving for the first time in Zanzibar is that now it is very hard to find better diving spots. I am not going to dive in Boston to see lobsters and crabs in freezing water.

Later in the afternoon I discovered the only good thing about Neptune resort. While Debbie was sending emails and trying to change her flight, Cat and I sat on the bar surrounded by speedos and bellies, and ordered a cocktail. That led to an intricate problem. We did not have orange bracelets like everyone else, the all-inclusive scheme. But since everyone is all-inclusive, they didn’t take cash. Solution? Free drinks for the non-guests. There is something positive about these resorts, as long as I am not the guest.

The last meal in Zanzibar was a barbeque on the beach, my feet on the sand, the murmur of the ocean behind me, the smell of grilled nduaro and maize, Futari telling the story of her life. Maybe I will miss Zanzibar after all. Futari tried to make me promise that I would come back soon but I cannot do it. Who knows?

Diving in Zanzibar

I arrive in Matemwe and ask for the diving school, they indicate a small hut with a sign ScubaLibre. It doesn’t look very legitimate but they have all the PADI certifications and, better than that, I can have an instructor for myself. Ted decides to join me and so we go, four days to take an open water diving course that, in theory, should allow us to dive by ourselves down to 18 meters. Sounds good.

The first day is theory and pool. Since there is no power here, we don’t have video capabilities so we have to read it all. That does not sound fun but what can we do? Reading on the beach is not exactly bad either. The pool exercises are fun. Emmanuel, the instructor, is a funny guy. His high-toned voice does not match his trimmed body but he’s got great communication skills.

Emmanuel, the diving instructor

But what I want is to go to the ocean and that happened today, after a few pool sessions. Mnemba Island is the place where everyone dives, with a coral reef around the island and extremely rich underwater life. Our boat looks crappy but sturdy, in the middle of all the other boats we look like the poor divers. Who cares? The water is astonishing, an irresistible diaphanous mantle.

Mnemba Island viewed from our boat

The boat crew

Our sturdy boat

The first open water dive is to get used to all the gear and to strengthen the skills we learned. We only dive in shallow water but even 5 meters underwater we can see an amazing amount of aquatic life. I cannot wait for the second dive, when we will go to 10-12 meters and actually dive around the reef. My expectations are high but the reality exceeds my best dreams, especially when we spot a giant turtle. Too bad I can’t ride it.

Just like Emmanuel said, after a while breathing through a regulator is like second nature, I don’t even think about it. I cannot wait for my next dive, this time to 18 meters.

Pwani Mchangani

That is the name of the village where I am staying in Zanzibar. Located on the northeast cost of the island, Pwani Mchangani is a very small village with no roads, just a sandy path, a small market where people trade the daily catch and some fruits and vegetables, and a school, from where I hear children singing or reciting every morning.

Pwani Mchangani, with the ocean in background

Like in most villages I have seen in East Africa, although people look poor they do not look unhappy. They have food and education, and here they even have tourists to sell crap they call artifacts. There is an IKEA Zanzibar, Prada Zanzibar and other popular names, maybe to make tourists feel at home.

I am staying in a private house far away from the big resorts. The first day here I was walking on the beach when I passed one of those resorts. Curious, I went in and what a hideous scene! Speedos and no shirt seems to be the rule to be accepted here. Fat Europeans walk their bellies around with colorful cocktails, or even worse, they bounce they bellies playing ping-pong. The building is totally neutral, I could be anywhere in the world. A well gardened grass bordering small beige houses, a kidney-shaped pool with a bar in the center and, obviously, a big golden fountain. The whole picture is obnoxious and imagining spending time here is probably one of my worst nightmares.

The problem I see in these resorts is that they isolate people from the reality around, and the reality is so much more interesting: the thousand blues ocean, the white powdery sand, the fishing dhows, the seaweed gardeners, the local sellers, the local food. All these are experiences those tourists ignore because they rather be around a pool eating $10 burgers and burritos and drinking pink margueritas. I hope that is not an aging issue and I never become like that.

