Jared and Dianne

We plunged head first into the New Taxi Stand in Kampala. It could compete with Mecca as the most hectic place in the world. Thousands of mini-vans with no more than 10cm between anyone of them were crammed into an area about the size of a football pitch. Carrying our huge backpacks with mattresses strapped onto the side made it almost impossible to navigate the continuously changing labyrinth of vehicles. It took at least 15 minutes to walk 50 metres. When we finally found the Jinja matatus they were right next to another gate. Even still it took the van ten minutes to reach the road. I felt sorry for the taxis in the middle which would need at least an hour to break free.

The trip from Kampala to Jinja should take around 1-2 hours depending on traffic in the capital. It took us nearly three. The highway had been washed away during the storms we had watched from the comfort of our hotel a week prior. This meant that all of the vehicles plying this major route needed to find another way. There were a series of worn, dirt tracks criss-crossing the country side to give access to the surrounding farm lands. Our driver took his pick, somehow after subjecting the van to much torture we were back on sealed road, past the damaged tarmac.

We hoped to organise our river activities in Jinja that day so after a quick lunch we went in search of Internet. We found an access point and took down the prices and details of the different rafting and kayaking companies. It was probably going to be easier to sought it out in person so we hired a boda-boad (motorbike) to take us to the falls. The first place we visited was Kayak The Nile, At $100 per day with instruction, equipment and lunch it was the maximum price I had allowed. After asking some satisfactorily answered questions we walked down to a campsite which sat right above the falls. Their kayaking and rafting prices were much cheaper but I had to wonder why the others cost so much more. A little skeptical we asked to speak to the organiser. He was not available until the next day. We decided that instead of rushing ourselves we would set aside the following day to select our operator. We set up our tent near the shore of the river just above the falls. It would have provided a great view of the Nile at its most powerful if our tent had windows. The falls are more a string of seven or more impressive rapids than a typical waterfall. They range from grade 5 to 6 and served to get me very excited about the next few days.

Our campsite was swarming with school kids on an excursion which broke the serenity no end. To escape we went for a walk to find a good dinner place. We ended up eating at the place where Prince William had stayed during his visit. It may sound impressive but it was actually a very basic campground that served a few good meals.

The next morning as we set of in search of a good deal for kayaking we were approached by a local guy. Without introducing himself he said "I was told there were two mzungus who wanted to learn to kayak". We assumed that to be us and asked what a five day itinerary might be. When he told us that we were going to learn to roll in the morning then do the rapids, pointing to the grade fives and sixes in front of us we told him we'd think about it. After going to all the offices for all the companies we discovered that our only real option was Kayak The Nile. We got free dorm accommodation thrown in at the Nile Explorers campsite when we signed up for three days, looking to extend to five. We had planned on doing a Nile Breweries tour that afternoon but it was touch and go with time so we ended up just milling around Jinja. On our way back to Bujigali falls that night we were stopped at a road block. There were dozens of people standing on the side of the road carrying Ugandan flags. A car emerged from a near by driveway. It was the president of Uganda. He was standing in an open roofed car waving proudly to his constituents. In return they jumped and screamed fanatically. It reminded me of footage from The Beatles tour of Australia, just on a smaller scale.

That night, in an attempt to avoid the ridiculous food prices inside the camp we found a little stall called The Bujugali Chapatti Company. Run by a young, budding kayaker named Shaffi. It served a variety of vegetarian, chapatti based wraps for genuine street prices. We ran a tab with him for the remainder of our time there and consumed nearly forty chapattis.

We met our instructor at nine in the morning. His name was Ibra. He was 6 foot something and more ripped than a hobos t-shirt. As a professionally qualified local who had been kayaking the same river for near ten years he instilled confidence. After introductions we kitted ourselves out with a skirt, boat, helmet, life jacket, paddle and water bottle. We spent the morning in the flat waters near the camp. There we learnt several different stroke styles and got used to the hyper sensitive movements of the boats. Following the basics we practiced T-Rescues, one of us tipped upside down and with assistance of the other persons boat we righted ourselves. It was simple enough but difficult to do properly. The idea was to use mostly our hips and just a little assistance from the hands. Whilst useful in its own right it was used as an introduction to eskimo rolls.

