The problem with the evening in Uganda is that it doesn't exist. It just goes straight to night, no warning whatsoever. Instead of the gradual, lingering Midwestern sunsets that I'm used to, I'm now confronted by sudden and total darkness, exacerbated by frequent power failures that extinguish the rare electric lights. Luckily, all cellphones are equipped with fairly powerful built-in flashlights, or "torches" (much better imagery), but it's still hard to do anything more active than playing cards for fear of falling down a ditch or stepping into a swamp. Tonight, for instance, I am sitting on my bed, nursing my first official Africa belly ache. Don't worry, nothing too graphic, but it's made the last few days a little uncomfortable. Oh well, at least there's plenty of plain white rice to soothe the grumbles.
Since the night and my belly have doomed me to a dull evening, I will recount the weekend in the hopes of soaking up a little residual excitement. On Thursday night after work, we hopped on the UMU staff bus to Kampala, where we stayed the night at the Backpacker's before embarking on a trip to Queen Elizabeth National Park in the western part of the country. This was seriously one of the nicest hostels I've ever stayed in. I think it was partly due to the contrast with the UMU dorms, and the fact that I generally don't expect much from Kampala, but this place was down right trendy. And swarming with muzungus, unsurprisingly. But I managed to bite my tongue and not think about how us westerners were secluded in our own little pocket of bliss in the midst of a poverty-ridden city. OK, I didn't completely forget; I tried to make sense of it with Curtis over dinner, but once again came to the conclusion that there simply is no reason or fairness to so much of life. But that did not stop me from savoring my salad, the first green vegetables I'd managed to consume in weeks. Add a couple of bottles of cider (no Strongbow, but close enough), and I was feeling like I could stay there for awhile.
That was the end of the relaxing leg of the journey. We departed at 5 the next morning to catch a bus to Kasese, a town about 7 hours west near the DRC border. Let's think about the logistics of this trip for a minute. Thursday, we drove 2.5 hours east. Friday, we woke up early to drive 7 hours west, essentially bypassing the place we started from. Why tack on the extra piece of traveling? Because if you try to make a bus reservation, they do not save you a seat. They make you stand in the aisle for 5 hours. Or they just don't let you on. Instead, we followed a curly-cue route that found us on a crowded, dusty, smelly bus early on Friday. Since I've described a previous taxi ride in graphic detail, I'll spare you the specifics of this journey. Suffice it to say that on a 20 foot-tall bus with a rear that overhangs the back tires by many meters, the speed bumps are more like space launchers. In the wise words of Dennis, "My bum was suffering."
We arrived at Kasese around noon and met up with Robert, our safari driver for the weekend. He ran his own company from his home, free of the sketchiness of the big-business touristy companies that swarm the savannah. In fact, upon our arrival, he brought us to his house for a delicious lunch of goat, rice, pumpkin, and passionfruit juice. Mmmm. (Goat is actually good!) Then it was off the the park to set up camp before our river cruise. Along the way, speeding through the tall grasses and patches of low shrubs, we saw a family of elephants in the distance. I think that's when it hit me. They just lived there. Elephants. Lived there. Like seeing cows grazing next to the road in Michigan. But elephants. In Uganda.
There was a slight misunderstanding at the ranger station, in which the guards did not give us the international student discount because we did not have the "proper" identification. I don't know what constituted "proper"--no doubt it changed daily on the whim of the guard--but he regarded our ND student IDs with skeptical amusement. It was strange, it made me feel very exposed. Like he was scrutinizing not only my bad photo from freshman orientation, but my entire life as well. I took the card back gratefully and rubbed it between my fingers, thinking fondly of the card swiper lady at the dining hall who greeted me happily at each meal.
The thing about Queen Elizabeth: it's really really big. The park is divided up into several sections, each with its own lodges, attractions, and game drive loops. Ours was nestled between the shores of Lake Albert and Lake George (the whole Victorian family got lakes named after them), with our campsite overlooking Kazinga Channel. We set up two 2-man tents, which were very snug, and nested in as best we could with our contraband UMU sheets. Then it was down to the channel to observe some aquatic wildlife. There were birds of every variety-- flighty kingfishers, graceful egrets, goliath storks, awkward cormorants, stoic eagles, and just about everything in between. They gathered in groups along the shore, forming what I liked to imagine as mini-kingdoms. In the center was always a stork or crane, a huge and noble bird who looked over his minions with benevolent disdain. The mid-sized birds acted as courtiers, posing in small groups around their monarch. Finally, the smallest birds stood deferentially along the perimeter, chirping and squawking the quiet vernacular of the peasantry. Further down the shore, another court held session, smaller than the first--an ousted lord, perhaps? A small dukedom? Maybe even an aristocratic nation-state.