Our house is cute, a four-bedroom villa right by the beach with straw roof and palm trees all over. The natural air conditioning, as they call it here, is the air coming from the ocean and crossing the house. Futari is in charge of the operation here, she takes care of everything and acts like a mother: you are not eating enough, you should not go to the water now, don’t forget sunscreen.

Our house, pictured from the low tide

The entrance from the beach

... and the beach where I swim everyday

But, however relaxing and gorgeous this can be, I am getting bored. These peaceful paradises are not for me; I need action, things to do other than long walks on the beach. Pwani Mchangani is too small to provide any interesting action other than rush hour in the market. The closest town is Matemwe, which is not a lot different from Pwani, and Stone Town is too far away. I decided to take a diving course to keep me busy and I am glad I decided to shorten my vacations here. Meanwhile I have been reading and writing, which is enriching and helps to fill my days. But, although I will be sorry for saying this when I arrive in Boston, I am getting tired of so much sun, white sand and clear ocean. I could not live in a place like this.

Zanzibar

A hot heavy wind greets me as I walk out of the plane in Zanzibar. The airport is tiny: three money exchangers and a locked customer care office are the only signs of human presence. There is no baggage claim, an employee brings the suitcases to the middle of the airport and starts an improvised auction.

Outside a few cab drivers fight for a ride to Stone Town.

- Jamba. Karibu. My friend, it’s 20 to Stone Town.
- 20 what? Dollars? Shillings?
- If it is too expensive you just tell me. This is not a fight, just a negotiation.

I take a ride to Stone Town for TSh15K (US$12) and the driver tries to sell me a ride for the next day. ‘For 50 I take you to Pawani.’ You never know if they are talking in dollars or shillings but that is the purpose. If you do not ask they will make a 30% profit.

- My friend, $40.
- We agreed TSh40,000. If it is $40 you just drop me here.
- Hakuna Matata, you pay 40K but you call me when you go back to airport
- Hakuna Matata

Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar Town, is the archetype of an African city. The colonizers built and the locals watched passively to the gradual degradation of the buildings. The architecture is Arabic, 100 years ago I could probably feel I could be anywhere in northern Africa or Southern Europe, it recalled me the small villages of Alentejo in my homeland. Today, Stone Town looks like an abandoned city: filthy, smelly, and dark despite the white walls. There is litter in every corner, decomposing under 100 degrees temperature.

Someday I would like to understand why Africa is like this. Every country I have been into is a bunch of patches built by colonizers that no one ever cared to maintain: the Portuguese built Cahora Bassa in Mozambique, the British built Makerere University in Uganda, the Chinese built railway between Dar es Salaam and Kapiri Mposhi. When you talk to Indians in Eastern Africa they say Africans are lazy, there is nothing to do about it; the ones who are not lazy flee to Europe or America. I resist to believe that argument. Everyone who ever tried to build something in Africa did not care about the Africans. Colonialism, Maoism, or the most recent wave, philanthropy, are good examples of this.

Going to Zanzibar

I am saying goodbye to Uganda. In a few hours I will be taking a cab to the airport to catch a flight to Zanzibar. Unfortunately, I could not find a way to go trekking in Mount Elgon. I will save that for the next visit.

The next week will be spent on the beach, diving turquoise waters, and relaxing. Well, and working out to lose the kilos I gained in Mbarara. No more matoke.

If the Internet gods help, I will post here my final thoughts about Uganda and maybe some pictures from Zanzibar.

Kampala

The Lonely Planet says about Kampala ‘like Rome, Kampala is built on seven hills, although that is where the comparisons begin and end.’ It seems to me obvious that the author of this has never been in Rome, otherwise he would find many other similarities.

Like Rome, traffic in Kampala is chaotic, one-way streets are a suggestion because if the street is wide enough for two then it’s a two-way street, people honk to release traffic stress, the air is heavy and polluted, and there are lots of pizzerias. I can’t find more similarities but I’ve only been in Kampala for a day and a half.

Chaos is probably the word that better defines Kampala, the capital of Uganda. With 1.2 million registered inhabitants, it’s likely that the true population is twice as much. The city and the roads to access the city were made for 400K people, which explains very well why you can spend 2h in traffic to cross 6-7 blocks. Walking is much faster but much riskier as well.
When I say risk I’m not talking about violence or mugging, just crazy traffic. The roads have a hierarchy, and the pedestrian is very low on that pyramid, which means that you are invisible to any hierarchical superior.

Nonetheless, Kampala is somehow charming. Maybe the seven hills give it a touch of romanticism that I recognize in many other hilly cities that I know: Rome, Lisbon, San Francisco, Rio de Janeiro. Maybe chaos is after all a fate of any capital and people eventually find their sweet spot in the middle the anarchy. Or maybe is just because it’s different, it’s an African capital, the safest capital I’ve been in Africa.

I like Kampala, it’s a city with personality. I think I could live here for a while.

Plans of a teenager

Elliot, the porter we hired at Buhoma to help us cross the impenetrable forest, has been quiet all day. He does not want any food or water. ‘Sure?’ He is sure.

We are seated in the forest waiting for something to happen; maybe a gorilla will show up, maybe a blue monkey, maybe nothing. I ask Elliot one more time, ‘are you sure you do not want water?’ He is fine.

- What do you do in life? I ask.
- I am porter.
- Do you go to school?
- I’m in high school. I want to go to the university in Kampala next year.
- What do you want to study?
- I want to be a veterinary and work here in the park. If veterinary is not possible, I want to study chemical engineering. That is important here in Buhoma to help in healthcare initiatives.

That sounds like a plan. Elliot, the porter, is 16, but he already has plans for life. Later we find another boy in the street who tries to sell us some carved wood gorillas. We decline but he explains his life,

- I am 14, my uncle taught me carving wood, my mother died from AIDS and my family is very poor.

As sad as it might sound, it sounds like a memorized selling pitch. But the boy does not give up,

- This is good wood.

I am definitely not interested in a wooden gorilla,

- What do you do besides being here at the store?
- I go to school, next year I will go to high school.
- That is impressive, how old are you? What do you want to do?
- I am 14. I want to be a lawyer because there are not a lot of lawyers in Uganda. And as the government pushes for democracy, more lawyers will be needed.
- That sounds very smart!
- But I do not want to be any lawyer. I want to be a criminal lawyer, because that is what people will want in a few years.

I am impressed. Here it is a 14-year-old boy explaining me why he wants to be a lawyer and not any kind of lawyer. I just replied, ‘I wish I had such a clear idea of what I want to do of my life.’

I had a very positive surprise with the level of education in Uganda and the importance people and newspapers give to education. What happened is that, while most African countries invested foreign aid money in college education, which is usually a privilege of wealthy people, Uganda invested in primary and secondary education. That allowed poor people to access education and, as a result, to reach national colleges. The rest, the maturity of these teenagers, is probably a result of the tough childhood and sad stories as the one I heard in Buhoma.

The inauguration viewed by an European

For the first time in my life, as probably many other people, I watched the US presidential inauguration. Although I am in Uganda, I watched the inauguration among Americans. But in Uganda this day is huge, there are Obama pictures everywhere. In Buhoma, near the gorillas, you could only find gorilla shirts and obama shirts. Crazy!

Lots of people screaming, is this the Champions League Final? No? What football match is this?

Oh! Presidential inauguration, what exactly is that? Why does the president need to swear? Do you think he spent two years campaigning to drop in the last minute?

A woman comes and starts talking about being patriotic. Touching. Pause, some sort of pastor comes to speech. WTF? A pastor! Why the hell a pastor has the right to speak in front of a few million people? Why is he talking about god? Where is the State Church separation? This is horrible!

Biden comes to swear. The speech is ridiculous. What is that book the other is holding? The Constitution? No, the Bible! Why is the bible there? Isn’t he swearing to obey the constitution? What if the guy was not catholic?

It’s noon in the US and everyone starts cheering. Wait, why is that? Well, the swearing thing is just a joke. The guy is president anyway after noon. I knew it! This ceremony is ridiculous.