We were fed well for lunch with homemade sandwiches and a handful of assorted snacks. After letting that settle we were taken by truck to the base of the dam wall. We quickly recapped all of the morning lessons. Then we moved on to rolls. To begin with Ibra guided our paddles into the set up position for us. Di managed to get upright on the very first try and backed it up the second go. It wasn't so easy for me though and I took three attempts. Without paddle guiding it was a little more difficult, we got it sometimes and not at others. When we were tired of the flats and ready for the real thing we took off down the river. There were several grade one or two rapids between us and the camp. These were separated by flats where we could practice the basics again. The Nile is renowned for its high volume and thus large standing waves so even though we never exceeded a grade two there was still a 1m high wave to tackle. Di flipped on the final rapid and nearly ended up swimming down Bujugali Falls. Luckily Ibra came to the rescue, after taking her to the shore he drained her boat and then towed her back up the river. We both had an absolute ball in the afternoon and our improvement was bolstering. Before we stopped for the day I practiced my rolls again with varying levels of success.

For the second morning we learnt about ferry lines, a fancy way of saying how to cross rapids without being pulled too far down. At first we tried crossing water which didn't even rank, then we moved onto grade ones and eventually twos. It was harder than I expected as you need to lean in the counter-intuitive direction, down stream. We certainly didn't master the art that morning but were capable of crossing the grade twos on occasions.

Again in the afternoon we ran the dam section of the river. This time we incorporated our ferry lines into the run. I even tried a little wave surfing in the grade ones. This in turn provided numerous attempts at rolling in the rapids. Again it was touch and go if I got them or not. One time I rolled so intently that I rolled right over until I was back upside down.

By the time day three came around, seven hours a day of paddling had taken its toll on Di, she was exhausted.Until lunch time we re-ran the same trip as the afternoon of day two. This time we took on some slightly more tricky lines at the bottom but it was mostly for practice.

The afternoon was a big step up. We took a forty minute truck drive to the access point for a rapid called Superhole. Ibra didn't tell us but in order to get to Superhole we either had to portage or run a grade three rapid. As we approached the rapid we could see nothing but a big drop and jets of water being shot up from the turbulence below. Instead of heading straight down we pulled over at a rock near the top to scope it out. There was a massive drop with a pit at the bottom. The water was being thrown back in over and over again. I considered that some of the water may have been trapped there so long its long service leave was due. This pit was called the 'death pit' and I deemed its name to be accurate. Between the death pit and a rock riddled path to the left was a small section of green water which was the easiest route. Ibra pointed out a hydrangea that was going where I was meant to go. Di chickened out and I decided to run it. The rapid was a grade three but 50cm either side was a grade 5.

My nerves were racing when I came in. I avoided the two standing waves at the top and rode the step hydro-chute down the two metre drop. At the bottom I clipped the edge of the wave responsible for the death pit. Despite hitting right on line I was still greeted by a metre high foaming wave of white water. I was flipped immediately and managed to roll back up almost quickly. I threw my hands up with pride and was tipped again by the next wave for my sin. This time I couldn't roll. Ibra came and we did a T-Rescue. As I waited for Di I saw the hydrangea again. This time it was torn into dozens of pieces. It sat in an edie at the bottom of the falls surrounded by other vegetation which had suffered a similar fate. So much for a good line. Di portaged down but could not ferry across the rapid. She flipped and took off down the river. Ibra went after her and I was left to ferry across it by myself. Luckily I managed it ok. When we were all upright and back together we found ourselves at the wrong side of the river. We ferried across five rapids to get to Superhole. Di flipped twice on these. By the time we were finally where we wanted to be Di was fatigued. Whilst she waited on the bank I tried many times to surf the grade three wave belonging to the Superhole rapid. For the first few attempt I couldn't even get in. After much practice and lots of flips I managed to get enter the wave. Now the challenge was staying upright, it was many more flips later that I finally started to get the hang of it. Whilst I couldn't manage the somersaults that Ibra was pulling I was happy just to be in there. I had about three good rides but i was wearing out, I was no longer capable of rolling and we were running out of time. We paid a local to carry Di's boat back to the truck and headed home.

In the hope of Di recovering we took a break the next day. Except for using a bit of free internet and taking a trip into town to get out some money and to have a change of flavour we didn't do much at all. Night time was as horrible as usual. we were sharing the camp with a group of professional kayakers, the kind that make the movies. They were absolute cocks, throwing things, breaking glasses and carrying on like they owned the world.

When it was time to return to the water I was by myself. Di was more than happy to stay and read her book. Not only was she getting tired but the force of the rapids we were taking on were somewhat intimidating for her. In order to resuscitate my recently acquired skills we repeated the day three rapids. This time with a lot more aggression and success. In the morning I could ferry everything on the dam section without any drama and my rolls were coming off without fail. In the afternoon I even managed to get down the monster drop and past death pit without flipping. We ran Superhole from the top and took off from where we finished the last time we were there. Being the only student in the class and having worked so hard already I wore out very quickly. That being said I still managed to get a few surfs in, at the mercy of the wave. On the other hand my rolls were deteriorating rapidly.

I was very happy with what I had learnt over the four days I had been instructed but for the final day I just wanted to run some big waves and drops. With that in mind Ibra took me to some distant rapids. Usually run as the second day of a kayaking trip. We carried our kayaks down a steep face and dropped them into a pool at the bottom. I had only a 2 by 1 metre pool to warm up in. We had just portaged past a massive grade six and began at the bottom. Within two strokes I found myself in a long series of big waves which made up a grade three rapid. The tiniest of pools at the bottom fed straight into a long grade two and then calm. I put it down to freshness that I got through this upright. The remainder of the trip was made up of some killer grade threes and fours. Some of which extended for over 100m. The names of some included Vengeance, Hair Of The Dog and Kula Shaker. I can't remember which was which but i distinctly recall running a big grade four. It began with some monstrous 2 metre waves. I managed to pass through these and avoid the most horrendous looking pit/whirlpool. Nearing the bottom of the rapid I passed Ibra who was caught in a wave. As I was watching him I got caught in another wave myself. I was flipped, I waited for some calm water to right myself but it never came. Out of patience and out of air I rolled where I was only to find myself exactly where I had gone over, still in the wave. I didn't have long to take in the scenery before I was thrown back down into the pit. This time I was forced to pull my skirt. Ibra came and grabbed me and my boat. With no chance to get back in I was forced to swim the next 150+ metres of rapids until we hit the pool at the bottom. fortunately I had fallen at the last big wave but I was disappointed to miss out on kayaking the rest.

I had conquered nearly all the rapids of the day and was feeling mighty proud of myself when we reached the heralded Nile Special. A grade 3-4 wave which brings the world's elite for an annual freestyle competition. I was expecting just one wave with some meager rapids behind but was greeted by an entire train of hormone taking waves. That said I was able to get through without much difficulty and it was certainly easier than some of the other rapids. The challenge was to actually get in and surf the wave. Rather than go headlong into such an adventure I decided to take some lunch. My arms were like jelly from five days of paddling and my rolling had declined into a pitiful state once again. I watched Ibra and a couple of safety kayakers flip and spin on the wave. It was getting on a bit and I readied myself. The run into the wave was treacherous enough without having to ferry in and then turn around (or go down backwards). I didn't even get close. I tried half heartedly to roll but it was all over. We paddled to our waiting truck via the Hairy Lemon Island. Determined to go out on a positive note I practiced my previously perfected rolls in the final pool. To my utter frustration and Ibra's bewilderment I couldn't get up. I took my boat to the edge and drained it. At least forty litres of water flowed from my already 14kg boat. The next time I tried I rolled five times in a row, almost effortlessly. It was a perfect day to finish a great time at the Nile. Whilst it hadn't been cultural it had been fun.

After collecting Di and our bags from the camp we organised the truck to take us into town. Before we said our final good byes i ran to grab a couple of chapattis for the road. We had become close to Shaffi over the duration of our stay and he gave us an avocado as a farewell present. It was funny but touching. He doesn't have much money compared to me and what he does have he works 14 hours a day to earn. To give any sort of present to a wealthy foreigner is a big deal. The bus dropped us at the taxi stand from where we caught the last matatu to Mbale.

The only difference between the trip from Kampala to Masindi and the reverse direction was the order of events. Five hours of potholes and one hour of speedbumps instead of vice-versa. Di and I told ourselves we had to look for a cheap room this time due to a small hike in fees at the old favourite. It wasn't until we were pulling into town that I said "Let's be honest, we're going back to the Astoria". Di laughed, she'd been thinking the same thing.

Perhaps in the hope of recreating ou last stay in Kampala we hired another DVD player and a few movies. We also bought jelly crystals again and some soft drinks. That night we had a great night in and retired relatively early. I was woken from sleep by a drunk couple passing through the corridor. Their door closed and I tried to get back to sleep. I thought I heard a slapping sound but then nothing more came of it. I was just begining to nod off when I heard the noise again followed by a sound of anguish. I asked Di what she though it, she assumed they were just rough lovers. I waited a bit but the sounds kept coming. I went down to get the staff, they dismissed me. So blarze were they that I assumed they were regulars. A rich guy with a night's entertainment. I went back to be and slept. Around an hour later the noises started up again but the distress was evident this time. Street worker or not this was now abuse. I went down stairs to get the guard to help. He was asleep in his chair, twelve gauge unattended beside him. I woke him up but he wouldn't help. Instead I got the desk attendent to accompany me. On my way down I had seen the guy involved. A solid, skin headed man of aryian stock. Desperate for some sort of equaliser I wrapt my belt around my knuckles, buckle out. I told Di to lock herself in the room. The desk attendant wanted to wait for assistance by the cries from behind the door couldn't wait. I knew the police would take forever to come, if they did at all. I called out "Mr? Sir? Could you please come out here for a minute." The noises behind the door stopped. I called him again, then threatened to call the police. The woman had a shiny swollen face but did not look as bad as I expected. She told us to go away and shut the door. It was a surprise to me but I insisted the guy come outside. She opened the door, he was mostly disrobed and she had his pants to stop him running away. His eyes flashed down to my hands and he started talking.

He told me that he was glad we had come because he'd been trying to leave but that his girlfriend (a Kenyan) would not let him. I told him that I wasn't interested. I wanted to know what the sounds had been. She blurted out, "He's been beating me. OK." Obviously it wasn't OK and I said that I should call the cops. The guy was surprisingly resigned to the idea and said that if I must then that was OK. I got my phone from the room when the hotel attendant said that they would just take a bribe and leave. He was right and I was stumped. I stated without a doubt that this was not the first time. They both said that it was not, but that it was the worst time. I announced that that was preciseley my concern. Each time these incidents occured they would be more and more severe. It was disgusting to hear him complain that she had called him names or that she could defend herself. I thought about if it was some of my friends in the situation and not me, he would have been a bloody mess on the floor. I decided to act as a mediator offereing less than professional counselling, trying to convince the two to seperate. She swore that nxt time something happened it would be over but most importantly, for the now they had calmed down. There would be no more violence for the night. I went to bed horrified. There was nothing I could do to stop it happening again. I had even heard him confess that it was likely. I went back to Di and we fell asleep.

I had hoped to fill in some more job applications via the Internet the next day but chronic power outages in the internet cafes meant that I achieved very little. Instead Di and I kicked back (like we had been working hard and needed a break.)

According to the guide book the road to Masindi was less than four hours but a man on the Posta Bus told us, to the amusement of all the passengers on board, that we had one hour of bumps and 5 hours of potholes between us and our stopover. He was uncannily accurate so it was with great relief that we piled off the bus when we did.

We had lunch in a tourist cafe in the hope of finding a hitch into the national park. Instead we just found food and soda. We caught the last matatu of the day to a town called Bulisa. Only 100km on the map it took over four hours to get there. Needless to say it was well and truly dark when we disembarked from the fourteen seater mini-van which until our exit had contained 27 souls.

An albino that sat near us had phoned ahead to make sure that some boda-bodas where there to meet us. After negotiating what we though was a good price we jumped on the back. My bike was carrying the driver, me, both Di's and my large packs and my day bag. With only a faint headlight we rode down the dirt road to Murchison Falls National Park by guidance of the moon. We nearly tipped when we hit some thick sand and I let out a half sarcastic half serious phew. The driver laughed and said no problem. The next time this happened we were doing nearly 40 km/h I gasped. The driver asked if it was my first time on a bike. I explained that although I had only been a passenger for the last few years I started riding when I was six years old. I resisted asking him if it was his first time on a bike.

We arrived at the park gates and were devastated to find that they were not marked on our map. They were several kilometres from where we wanted to go. To triple our woes it meant we had to pay unanticipated park fees for the night as well as the boda-boda entry fees, the drivers' entries and the drivers to take us the extra distance. The ATM had been malfunctioning in Masindi so our funds were low enough without this. We tried to coax the ranger into letting us camp outside the gates but he wouldn't allow it. With not many options we decided to wing it. Over sixteen hours after departing from Kampala we arrived at the Red-Chilli Camp. Food was finished for the night so Di asked the barman to boil some water for us. While it was on the cooker I set up the tent and Di set up the plates. We had some left over noodles from Selous so we ate them with the water. A couple of American guys took pity on our disheveled state and asked if we would like to join them for a safari drive in the morning. It was a very tempting offer but as they were leaving through another gate, it meant that we would have to miss the boat ride up to the falls.

Di ate a small breakfast but I refrained for the sake of saving our precious cash reserves. We walked down to the park headquarters and paid our for entry fees for the previous night. We also bought two tickets for the launch ride. We arrived at the dock a bit earlier and watched the workers spill litres of fuel into the protected river. The boat we used was a double decker launch. There was room for dozens of people on board but there were 4 spare seats to every taken one. On the way up the river the provided guide pointed out many birds that we had already seen as well as several species of antelope. Near the falls was crock territory but the dominant animal was the hippo. They filled the waters in their hundreds. Unlike the numerous times we have seen them in the past these ones stood up regularly displaying the entirety of their powerful bulk. The falls themselves were lack luster in my opinion. Apparently the most powerful falls in Africa or Uganda (I can't remember) they were more like a big hydro-chute than a waterfall. The boat didn't get very close to the base of them so in order to see them properly we would have had to pay another $10 to walk to the top and catch the afternoon launch back to camp. Even if we thought it was good value our cash situation would not allow it.

Back at camp our bags were waiting where we left them. I asked everywhere for a ride out of the park but no one was leaving until the following day. It was crunch time. We had just enough money on hand to pay for another set of park and camping fees and nothing else thus relying on a hitch to get away. Alternatively or we could safely get back to Masindi using public transport that day but waste the money we had and endure the reverse of the day before. We chose to play it safe, we waited by the side of the road hoping to grab a ride but no one leaves the park in the afternoon. We contracted a motorbike owned by a park staff member which meant we avoided the park fees. Somehow we managed to fit the driver, Di, me, two bulging backpacks and two day packs onto the one bike. The ride to Bulisa was a test of endurance. The exhaust also claimed the sole of Di's shoe. Even the Vietnamese would have been impressed with our effort.

As soon as we had unpacked the bike a matatu arrived but it was bound for Tororo not Masindi. I was doing some calculations and I figured that we may have just been able to visit the chimpanzees on our current cash, assuming that they were the listed $10 per person. On this basis we both skipped lunch.

We propped ourselves against a shaded wall and waited for the matatu that would never come. The one we had let pass was the last for the day. We tried hitching for 3 hours but no rides were forthcoming. Not that no one was willing to help, it was just that no one was going in our direction. We were just about to give up for the night when a truck pulled over. Bound for Masindi but overnighting in Biso. Fortune was serving us well as Biso is the nearest town to the Budongo Forest where we hoped to track the chimps. We took the cabin seats and immediately got engrossed in conversation with the driver and his colleague. Like so many people in Africa they seemed to think that everything I said was a joke even when I was being serious so we all had some good laughs at my expense.

Night had truly set in by the time our truck's worn out brakes brought our hitch to an end. Still hoping to make the chimps without having to return to Masindi we asked directions to the police station. There, under the watchful eye of Biso's finest we set up our tent in the compound. For some reason the the boys (and girl) in blue thought our tent too pitiful and offered us to stay in the cottage. We could never offend Big Agnes (our tent) like that so we politely declined. Despite our obvious intentions to conserve money some locals who looked no more filthy than ourselves tried to beg. We turned them away empty handed and went to bed with empty stomaches. I listened with horror to the guano raining down on Big Agnes from the overhead tree.

We emerged from the tent in the blue light of dawn. The policemen were doing the same and the personable female officer offered us some tea. We were more interested in the first matatu of the day which had just pulled into town. One of the more junior officers walked us over, guaranteeing us a seat in the already axle scraping Toyota. It was no more than 10 kilometres to the forest entrance where we were greeted by a rather eccentric Australian. We asked him if it was the place for chimp tracking. He responded by telling us in a mix of standard and cryptic English that it might be, there was lots of things to do in the forest and then completed his jumbled sentence by saying it was possible. The slightly less burdened Hi-Ace drove off and a jovial looking ranger walked up. The crazy, I'm guessing bird-watcher, Aussie took it upon himself to talk for us. He knew the ranger by name so he'd obviously been there for a while. The short and long of the response was that we couldn't see the chimps. The venture had ceased 18 months ago as the habituation of the animals had led to fearless behavior and ultimately crop raiding. A problem for the farmers and a danger for the chimps. After all that effort we had been thwarted. With nothing to do we waited for the next ride to town.

The first thing we did was to try and arrange some cash. It was a Monday so the ATM had been brought to a fully functional state. We had money again. No words needed to be spoken to agree on our next stop. The nearest restaurant was the obvious choice. I hadn't eaten for over 40 hours so like shopping on an empty stomache I ordered just about everything on the menu. Well not really but you can be sure I wasn't hungry when I paid the bill.

We called the number of a guy who runs a community based chimp tracking project. He came to meet us with no reason. The project wasn't ready yet. The chimps hadn't been habituated and the forest area wasn't fully developed. This left us with one option. We organised for a boda-boda to take us back into the National Park (via a closer gate) and onward to Kaninyo Pabidi. This meant that we needed to extend our park fees but the driver, to our benefit refused to pay for his.