Besides the birds, there were plenty of other creatures vying for our attention. Water buffalo stood rear-to-rear in the water, serenely chewing large mouthfulls of grass. It turns out they were all couples, watching out for each other throughout the long meal. What lovely marital loyalty. But in terms of large aquatic mammals, the best were the hippos. It's true that, when provoked, these blubbery darlings become ruthless killing machines. Be that as it may, they are just. So. Silly. Small ears and nostrils poke up above the smooth surface of the water, followed by a pair of blinking eyes. Then a round, cartoonish snout. If you're really lucky, you get a glimpse of a perfectly rotund body, which somehow glides gracefully through the murky channel. I never got the pleasure of seeing a hippo on land, but I was perfectly delighted to watch them slowly drift next to our boat, watching us and blowing water from their nostrils with a soft whoosh-ing noise. I don't know exactly what it was about them, but I just wanted to give them a big hippo-sized hug. I think I'm in love.
After the cruise, we "washed up" (which mostly consisted of putting on more bug spray) and headed to the canteen for dinner. Even though we were the only four patrons, it still took almost two hours to get our food. This is because the kitchen literally consisted of two pots and two electric hot plates. The spartan equipment contrasted comically with the spacious dining room and large menu. What if the place was actually full? I guess the answer was simple: the place never was full. It was a canteen on the edge of the savannah in a huge wilderness park. By the time my grilled cheese and chips (fries) came out, it was so dark we had to shine headlamps on our plates to stab our food with forks. An aside about food in Uganda: if it's not traditional, it's something fried. There is no middle ground. By the end of the weekend, my stomach was actually longing for a simple plate of rice and beans to soak up all the grease I'd consumed.
We spent the evening playing cards at the canteen. Our sole companions were the ladies cooking and a man who came in around 9 and bore a striking resemblance to Crocodile Dundee. We walked back the the campsite in the dark, past the warthogs (which are actually docile and surprisingly majestic in their movements) and sat on a log outside our tents to admire the stars. In contrast to the blazing afternoon, the night was chilly, and I was glad I brought the thick fleece blanket from my bed at UMU, which I never expected to use. I fell asleep thinking about how peaceful it was, hearing the insects and frogs chirping and croaking the evening away just like they do outside my window at home.
We left at 6:30 the next morning for an early game drive. The sun was struggling to peep over the horizon, but the rain clouds got there first. We managed to see a whole lot of Uganda kob (antelope-like creatures with graceful spiral horns) before the downpour began. Then, the savannah became rather deserted. Robert made a gut decision to drive out to Ishasha, a distant corner of the park famed for its tree-climbing lions. We weren't supposed to go until Sunday, but he thought we might as well try our luck and come back to this section of the park tomorrow. It was a 1.5 hour drive (like I said, BIG park) over bumpy roads. By the time we arrived, though, the sun was shining. Within two minutes of driving, we saw several other vehicles gathered at the base of a large fig tree. Robert predicted we'd see lions in 30 seconds. Sure enough, as soon as we reached the tree, we saw him: a huge, beautiful male lying indolently on a thick branch. He gazed down at his audience calmly, looking rather bored. Everyone's mouth was open. The lion was about 20 feet away. After a few minutes, he descended and disappeared into the bush. Immediately after, another male emerged from the opposite direction, stared us down, and then strolled back to whence he came. It all happened very quickly. Apparently it was very rare to see a male, and we'd seen two.
The other groups gradually dispersed. One friendly Texan asked us "where the ay-le-faints were at." I have to say, the loud American voice was music to my ears. Robert watched them go with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he said we were going to "make the sinister move." In other words, we were going to off-road and try to find the second lion in a nearby thicket. It's a $150 fine if you get caught driving off the path. But the way was clear. We made our way over the lush grass. Dominic was armed with a large branch, at Robert's insistence; whether to provoke the lion or fend it off, we weren't really sure.
As we approached the thicket, a large shape ambled out. There he was again. We pursued him slowly, and he sped up, clearly not liking the whir of the engine behind him. Eventually his disappeared behind a herd of buffalo. Interestingly, a single lion is no match for a herd, which can kick in his skull with powerful legs. It is only one-on-one that the lion emerges victor. And even then, it's usually a female lion, the hunter of the pride. The day was only half over, and we'd seen enough wildlife to keep us talking for a long time. Invigorated by our good luck, we set off to Kymbura Gorge in pursuit of chimps.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment