The morning of our move came with great anticipation. We were so ready. Abraham and a woman friend (still can only guess why she accompanied him for the first very short leg of our journey that day) arrived at the Backpackers around 9:30, when we were expecting them at 10:00. We didn't receive the email about the time change thanks to the nonworking wifi. So they watched us quickly scarf down our breakfast with very minimal, nervous conversation exchanged.
Our original plan was to "just catch a bus to Mbale". Then, Abraham said he would come to the Backpackers to get us, which led me to assume he had a car that he was going to take to and from such a long distance. But as we walked out of the Backpackers reception, we learned that we were going to walk to a main road and hale a taxi (cramped public van continuously stopping to load and unload with the obvious goal of always containing at least 13 people) that would take us to Kampala. From there, individual boda boda rides to the charter bus depot. Each of us with our 50+ lb packs strapped on were wary on those bodas. We both had the same daunting yet hilarious image of flying off the back and landing on our packs, like turtles turned upside down. I'm happy to report that despite all of the stories of boda crashes being so common in Kampala, Katy and I survived as uninjured reptiles. Next up after the boda adventure was a two hour wait until the scheduled charter bus departure time, and then another hour wait while on the bus since it wasn't full yet. The day halfway over, and the bus finally full, our adventure East began.
The ride was long, hot, and beautiful. The scenery was varying chunks of open, sprawling fields of tea or sugar cane, and rural villages with roadside markets, all miraculously in tact despite their construction of small sticks and sheets of tin. We stopped once apparently in a designated town, but all I could make out were fields on one side of the semi-paved road and a few mud huts on the other side. As the men de-bussed to water the fields, I noticed the crowd of villagers growing substantially quickly and with curiosity in their eyes that reached past simply seeing two muzungus. The bus continued onward, where I immediately saw the source of the commotion. A truck was completely engulfed in massive flames. As we passed, I felt the intense heat nearly burn my skin and probably sizzle a little of my hair. I took the lack of any anxious response by everyone to mean that nobody was in danger within the vehicle or surrounding. Less than ten seconds after passing the wreck, all interest from the passengers subsided. I wonder if it's because that kind of thing happens too often to receive even a second glance.
Our second stop was five minutes of madness. Before the bus completed braking, it was surrounded. I had my window open to aid against the smell, heat, and mild car sickness. These windows are so big that I probably could have toppled out without much effort. Well, the swarm probably saw an open window AND a muzungu as their golden ticket as they nearly knocked each other down to get at me. In their hands were baskets of matoke (fried plantains), mystery meat kabobs, chicken on a stick nearly a foot in length, and bottled waters and sodas. I tried to ignore the yelling, but my lack of eye contact meant nothing as they just poked me with the giant drumsticks until I looked at them. Abraham announced he was hungry, and came back with mutant chicken wings for each of us, as well as a bag full of matoke. True to our nature, Katy and I saved a couple matokes to eat with our melted Reeses cups later, as a celebration for our arrival in Mbale. Yes, we each saved our revered treats of chocolately glory for one whole week! Be impressed.
Following lunch, one of the passengers took the opportunity of our inescapable confines to educate on the importance of dental hygiene. At least that's what I think he was talking about since he was holding a toothbrush and mimicking swishing something around his mouth every so often. By the end of his spiel he had sold every last tiny bag of mystery white powder, which again I assumed was some sort of astronaut toothpaste. Ironically following was his speech and paired selling of coffee flavored candies. Which also sold out, possibly faster than the toothpaste.
All of the buildings that I've seen, eroded and collapsed in meager decay, used to seem like such poetic, beautiful pieces of art to me. When I would pass them, I would imagine the people and animals that relied on them for shelter and all kinds of activities. I felt blessed that my imagination was able to view these historic time machines. Now, seeing these buildings still being used for such a necessity switched my emotional response to one I'm still unable to explain. Shelter is a word equivalent to protection. And I have a hard time giving these shacks the honor of such a title. Surely the smallest raindrop laughs at the sticks' feebleness as it easily penetrates through to the family below. And the sun's rays blast the tin siding too easily for them to even enjoy a challenge. Yet these people call these buildings their home. Maybe "home" and "shelter" aren't necessarily synonymous. That shelter, that protection is found elsewhere; In the land that feeds them and the elder women that hold them close. I have much to learn from these people that live so simply.
After passing quickly over the Nile River and the building generating electricity to all of Uganda, through Jinja where the famous "Kisses from Katie" lives, and catching a glimpse of Abraham's hometown, we finally made it to Mbale. The adventure took just over eight hours in total, and that plus many other reasons made me so grateful for Abraham's accompaniment and guidance instead of Katy and I "just catching a bus".
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