The ride through the forest was refreshing. The greenery sapped heat from the ambient air, bringing the temperature down a few notches. As the wind gushed over my unprotected head I gazed around content. The light that shone through the branches had a green tinge, softening the usually harsh African landscape. We passed velvet monkeys, baboons and some stunning birds we were to later find our are called Abyssinian Hornbills. We rolled up to an elegantly crafted headquarters where a ranger met us. It was lunch time so we were asked to wait for an hour. They must have eaten quickly because three quarters of an hour later we set off to find the chimps. The trackers radioed their position but there was clearly some communication errors as we crossed our own tracks many times. The forest was divided into a grid pattern with very few identifiable landmarks for navigational purpose so we couldn't hold it against our otherwise agreeable ranger. Half an hour later we found the trackers right back near where we had started. They were sitting down on the path without even feigning interest. They had seen the chimps here but had since ceased tracking them. So we took over their duties, scouring the local area for indicators of the primates' presence. I was starting to worry that we would never see them when another 30 minutes passed by. I thought our ranger was getting ready to give up when a piercing and unmistakable shriek shook the forest to life. It was followed by another and then another. Soon our ears were ringing with the chimps' vocals. To add to the bush orchestra they started up the drums. Beating hollow logs and the bases of the trees they sent forth the trembles of deep bass. In just thirty seconds the forest had transformed. The sounds were all around me and my heart started racing.

We tracked them by their cries and made first contact in 5 minutes. They were walking along the ground in single file. We stood back and watched them from a distance to preserve trust. One by one they filed off into separate trees to begin feeding. Through dense foliage we saw a few chowing down on all varieties of green. We continued on for a better view and found it in the form of a one eyed chimp whose name escapes me. As if to put on a show he swung down low and leisurely across the path. His belly, swollen from a pure vegetarian diet distended in front of him. His big ears, hairy face and beer gut reminded me of Homer Simpson and other such loafy T.V characters. However his confidence when traversing the trees was unparalleled. A few of his comrades came to join the party whilst we stood watching. It was absolutely magical. As we looked on aghast some intern students studying the chimps barged through the trees like kings of the jungle, unsurprisingly the objects of our fascination scattered away into the distance.

We distanced ourselves from the research students and found another group of chimps. These ones were a little higher in the branches but clearly visible. I couldn't believe how quickly the allotted hour expired. On the way back to the headquarters our guide detoured via another part of the forest to show us some different trees including strangler figs and (rich) mahogany.

The clouds were closing in by the time we straddled the bike. We hoped to beat the rain to Masindi but two minutes later we found ourselves riding through a light downpour. We found a cheap hotel in town. The registration book indicated that we were the first people to stay there in 4 months

The last night in Bunyoni we had a few quiet beverages but it wasn't because of them that I woke up sick in the morning. For some reason it's always bus days when I get crook. Regardless of my comfort we pushed on. We caught a shared taxi to Kabale where we transferred to a bus bound for Kampala. There were no spare seats so we had to stand with our bags for over half of the six hour trip.

The bus arrived in a grubby, bustling part of the city. We were disorientated and somewhat nervous for our possessions so without much though we walked towards the built up district near by. We stopped in at a hotel called the Astoria. It was double what we'd usually spend but the rooms were huge as was the bed but the deal sealer was the fridge. I could finally make jelly (jello for Americans).

We glued ourselves to the precious tv for a news report. When it was over we returned to the streets. The sun had sunk but the streets remained as full as before. We ate dinner in a little greasy food joint and went to Shoprite. We were in heaven, it wasn't quite up to scratch of a supermarket back home but there were no complaints from our corner, they even had jelly crystals. I was ready to spend the night there but closing time came around so we muscled our way back to the comfort of our hotel.

The main reason we had come to Kampala was that I needed some reliable internet to punch out a resume and get started on some job applications. As such I had an uninspiring day in front of the computer trying to promote myself as well as I could. All the time knowing that it was going to be especially hard when I couldn't make any interviews. The only break came for lunch. When I had had enough for the day the hundreds of dvd pirate joints around the place led to us hiring a dvd player and a few movies. We stayed up until the wee hours of the morning watching a range of shitty and quality productions.

Of course the late night meant a late morning, this, in coalition with an enduring power failure meant it wasn't until the afternoon that I sent off my first application. Overwhelming heat inside the cafe and sporadic power forced me from my post. I hadn't achieved as much as I wanted in the two days spent in Kampala but I didn't want to stick around too long. If nothing else we had some good food (especially jelly), watched our second (and subsequent) movie since leaving home four months earlier and I had sent off my most important application.