Road to Buhoma

I have the impression that I went to the end of the world and came back. It is a part of the world that you do not see in magazines or television. Nonetheless, people live here and they are happy. Yes, people are happy in this part of the world. They do not care about cable television, internet and other luxuries that we consider basic. They have maize fields, cows and goats, and a very decent education system.

Buhoma

I understood here why people are so reluctant to pose for a picture. Until now I just respected their will and I would only take a picture if they allowed me to. What happens is that any picture taken by a white guy might end up making a cover of a magazine with headlines such as ‘poor Africa’ as if they didn’t have the right to be happy the way they want.

The road to Bwindi is full of tiny villages with very basic conditions but still with plenty of food, animals and people smiling. Kids build their own toys, teenagers build their own bikes with wood and wire. In Buhoma, the last stop before you enter the impenetrable forest, the only bar in town is showing a ManU match. Football is huge here and the premiership is passionately followed. The atmosphere at this bar is as lively as in any pub in London and people squeeze to cheer for their favorite.

In order to get to Buhoma, on the border with Rwanda and Congo, we had to drive for 4 hours through bumpy roads. Noah, our driver, explained the route, ‘we take the road to Kabale, then head west, and then into Bwindi. The last part is a little bumpy.’ I’m guessing that bumpy is very relative since the very first miles of road are a sequence of potholes. But as soon as we leave Mbarara the landscape becomes spectacular, with long valleys, vast coffee and tea plantations, clean and organized towns. This is by far the most beautiful part of Uganda.

Road to Buhoma

On the way back, we take a different road, not less bumpy but neither less spectacular. As we drive along Ishasha, monkeys and baboons cross the road in front of us, some antelopes as well. At some point, a few baboons more used to human contact, occupy the road and make cars stop. As we stop, they come to our window to beg for bananas. We give them one banana and they quickly peel it and devour it. Uganda is such a great place to watch wildlife.

A baboon and her baby begging for bananas

Tracking gorillas in the Impenetrable Forest

The Impenetrable Forest

We had been walking for 3 hours when I asked Maddy, our guide,

- Did the trackers find the gorillas yet?
- Not yet, no luck. It is going to be a long day.

It was a long day, 7 hours tracking gorillas in the rainforest. Maddy warned us beforehand,

- This is not a safari. For safari you go to Queen Elizabeth [the game park] and seat in a car to point animals. Here you have to walk and find them, look for signs, track their path. Sometimes it takes half an hour, sometimes 3 hours, and sometimes you can’t find them.

My only concern was the last part of the statement, we had to find those gorillas. So I just obeyed Maddy’s rather rational advice: ‘the trackers follow the gorillas, and we follow the trackers.’

Every day 3 teams leave Buhoma to track gorillas, one team per family. Only 8 visitors are allowed in each team to which you add a guide, one ranger, and 2-3 trackers who walk 1h ahead of the main group to track the gorillas and try to maximize the probably of success. In addition, you can hire porters. Porters are clearly useless in a day trekking but that is a way of helping the local community and that way ensure the sustainability of the park.

We left Buhoma at 8am at Maddy’s voicing ‘let’s penetrate the impenetrable forest!’ And so we did. Looking from our starting point all I could see was a green mass drawn by opulent tree crowns fighting for light on an overcrowded ground. That was the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, the place that 340 gorillas call home. We were about to track 9 of them, one of the 3 families allowed to receive visitors: one silverback male, two females, 4 teenagers, and 2 babies.

Just like we were told, the rainforest is not an easy place to walk through. Multitude of vegetation fights for light, water and ground, forming a living mesh that seems to grab our feet as we walk. The higher vegetation does not allow us to see more than 4-5 meters ahead but we have Maddy, our guide, who moves through the impenetrable forest as if it is his home.

I am behind Maddy when he shouts ‘They found them!’, meaning the trackers had found the gorillas. More than euphoria I sensed relief among the group. Right until then, Maddy’s face did not inspire optimism and everyone was feeling we could be one of the 10% that are not able to see the gorillas. We walk as fast as we can until we find the trackers. They are lying in the ground, drinking porridge, and waiting for us, ‘they are 2-3 minutes away.’ Maddy drives us a few more meters and all of the sudden he stops, ‘the first one is here, try to be silent from now on and turn off the flashes.’ The moment that everyone expected arrived.

