The eels blog (english version): June 2019

An old bus with no written direction and many people inside. A driver surrounded by dusty suitcases, including ours. Pork sticks and plates of sodas offered through the open windows. Then the roar of the aged motor and a struggled change of gear. It started like that our journey between Karuma and Fort Portal, minor towns of Uganda. One of many similar journeys, which became special.

A matatus stops for food and drinks

Since the beginning, the circumstances for this story were a bit chaotic, but later they got a bit better. Quite abruptly, for a matter of money, we get dropped off from our mini-van in the middle of a street. (We used to have a mini-van, yes! Not ours of course, but rented). While being in the Sanctuary of Rhinos, we had obtained the contact of someone who could provide us with a van and a driver for the north-western part of the country (since you cannot enter national parks without a vehicle). However, this contact of ours proved to be quite mean and ordered on the phone to let us on the street just after the first night at the Murchison Falls, as soon as we refuse to accept his "new terms" concerning the total cost for the service. This new price seems absurd to us, so we collect our stuff and start to walk, in the middle of nowhere.

Luckily enough, the driver and a passenger/guide we had taken with us have good heart and they come back so to drive us at least until the next bus stop. Once said goodbye, literally 8 seconds later, we are on board of a new vehicle: the old bus with no written direction. Cause as soon as we were seen by the "conductor" and some of the passengers, they had rush in our direction, taken our bags, given us tickets and escorted us until a couple of seats liberated for us. We don't get to choose nor to speak, as everything happens so quickly.

The bus is dirty and covered with red dust. Inside, everything's old-fashioned and in precarious conditions, with many of the seats torn or ripped off in the back. Plus, I can't believe how overloaded with humans and suitcases it's this bus. Overall, I don't have much faith in it, especially looking at the rough road in front of us. But there we are. With the heat of the motor burning up our feet, and our butts jumping up and down worse than in a roller coaster.

Outside there's a spectacle of animals, re-arranged vehicles and humans, busy with the weirdest activities (or sleeping in the shadow). I'm sure it would also be a great concert of noises, but the motor of the bus covers almost everything. Inside, everyone is sitting tight close to each other. Not many talk, but it would seem like we're all part of a big family.

Ugandan road crossing a savannah

A teacher, students of a school for tourism and us by the Murchison Falls

Yasmin and I are seated in front, just behind the driver. There is also a man sharing the couch with us. At first he doesn't say anything. But after some time, I see him smiling at the big feather attached to the hat that I have on my hands. Then I make a move and I try the hat on him. Around us the people start to laugh. The two of us chat for a bit, while Yasmin is falling asleep.

Turns out that he is a farmer with 4 children. They all go to school and Sam is very proud of that, even though he has to work hard to pay for the school fees. He comes from an agricultural area but his field is 3 hours away. "I can make more money there" he says. "I grow maize and beans for The Company". I ask what's "The Company" and he says that it's a foreign multinational, which orders and buys crops from farmers like him. It also provides him with seeds, pesticides and fertilisers.

This fact of the multinational makes me uncomfortable. When I tell him what I think (that he could consider other options, to not totally rely on the Company and practice unsustainable agricolture), I feel like a prig and an idealist. My objections seem so empty compared to his responsibilities towards 4 children. And yet he seems to understand what I mean. He doesn't reply much, but his eyes look like they know some of this already. Anyway I don't want to go further in the discussion, but I have to smile once again at him...as I notice he is still wearing my explorer-hat with the feather on his head.

Sam and my explorer hat

Every 30 minutes or so the bus stops in a village where a crowd of people is ready: they sell whatever thing to eat or to drink to the passengers through the windows. If they see us they insist more persistently yelling excited "Musungu!" "Musungu!" (White people! White people!). This time we buy a very powerful and refreshing ginger soda. And eventually, after some 50 or 60 km of bloody holes in the streets, we get to Masindi.

From Masindi, quite a poor village, we are not far from the Budongo Conservation Field Station, where Yasmin is heading due to her research on forest management. On the way to Budongo, we pass next to the infinte lands of an Indian multinational, maybe the same one Sam was talking about. Finally we reach the wooden cabin at the entrance of the reserve, from which the guardian emerges and leaves us pass. The things I notice immediately is the crazy amount of butterflies , small and dark butterflies everywhere. Then I also feel the cooling of the temperature within the forest.

The station is a group of wooden houses in the middle of the reserve. Since 1990, they study chimpanzees and the impacts of forest management on biodiversity. Zema, the head of the research group, welcomes us with a special, tranquille charm. But it seems like the group is not so used to have many (human) visitors, so we try to be discrete. And the next day we are ready to continue our journey, this time towards Hoima.

A baboon tries to sneak in the Field Station in Budongo

The matatus leaves us in the middle of a big market square, delimited on each side by tall houses with nice roofs. In the middle of the square it's full of "matatus" and "boda-bodas" (taxi vans and taxi motorcycles). We run away from the crowd of taxi drivers and street vendors who all talk to us at the same time. Once we close the door of a hotel room, leaving the noise behind and we sit on the bed, we are so exhausted that we can't get up from bed for almost 2 hours.

Then we go out in the streets again, while the night has fallen. The African nights are pitch black and they replace the days VERY quickly. Even in towns like Hoima, it seems like the electricity is not very common. Instead of street lights, there are fires burning in metal barrels at the side of the streets. There are people around the fires and some music in the air, but the atmosphere is somehow sketchy and we instinctively increase the pace.

We're heading to a restaurant I read about in my guide. Once we enter, we realise we're the only customers and two women welcome us cheerfully. Next to the counter there's a big pot with some stew in peanuts sauce, and a floating fish head in the middle. We eat gratefully, avoiding the fish-head and spending less than 30 000 Ugandan shillings in total (7 or 8 €).

The next day we head to the same street, and we sit for breakfast. They usually eat more or less the same they would eat for dinner: rice, beans, platano banana or potato and sometimes meat. But it's good, we know we have a long way in front of us and that we need energy. From the area of the Murchison Falls, we're now heading towards the Rwenzori mountains, which divide Uganda from Congo.

There are matatus going there for a couple of dollars. So we jump on one, half empty, and we wait. After 40 minutes there are still some empty seats and the driver (whoever is) is not seen yet. In the meanwhile, a funny-looking guy has started a conversation with me. He wants to convince me that his name "Jerry the killer", that he is one of 40 siblings and that he fights for living. He's not soldier of the army, but a "revolutionary", someone who fights in the guerrillas. He's been fighting in South-Sudan, where "people are crazy animals, not humans!". He says to be famous in the area and that all women love him very much. I can't stop looking at his red eyes, almost coming out from his bulbs, and at the dramatic use of his body when he talks. He looks like a drugs addict and some people passing around make some jokes about him, but still Jerry wants to help us.

Jerry the Killer

Once a full hour has passed, he has sensed that our Western souls start to be impatient. So he introduces us to some private taxi drivers and starts to deal with them about the price price. From the moment we are considering to hire one of the taxi driver, the general interest has sparked and a group of people has gathered around us. It almost seems like the decision for who should get this money belongs to the community, and every one suggests someone different and a reason for choosing him. In the end we follow what seems to be the verdict of the community and we go with a big guy towards his big car.

We feel ashamed to have confirmed the cliché of the spoiled, "rich" white people who can afford to take a private taxi for a long distance. But I have to say that just after a little bit of the road we don't regret anymore, but are actually very happy to be in a car with living space and functioning shock absorbers.

So we reach Fort Portal, the last city before the mountains. Together with Kasese, it's a starting point for the best hikes in the country. The Rwenzori Mountains are in fact a mountain range whose peak (Mount Stanley) reaches 5109 metres. The mountain area is however part of a National Park and it is quite expensive to stay within the Park (40€ per day). For this reason we decide to give up on the idea to do a real trekking, and we opt for a smaller hike on the foothills of the Rwenzori, not far from the town.

Already there, the scenery is something else from what we had seen so far. To welcome us there's a November fog, posed over the long stretch of coffee plantations. And while we climb the hill, together with a guide who is part of an association for responsible tourism, we see the glitter of the metal rooftops underneath. The steep hillsides are all cultivated, mostly with potatoes and beans. And even though sparse, we see houses a bit everywhere and we spot the school at the bottom of the valley.

The panorama in the direction of Fort Portal and (below) the first peaks of the Rwenzory mountain chain

The guide tells us how much he believes in the importance of this school, not only for the new generations but for the whole community. He himself teaches in the school, so to transfer the basic knowledge to the adults of the community. However he also let us understand how the resources available are barely enough, despite the income of the association being devolved to the school projects. Tourism in the Rwenzori Mountains, which would have a great potential, never recovered from the civil wars in Congo and Uganda. This area is still perceived as dangerous and is cut out of most tourist routes. In fact we barely meet any tourist.

But we continue our hike and finally we reach the doors of the National Park. Most likely we wouldn't be seen by anyone if we would enter, but it's better to stop there so to avoid any problem. Moreover, we are already quite happy as we've had our first meeting with a chameleon. Just there, a few steps from the border with the Park. It's a pre-historic and calm animal, bigger than I had imagined. Most important, it's not a multi-color, mega-super transformer as in the cartoons...At least during our enchantment -lasted about 5 minutes- it remained the same, as you see it in the picture. And yet it was necessary to have a local to spot it, as our Western eyes didn't notice it!