Joseph drove us to the bus in the morning. Obviously we were late because he drove like a man possessed. We screamed in beside the bus and annoyed a lot of people as we showered them with muddy puddle water. We were rushed onto the bus without a chance to say a proper goodbye.

The bus conductor asked us for a large sum of money relative to the distance we were traveling so we refused. He continued to argue that it was the right price but some of the other passengers were laughing. When we asked them if he was charging too much they told us he was. He gave up on us and started dishing out tickets to the other passengers but because of the furor we had caused many of them were skeptical and insisted that they would only pay at the ticket office. In the end we coughed up the fee on the basis that we took his name so we could get some money back at the office in Kabale. When we arrived we went straight to the office and asked how much for a ticket to Kisoro, it was exactly what we had paid. We felt quite bad for the man as we had virtually called him a liar but in reality he was one of the few people who had offered us the right price off the bat.

We stopped in for breakfast at a local restaurant. After paying I told Di I was going to look for a waterproof jacket. My main objective was actually to pick up some chocolate on the sly for Easter. I bought three small blocks from a local store and to give truth to my alibi I went in search of some rain gear. I went to the market and through dozens of shops but in a town were it rains every day no one had a rain coat.

I went back and collected Di who was waiting at the restaurant. We caught a shared taxi out to Lake Bunyoni, the driver dropped us at a place called the Overlanders but it was one of those horrific backpacker haunts pumping out shitty music until all hours whilst overcharging on food and drinks to the people who never leave the compound. We walked around the corner and found a beautiful place which offered affordable camping. Like most guest houses in the area it had a perfectly manicured lawn area, basic facilities and lake frontage complete with diving board and sun baking platform. After pitching the tent and lapping up our surroundings we realised lunch time had snuck up on us. I went in search of some cheap lunch and a local pointed out a little dingy restaurant to me. It was precooked food; beans, matoke, potatoes and eel stew. One massive bowl was 500 shillings, about 30 cents. It tasted ok but the monotony was overwhelming so the last few mouthfuls were a struggle. Di opted to eat chips instead so we sat on the deck of the hotel restaurant looking out to the lake beyond and waited two hours for the chips and guacamole to be delivered.

In the afternoon the beckoning of the kids became too much so I joined them for a swim. The water temperature was as breathtaking as the scenery but it was warm enough to adjust to. When the kids saw Di pull out the video camera they put on a little show of singing and dancing just so they could watch it back. They were so eager to perform that it was hard to get away from them when we were ready to leave. The hotel provided some water for a rejuvenating hot shower. Finally we sat in a little stilted rotunda perched over the water, drinking beers and laughing at the tourists in dugout canoes doing circles until the sun went down. We had dinner overlooking the lake. It took another two hours to prepare so we made a point of ordering well in advance for future meals.

The next morning we walked to the main boat dock where we picked up a dugout that we had organised to hire the day before. We took off with confidence but pretty soon we were looking like the people we had been laughing at. We wanted to make our way to an island for lunch but with the lack of a map and the circles we kept allowing our boat to turn it was no easy task. It's not that I am unfamiliar with paddling, whilst I am no expert I am perfectly capable of rowing and ruddering an ordinary canoe. The dugouts have a mind of their own, I imagine their behavior is a tribute to the fact that they are no more than hollow tree trunks. We tried so many ways to correct the boat but to my absolute frustration nothing seemed to work. Despite all the spinning we were gradually leaving our camp behind. We stopped in to ask directions from a local fisherman and he pointed to a place out of sight. Change of plans, we opted to head to an island that we had passed by earlier. Before we left, the fisherman insisted that he explain in almost incomprehensible English how to fish and then invited us back to his house. We had no idea where his house was or even if we were capable of rowing their so we regretfully reclined. We had lunch on Nature's Prime Island. This time we waited for an hour for the food and as long for the change. When we finally got away we both agreed that we needed more practice so we made for Overlanders. We got there in good time without doing a single corkscrew. After grabbing a beer from the bar we realised that we had dropped a small sum off money. We chose to check back at the lunch spot before returning the boat. Whilst we never retrieved the cash we did get plenty of practice at steering the canoe.

We ate dinner at our restaurant as the staff had gone out of their way to heat up the oven so they could make Di a pizza. We watched a football match on T.V. until halftime when we walked to the Overlanders. They were the only place showing the Everton vs. Westham match and as it was a crucial game so we really wanted to watch it. For the remainder of the evening we sat around the idiot box with the local football aficionados only to watch a draw. Still it got my heart racing and I don't get to watch soccer much in Australia so it wasn't all bad.