The first one we see is Wagaba, a male teenager. He’s seating in the middle of a bush avidly eating pieces of tender bush. We surround him but he’s immutable, like if we were not there. After a while he starts moving and we follow him. He takes us to his family and that is the entire show. The father Ruhondeza, a large silverback, is eating an entire bush. At his right, one of the babies is hanging from a tree eating berries. After a while, Marayika, another teenager, comes and starts playing next to the father. Ruhondeza just wants to sleep. Kashongo, one of the females, joins the crowd and, wow!, she brings one of the babies attached to her chest. We are literally among them. We are so among them that Kanyone, a girl teenager, grabs Sarah’s arm when she is trying to get a close-up, but in a such gentle way that she seems she’s trying to take a look at the picture.

The shy Kanyone playing with a stick 

The little one eating berries

Ruhondeza, the silverback

Kanyone grabbing Sarah's arm

I cannot believe I can be so close to them, being touched by these gentle giants, watching them playing, eating or sleeping, just like any other family on a weekend. The little one comes to the middle and wants to play but none of his siblings seem very excited with the idea.

The family reunion

Maddy starts counting ’15 more minutes’. We can only be with them for 1h in order to minimize the chance of passing any diseases to the gorillas. When we have to go I take another look at that family, they look so much like us.

The way back to the camp is made in silent; everyone is digesting emotions, strong emotions from an unbelievable experience.

Out for the weekend

I am going to track some mountain gorillas. On Monday, I hope to have pictures at least as good as this one.

The importance of a shinning shoe

Have you ever thought that your reputation could depend on how well you polish your shoes? In fact, not only how well you polish them but how well you keep them shinning.

You might think that reputation would be easy to build but not in Uganda. In a country where most of the roads are not paved, where dust invades every inch of your life and lungs, where people dress formally and wear leather shoes, reputation was never harder to keep.

Believe it or not, I have never seen so many shinning shoes as here. Peter, the receptionist at the University Inn, is an extreme example of a proud Ugandan: impeccable ironed slacks, white shirt, blazer… and immaculate shinning shoes. I asked Peter how is it possible to keep those shoes shinning all the time. ‘You have to walk carefully, over the dust.’ Over the dust? I can only walk through the dust.

Ever since we talked I try to watch him walking around. Maybe I am dreaming but whenever I see Peter walking I can swear he is moving a few inches above the ground. Over the dust, like he says. No wonder he keeps his shoes shinning.

Wood Ants

The tunnel. The legs you see belong to the nightstand, so you have an idea of scale

The little bugs rebuilding part of the destroyed tunnel

My room is under attack of wood ants, or at least that is what I think they are. Last weekend a brown tunnel started to grow under the nightstand, coming from the closet towards the wall. These little bugs are fast and I can imagine they will quickly deplete the closet. Since I will be out of here next week my only concern is to investigate their work.

Every once in a while the cleaning lady comes and destroys the tunnel. That does not deter these ants and, like nothing happened, they resume their work and rebuild the tunnel. I don’t exactly know what is the goal of building a tunnel towards the wall, since the wall is not made of wood. They made a detour towards the bed and I think that is too much for them. Why don’t they stick to the closet and eat it all? Why eating the bed? Isn’t that too much of a challenge for them?

I think it is. I keep telling them that it is a strategic mistake to set such an ambitious goal. They don’t listen to me so I gave up. Whatever they think it’s best for them, I am ok with that. It’s their life.

Ugandan Beer

The Winner! Nile Special

I believe I'm done with my research on Ugandan beer. After almost two weeks here, I have completed a thorough research and reached a conclusion. A cold Nile!

I excluded Guinness from my research since, although it is brewed in Uganda. It is no different from the original one and I am not a great fan of stout.

I started my research with a Bell, a light beer, not too light though but still with not enough taste. I then moved to Club, which is the closest to Bud Light, which means water in beer bottle. Then I tried Nile Special, a tasty lager, not too heavy but definitely not light with 5.6% alcohol. The perfect partner for all occasions. The next player was Tusker, a malt lager, brown beer, heavy and tasty. I liked it but it needs a good partner, like beef or the popular goat meat. Finally I tasted Moonberg, a german beer brewed here, very much like Nile but I believe less tasty. It was a close finish between Moonberg and Nile but I stick to Nile.

Time in Uganda

Time is relative, and I’m not talking about Einstein’s general relativity. I’m talking about cultural relativity. One hour for me is not one hour for an American and it is not one hour for a Ugandan. It’s hard to understand this concept but it’s one of primary importance whenever you’re dealing cross-culturally.

Ugandans say that here you should not go to a restaurant when you are hungry, you should go at least 1h before you think you will be hungry. Any nutritionist in the US would probably tell you the same but here it has a different meaning. It means it takes at least 1h to order food to the table. If everyone is fine with that, why shouldn’t I? Furthermore, they even warn you so no complaints.

A meeting time does not mean that people will be on time for the meeting. It is a suggestion; you know you should show up around that time, maybe half an hour later, maybe more, maybe less. If you are early, you drink a cup of coffee or tea and wait. Why should you hurry if no one does?

This logic is repeated again and again in different contexts and situations. Time is relative, so why worry?

Disrespecting local timing is rude because you are assuming that everyone thinks like you, that you are the center of the world, the one who dictates the rules. When we came to Uganda we were repeatedly told that time in Uganda does not mean the same as in the US. Everyone repeated the warning again and again. Nonetheless, those warnings often seem to be left where they were given, a few thousand miles away.

Have you ever thought why should that report be delivered on Monday and not on Tuesday? I’m not asking who gave you that deadline; I’m asking why was that deadline set? Why is half an hour a reasonable time to order food and not one hour? Why should someone be ready to give me what I ask for when I ask for? Why should I be angry whenever someone does not understand my time? Shouldn’t they be angry with my anger?

Vision Empire

In Mbarara, a town with 250,000 inhabitants, there is only one place to go out at night. It is called Vision Empire and every week it offers three nights of fun and drinks. Wednesday is ladies night, Thursday is reggae night and Friday is whatever night.

I went there on Friday with Pidson and a few more friends. It was literally whatever night, from bad American 80s pop to good Ugandan hip-hop and reggae. It's 12 something when we head to Vision Empire. The price of admission is visible at the door: USh 3,000 for the regular room, USh 7,000 for the VIP room. US$3.5 is reasonable for a VIP room and Pidson won't let me go to the regular room. ‘Girls are on the VIP room’, things don’t change just because you're in Africa.

Pison and I before heading to Vision Empire. Notice how black shirt is the uniform

In fact, when we arrive there are no girls or boys. The place is empty. ‘Too early’, complains Pidson. Dinner was too short. I go to the bar and order a drink, ‘gin and tonic please.’ ‘Excuse me?’ I try once more and give up, clearly that is not a normal order. ‘One vodka sprite, please.’ The waiter brings me a 0.375 liter bottle of vodka and a fresh sprite. That's half a regular bottle of liquor in case you're not familiar with the metric system.  ‘Can I have a glass please?’ He brings a glass and that’s all the cocktail. Ice is overrated, which makes sense because it's hard to trust that they boil water before freezing into ice cubes. I take my ‘cocktail’ but after a couple of glasses everything is warm and tastes awful. It’s better to stick to cold beer.

One vodka sprite, please!

Pidson insists in finding me a girl despite my warnings that I'm not interested. ‘Man, here you just have to choose, you’re white, every girl looks at you.’ It is actually not true as I see some girls looking in our direction and clearly more interested in Pidson and Nicholas.

The party is over around 5, not because Vision Empire is empty but because we have an early morning drive to Queen Elizabeth Park. Unfortunately I don’t have good pictures from Vision Empire. They don’t allow cameras inside the place. The reason? Some people bring cameras to shoot celebrities and then publish the pictures in magazines. Who would say Mbarara is such a celebrity spot?

