Guest Post: The Best Spring Break Party EVAH!

 “So how does a Ugandan party unfold?” we asked, adding to the never-ending list of questions that we’ve peppered our hosts with.

“Well,” said Bill and Theresa patiently, “you’re about to find out.”

The party started on our very own taxi, a small bus with Allah’s name displayed prominently on the windshield. We piled in: five Americans, ten Ugandans and three crates of soda pop, taken from Salama Springs’ larder, strapped to the top.

Getting from point A to point B is part of the adventure in Uganda. This ride was no exception. There was singing, laughing, one police stop and a good dose of general chaos. Throughout, the Ugandan passengers launched into lengthy observations in Lugandan, punctuated by the word “Mzungu” and laughter. Though Theresa tried, we were never able to get an accurate translation of what they were saying about their Mzungu passengers.

The taxi - full of Salama Springs "family" and mzungus

Finally, after the tarmac turned to red dirt, and then to a meandering path into a forest, we arrived at Prossey’s. To say we were met with a warm welcome would be an understatement. Kids ran alongside the taxi, adults smiled broadly. “You are most welcome,” they told us.  

We brought some little toys for the kids. 

Of all the things that Bill and Theresa have done to make our first visit to Uganda memorable, allowing us a glimpse into the community they have built here has been the most extraordinary. Between their friends at Bead for Life, New Vision and Salama Springs, we have been exposed to the kindest and most authentic individuals in our travels in Uganda. This party, planned for weeks in advance, was the capstone of the experience.

And so the party began to unfold. Prossey, our hostess had been cooking since five in the morning. It was delicious: thick matoke, g-nut sauce and nakate (greens) prepared in banana leaves, chicken so locally sourced that the feathers hadn’t blown off the ground. We tried (and failed) to eat Ugandan portions. Even the kids took matoke mounds as big as their heads. Truly, the Ugandan feast rivaled and even surpassed American Thanksgiving portions, with all of us struggling to keep up.

Matoke making

After the eating was finished, I considered crawling under the shade of an avocado tree for a nap. But that would have meant missing a trip to the bore hole to fill up twenty-five jerry-cans of water.

Kate taking her turn at pumping the water at the bore-hole

The entire village assembled for the task. It was hot. Pot holes the size of small craters lined the road. It was hard not to think of our own neighborhood in Idaho. The streets are wide and clean, but walking on a winter’s day you might never see, not to mention talk to, another person.

The kids showed us how to pump the water. Ugandans cheered as Elliot lifted a Jerry-can of water onto his head. We walked up the road with our water, aware of the fact that the children in the village seemed less fatigued than we did, and remembering that they made this trek once or twice a day, every day.

Elliot carrying a jerry-can, to the delight of the Ugandans

Showing Elliot how its done. Note the stickers.

Theresa cut her cake. Everyone ate. There were some mzungu pictures, featuring us, looking sweaty and maybe a little confused as we posed in specific permutations—the mzungus with families, babies. The mzungus with the children. Just Kate and Deborah with two girls.  The only thing that finally put an end to the pictures was the time of day; the sun was going down, which meant, we were told, that the village would soon go entirely dark. 

And so we drove homeward, rattling down the dirt road. The soda crates were full of empties but we’d added a baby, four enormous, bulbous and pungent jackfruit and three chickens (bought by the taxi driver during the party) to the already-crowded cab.

“People of your skin color can be so proud,” said Sarah, the woman I sat next to. “They won’t sit with us the way you are sitting. But you carried the water. You are leaving soon, but they will be talking about you for a long, long time.”

I think it’s safe to say that we will, too.

Two friends: Prossey and Theresa

(This post is by daughter Kate - we'll miss our great visitors, Kate, Elliot and Deborah!)

Thieves in the tent!

We managed to get outside dusty Kampala last weekend by visiting lovely Lake Mburo National Park. It should have been a 4.5 hour drive, but instead it was 6 hours - a construction project had traffic jamming  roundabouts and roads. Since the idea of side roads is laughable, there we sat. Luckily we had put A/C in our loaner car (thanks again Eric and Asia) so we didn’t actually bake.

We stopped at the equator on the way ...

We invited Asia along since it was her birthday and we had so much fun. She learned to float (yay! That one’s been a long time in the learning!) and ride a horse (now she imagines herself galloping along into the sunset, though we just walked – slowly – on the ride). It was a little weird to ride horses among zebras, impalas and warthogs, but no one seemed to care on either side of the equation.

