Uganda 3: October 30, 2003

Having visited eastern Uganda for Rosh Hashannah, Liz and I decided to check out the western part of the country over the Columbus Day weekend, traveling to Semliki National Wildlife Reserve near the Congo border. On the map, it's a journey of about 150 miles, what would take 3 hours in the States (or in Thailand). In Uganda, it takes about 6 and half hours and you take your life in your own hands. I've written about Ugandan roads and drivers before, but every new trip around the corner is an adventure, or better yet, a test of courage.

The trip to Semliki is done in four distinct road segments. Leaving Kampala, you begin on a "paved" road, which, in essence, is a collection of various sized holes, ditches, and chasms surrounded by ancient, atrophied asphalt. Road contracts are a prime source of off-the-books income enhanced by using below grade equipment and materials. So, a new highway can wash out within months of its construction, which, of course, means that a new contract to rebuild the road must be put out to bid. Adding to the driving experience, hordes of Ugandan pedestrians use the roads, which have no medians or footpaths, to travel from village to field to school to market. As you swerve to avoid plummeting into a three foot deep depression running completely across the road, you need to keep your eyes open for the man walking his 1950s vintage bike loaded with hundreds of plantains or the woman carrying a pile of firewood on her head or the gaggle of brightly-uniformed school children running home barefoot for lunch. Upon safely navigating this impediment, you look up in horror to see a minivan loaded with Ugandans, their luggage, and their poultry heading in the opposite direction, yet speeding toward you in your lane as it attempts to pass a fuel truck around a blind turn. You then wish you had bid on a safer, but less exotic post, say Ottawa or Canberra. Not to put too fine a point on it, or sound too condescending, but I often wonder to what pressing rendevous these subsistence farmers absolutely must get to that necessitates saving the 15 seconds they make up by passing that truck. Perhaps this is why religion is so important in rural communities.

When not mentally making out my will or presenting an outwardly calm visage to my nervous bride, I looked around at the surrounding countryside,which unfolded on both sides of the road like a rumpled bed quilt in various shades of green. Roadside stalls sold a variety of fresh produce, including cabbages, pineapples, melons, jackfruit, eggplants and tomatoes stacked up in uniformly steep pyramids. Half-naked children munching on sugar cane waved as we passed and we stopped to let a 5 foot long puff adder slither in front of the car.

About an hour and half outside of Kampala, the pavement dramatically improved and we made good speed for a little while. Then, suddenly, the pavement ended and we traveled for about 50 miles on dirt road. Apparently, the Danes paid to have the road graded and flattened out in anticipation of the Ugandan government funding the actual paving. However, the government has diverted a lot of road money to fund the continuing war in the north and this section of road must not have made the cut. It was slow going though we found no pavement at all to be less jolting than bad pavement. As we approached Fort Portal, the largest town in the far west, the pavement started again and tea plantations fanned out towards the approaching Rwenzori mountains. Hillsides near the town smouldered from recent slash and burn clearcutting of forests for new farmland. Sadly, Uganda has yet to effectively manage its natural resources and uncontrolled development threatens the environment and the benefits Uganda receives from visitors attracted by its mountains, forests, lakes and wildlife.

After Fort Portal, we turned off and began to descend the eastern escarpment of the Western Rift Valley -- twin to the more famous Eastern Rift Valley in Kenya and Tanzania. After seemingly endless unguardrailed switchbacks, we hit the valley, about 2,000 feet below. Only another hour and we made it to Semliki Safari Lodge, the only lodge in the National Reserve. The Lodge is managed by the daughter of one of our friends from Washington and her boyfriend, further indicating how small a world we occupy. By the time we got there, it was after dark and Clint and Kati greeted us with dinner (great food was a highlight of our wildlife adventure), and some information about the lodge, the reserve and our tent. I'll paraphrase a choice section of our conversation with my internal monologue in italics.

Clint: You'll love the lodge, we heard a lion calling by one of the tents last night. (Yes, this sure is a beautiful pl .. . what?!)
Kati: Yeah, it was down by Wassa tent, wasn't it? (Looking down at the key to our tent, indicating we would be staying in Wassa tent: Dear Lord!)
Liz: We can't wait to see the local wildlife. (Apparently the local wildlife can't wait to eat us.)
Clint: I'll walk you to your tent. (I hope Liz likes sleeping on the side of the bed next to the tent flap.)

In actuality, we were not bothered by any animal more threatening than a bee, though we saw a troop of baboons scamper past our tent one afternoon. Of course, our "tent" rested on a solid wooden platform with an attached bathroom and shower (thankfully, no panicked midnight dashes to the loo) and we slept on a four poster bed under a mosquito net. We did, however, make do without airconditioning or electricity, which, for us, certainly counted as roughing it.

From the lodge, we had a terrific view of the Rwenzori mountains and the surrounding countryside and we could easily track developing thunderheads as they towered over the valley. A small herd of Ugandan kob (antelopes) grazed nearby (perhaps explaining the presence of the lion). We ran past the kob as we jogged out to the small airstrip (I'm fearless when in the middle of a large group in daylight). Later, we went on a night safari, during which we caught a glimpse of a male lion and a leopard (Liz and I missed the leopard, but everyone else saw it, so I'm sure it existed). During the day, we saw warthogs, mongeese, and vervet and colubus monkeys. We went on a forest walk and encountered a snake slithering across the branches right over our heads. Fortunately, it was as excited to see us as we were to see it and it shot off into the woods. I also made the acquantaince of tse tse flies and my new friends, biting ants.

The next day, we drove down to Lake Albert where we boated around, viewed some of the hundreds of species of birds that winter in Uganda, and caught a quick glimpse of a hippopatamus before it darted underwater (the locals hunt hippos for food, perhaps explaining its shyness). We bought some tilapia from some local fishermen (whose boat was otherwise filled with illegally caught immature fish) and soaked up the sun. When we returned to the small village with the boat launch, we were greeted by a horde of small children attracted by the rare (though not unheard of) sight of a group of camera toting muzungu (foreigners, usually meaning white foreigners) in their midst. Because so few tourists visit southern Lake Albert, we were exciting to them in and of ourselves with none of the requests for candy and coins you see in more touristed areas. When I showed them pictures of themselves in my digital camera a horde of new kids streamed out from the local church service. The opportunity to look through binoculars made their day.

We loved the ride back to Kampala so much, we went out and bought our own car -- a Toyota Surf. Liz took driving lessons this summer in DC and can't wait to hit the road in Uganda.