Ugandan Food, Part II

Kalo on the left, Posho on the right

‘You can’t manage that’, was the waiter’s comment on my order at City Top, a restaurant in Mbarara. I just ordered Kalo, which according to the waiter was a millet paste. I thought it was worth trying. He insisted: ‘that is not food for white people. Not even for me. That is for people in the villages. They can handle it. We can’t, it’s bad for your stomach’. I ordered anyway, just to try. Kalo is actually a mixture of boiled millet flour and a bit of cassava flour (also known as manioc or yucca). Kalo looks like an enormous piece of crap and its texture is both sticky and soft. The taste is rather neutral so people eat it with some sort of sauce. You don’t use a fork to eat kalo. Instead, you pull of a small piece with your hands, mold it with your thumb to make a hole, and then dip it into the sauce. The waiter was right. Kalo is extremely heavy and I doubt I can handle an entire piece of it.

Mold a hole with the thumbs

Fill the hole with sauce

And it's ready to eat

Another Ugandan delicacy is Posho, maize meal. As far as I could find out, posho is mostly made of maize flour although some people mix cassava. A couple of people told me that posho is made of cassava but I find it very hard to be true since cassava has a chewy and sticky texture and Posho is hard. Posho looks white, which is funny since both maize and cassava usually have a yellowish tone. I tried to find out why but people just say it’s the normal color so I assume it’s something to do with local maize. Just like Kalo, posho has little taste and people eat it with sauce.

I also learned this week that biñeuá is also called gnut sauce (pronounced g-nut) and is actually made of peanuts and a sort of aubergine. Anyways, it’s still awesome and the best sauce to eat with either matóke, posho or kalo.

Kalo, posho, matooke and rice are the staple foods in Uganda because they’re cheap, very energetic and rich in fibers.

Road to Queen Elizabeth National Park

It's 11am when I leave my room at the University Inn to try to grab some food. Maybe some breakfast leftovers. We went to Vision Empire last night and it was fun, maybe too fun considering I had to drive for 2h. Pidson, our guest for the weekend, has already arrived and everyone is waiting for me. Not surprising.

We sort of rented a car to a friend with Pidson’s and it was a lot better than I expected, a Toyota Hilux Surf. Whatever that means, it was roomy and tough, just what we need to drive around the park and face the poorly built Ugandan roads.

Our ride, a Toyota Hilux Surf

The road to QENP is gorgeous. Vast tea and banana plantations and beautiful lakes lying in the middle of tall green mountains. We could be in Switzerland if it wasn’t for the potholes, the traffic of bikes carrying the most amazing amounts of bananas, or the aspect of semi-built houses by the side of the road.

Tea plantation

Banana plantation by a lake

Banana bike

Village by the road to QENP 

Driving in the middle of Uganda gives me a different perspective of the country. Mbarara is not exactly shinning and organized but it’s definitely a lot more developed than the villages I see in the countryside. In Mbarara, and hanging with URI people, everything seems to be moderately fine.

Traveling out of Mbarara is a reality bath, just like it is watching the local TV. Commercial don’t try to sell you cars, electronics or shampoo. They try to make you boil the water you drink, to bury your trash, to use a condom, or to stop ‘being’ with underage girls. Apparently these campaigns are effective but new problems arise all the time. As AIDS prevalence decreases among teens and young people, it increases among married people. Why? Because men cheat on their wives without using a condom and they can’t use one when they go back home and have sex with their wives, as it would be too obvious they cheated. So they need new campaigns to make people use condoms when cheating. How about that as a commercial?

On the way to QENP we stop to take some pictures. Two kids approach us riding a bike. I expect them to ask for some shillings. They don’t.

- ‘Do you have a pen?’, it’s their only request.
- What do you want the pen for?, it’s the obvious question
- I want to draw

Nothing more is said, I don’t insist either. I look for a pen in my bag and find one. He smiles. How sad is that when a country can’t provide you the most basic learning tools? And this kid is not an illiterate. He speaks English, something you only learn when you go to school. And he wants to draw. I’m sure he also wants to learn.