Ugandan cowgirl

Mainly we relaxed, a welcome respite since we’ve been so busy at work. We stayed at Mihingo Lodge, where we had stayed three years ago. The “rooms” are tents built inside thatched roof structures carved out of the rocks above a water hole where animals like elands (truly amazing creatures with big dewlaps and a hump) and impala (with their black markings that make them seem to be wearing high heels) hang out. The lodge design is amazing – olive branches imbedded in rocks and curved plaster walls.

Cute, until ...

Our tent was down a steep stairway in the trees and monkeys were swinging all around the tent. Bill thought they were cute and took some pictures. But what they were really doing was waiting for us to vacate the room. We went to sit up above by the pool and later I decided to go get my book.

As I approached, I saw through the mosquito netting on the tent a turmoil of monkeys – probably about 10 of them – scrambling to get out at the sound of my footsteps. They tumbled out through the Velcro closures on the windows and leapt into the trees where they watched me yell at them.

The place was a disaster. Our toiletry bag was spilled everywhere: they liked the Pepto Bismol tablets, our malaria pills and assorted other medicines we always bring just in case. We’d brought the Uganda guide book with a picture of a gorilla on the cover and the cover was all twisted and torn (hmm). And the Skip-Bo cards – well, they must have had quite a game because the cards were everywhere and the box was outside.

They must have swung from the mosquito net over the bed because it sagged from a conglomeration of broken stuff and, uh, monkey poop. In fact, the place smelled like a zoo.

We had done what we were supposed to: padlock the zippers on the tent doors. But apparently they are wise to the tent structures. It’s been so dry here, said the lodge manager, that they are really hungry and the only place they can find food is the lodge. The staff cleaned it all up – they are used to it (we heard at least one other couple talking about how they’d gotten into their tent), and the monkeys disappeared from our area and moved along to some other doomed tent.

It makes for a good story, and we know the monkeys won’t get malaria. Now we’re back in Kampala, missing the cool, clear air of Mburo. But not the monkeys.

The rooms at Mihingo incorporate all natural materials. 

Oh, hello there, jailbird

Night game drive: hippo butts. It's rare to see them out of the water.

 

The pool, and the park in the distance

This place is for the birds

                Among the many pleasures of being back: rediscovering what a wonderland of amazing bird species Uganda is. Glad we decided to bring along our very thick and very heavy field guide, “Birds of East Africa,” with all its scribbled notes of where we saw what. (Speckled Mousebird -- Queen Elizabeth park. Bare-Faced Go-away bird -- Lake Mburo. Brown Parrot, African White-backed Vulture -- Kidepo. Etc.)

                We haven’t been to the national parks again yet (that starts next weekend), but we’ve been seeing the birds nonetheless. The little fellow here is one of the Kingfishers – probably a Woodland Kingfisher.

They’re wonderful birds, some colorful like this one and some not; they have the very useful talent of being able to hover stationary in mid-air above the water and then dive suddenly for their prey.

                Theresa and I saw this one in the Botanical Gardens not far from Entebbe Airport, maybe 15 miles south of Kampala. They have a terrific small jungle to wander through along the shore of Lake Victoria, tall trees with vines dangling to the ground. High in the trees we saw a cluster of four or five Turacos, and heard the squawks of parrots.

                But we haven’t even needed to travel that far. The other day looking out the bathroom window I found myself staring straight at a pair of Ross’s Turacos. This is a truly spectacular breed, with rich red and blue colors. We had seen these from a distance down in the garden behind our flat a few days earlier, and one of

them had opened his big tail like a fan. (We haven’t been able to get them to sit still for our own photos yet; this one is thanks to the San Francisco Zoo.)

Back in 2007, our book reminds us, we saw the even larger Great Blue Turaco, with its tall black crest, just as we entered the (wonderfully named) Bwindi Impenetrable Forest en route to visit some gorillas with Steve & Bobbie.

While we were at the Botanical Garden, we saw a group of children having the time of their lives, sliding down a grass-and-dirt hillside – sitting on large palm fronds. Ezra, our friend and guide (to Ugandan life and to safari animals) laughed and said that when he was a kid, their mom used to cane them because she would get them all outfitted in new trousers and then they would run off and go sliding down the hill, inevitably slipping off the palm branch occasionally and ruining their clothes. Boys!