The kid who asked me for a pen

Queen Elizabeth National Park

‘The Park occupies 1978 sq. kilometers’. Eddie, the ranger we hired to guide us around the park, would mention this figure every five or six sentences, perhaps to emphasize the size of the QENP. No need for that. Coming from Mbarara, we crossed the mountains surrounding the park and we could see the endless valley with the Rwenzori Mountains far away on the horizon. Rwenzori was the original name of the park, but that was before 1954 when Queen Elizabeth II came to Uganda and decided that her name would be a better choice.

The Queen Elizabeth Park

Emily, Pidson, Sarah and I at the main gate

Our weekend safari started with a boat ride on the Kasinga Channel. Ugandans claim that the Kasinga Channel contains the largest concentration of hippos and from what we saw they are probably right. The 2-hour boat ride was productive: water buffalos, hippos, crocodiles, elephants, antelopes, warthogs, and a large amount of birds including fish-eagles, pelicans, storks, and a bunch other that I don’t know the name.

Elephants, hippos and buffalos mingling by the water

Herd of water buffalos

Hippos resting with pelicans

Lots of hippos and buffalos squeezing in the water

The Mweya Lodge was our next stop to grab some food and find accommodation. The lodge is the most luxurious place I’ve seen since we arrived in Uganda and that left me thinking about the bubble that tourists live in when they come to Africa. That will be subject of another post. US$110 was the price to stay at the lodge, whereas the neighboring hostel charged USh30,000 (US$15) for bed and breakfast. The only issue was that they were ful booked so they could only accommodate the five of us in the entrance area. US$95 were worth the sacrifice and so we stayed at the more interesting Mweya Hostel.

The Mweya Safari Lodge...

... and the Mweya Hostel

Andres hanging with warthogs in the lodge's backyard 

The Mweya Lodge is the typical place where white tourists come to pretend they are in Africa without actually being in Africa. Western comfort, Western food, decent prices for Western standards, and the inevitable ‘indigenous’ music and dance show by the bonfire so they can have pictures that look like Africa. The lodge served the most expensive meal I had in Uganda yet. USh40,000 ($20) doubles my previous record at the most expensive place in Mbarara. Western cheap, Ugandan exorbitant.

Very African? Bonfire and 'indigenous' dance

It was 6am when my alarm buzzed reminding we had a game drive scheduled with Eddie, the ranger. Eddie was promptly waiting for us at 6.30 and we left with the promise of spotting some leopard and the unique climbing lion, which just like the name says, is a lion that climbs trees like leopards do.

Eddie, the ranger, in the middle of us

We can’t complain about Eddie’s promises. We first saw hippos doing their morning walk to the water. Later, after herds and herds of antelopes and buffalos, Eddie shouts ‘Leopard’! We all look left: where? There he was, imperceptible under a cactus tree. We suggested a closer look but Eddie discouraged us, ‘he will run away, leopards don’t like company’. We then tried to spot Mary, a female elephant that is a regular visit to a local fishermen village. Eddie asked the kids around the village but they hadn’t seen Mary for a few days. All of the sudden Eddie receives a call. ‘Someone spotted a lion’. Eddie takes us to the spot. There are four other cars trying to spot 'the king'. She, a female lion, was resting in a cactus tree. The problem was that the tree was pretty far away from the track and off-road is prohibited. Well, nothing that Eddie can’t solve ‘just let these cars go away’. The excitement grows as Eddie goes off-road and we approach the tree. We can now perfectly spot the lion, lying in the middle of a cactus tree with their typical aristocratic look as if we weren’t there. As Eddie starts driving around the tree we can see she’s following us. Finally, she opens her eyes and slightly her mouth. Good enough. We are super excited. There is no way she’s going to climb down since it’s not hunting time yet. Mission accomplished.

Warthog sniffing

Antelopes staring

Female elephant, not Mary though

Leopard saving a good distance from us. Can you see it?

Lion in cactus tree

For the rest of the day the highlight is a herd of elephants that we ran into on our way out to Mbarara. Several elephants cross the road and halt their march staring at us as we stop to take some shots. We are literally 2-3 yards away from them but they don’t move. Patiently they wait for us to go away and resume their march to the lake. Time is obviously not a problem for them.

Elephant staring at us

Part of the herd waiting for us to leave