My body clock woke me several times during the night but each time Di seemed a little to restless for me to move. Finally at about five I took an opening. I pulled the chocolate from its hiding place and laid them gently on the end of Di's sleeping bag. At about 6:30 I woke again, this time I announced to Di that "The Easter Bunny has been". She sat up as quick as a cobra strike and polished off the first two bars in about the same amount of time. I couldn't believe that Di had forgotten Easter. This special day marked not only the anniversary of Jesus' ressurection but also heralded the launch of our Lake Bunyoni tour. We hired a dugout from the hotel and packed all the gear we needed for the next three days into one bag. The rain kept us at bay for a good while but it began to dwindle in the late morning so we set off in light drizzle. Thanks to our developed skills we made a reasonably straight line for the mouth of the inlet we had been residing in. We passed another mzungu a fair way out and also a motorboat full of gawking, head-shaking tourists. Some friendly fisherman returning with the morning's catch gave us some brief instructions on how to get to our destination, Bushara Island. When we rounded the large land mass that was blocking a majority of the lake we could see what we hoped was Bushara Island just across a short, open straight. We took on a little water from the waves during the crossing but nothing serious. We drew up to a vacant pier but the attached sign insisted we circumnavigate the island until we found the Pelican landing. On our way around we saw some girls on a nature walk and they confirmed that we were indeed at Bushara. We found the public landing point and some helpful staff lodged our vessel in the reeds to stop it being taken by the wind.

We made our way to the reception where we paid our western priced camp fees. It was a long trudge to the designated camping zone and we weren't the only ones there. Two gigantic tents, larger than the average African house, stood proudly in the best locales. We set up between the two monstrosities, if nothing else they would make good wind blocks. When we returned to the main communal area a local orphanage performed a song and dance show whilst we waited for our pre-ordered food. The meals were absolutely delicious, among the best we'd had in Africa. After lunch we took some borrowed, dodgey looking badminton racquets to the volleyball net for some sporting action. It wasn't such a success story though as the shuttlecock passed through the strings as often as it went over the net. In the closing hours of daylight we took a walk around the perimeter of the island. The path was covered by a canopy of trees but we never lost sight of the lapping waters. The calls of birds were the only noises we heard on the walk. Along the way we saw a semi-beached, half-completed dugout a few metres from the path. The number of coin-sized wood chips sitting on the surrounding grass gave an indicator of how long a single boat must take to construct.

At night we met some former Ugandan come Rwandan expats who we chatted with about a whole range of topics. It turned out they were the ones sleeping in the the biggest tent. A little embarrassed I asked if they had heard us joking about it when we arrived. They had but they were unphased, quite believably they were used to it.

After breakfast we walked down to the pier with the bag. Where our boat had been there was now nothing. A little stumped we said nothing for a while. When we did ask around no one knew anything. I went back to reception but they knew nothing either. Apparently the two guys who saw us dock had been found and sent out in search of our canoe. It was distinguishable by it being one of the only unmarked dugouts on Bunyoni. Someone told us that it had probably blown away but unless someone had put it in harms way, that was virtually impossible. Someone else told us that lost boats usually take 2-4 weeks to show up. Against recommendation we decided to sit around for a while just in case it was found. To replace it was going to cost 300,000 Ugandan Shillings so we were over the moon when two nail biting hours later it was delivered safely to our hands. We had been watching the search party return with a boat from a small village on the lake's shore but it wasn't until they were within a few metres that we could positively identify it. Whilst onlookers suggested it had been taken by the wind it was pretty obvious that after an Easter lunch some tight ass had decided to steal our boat rather than pay the 200 shilling passenger fee. Regardless of the circumstances we were both very happy and gave an uncharacteristically high tip.

The delay had not infringed on our plan to reach Byoona Amagara, Itambira Island that night. We surprised ourselves by completing the paddle in just over an hour. Along the way we proudly stream lined past some mzungus we had spoken to earlier that had been adamant their boat was broken. We also passed a primary school on one of the islands but the children were obviously locked away as they didn't rush down to the shore to greet us. Like the pier at Bushara, Byoona Amagara had no chain to lock up our boat but we got an assurance from a staff member that our boat would be there in the morning.

The change of facilities from Bushara was an indicator of the change of clientèle. The Lazer sail boat had been swapped for a book exchange and the volleyball net for a mini-cinema. When we arrived the place was deserted so we sat on the deck and ate what was hands down the best vegetarian meal of my life. As the day drew on the overlander groups arrived in bulk and the place soon became over run with girls in mini-skirts and people getting pissed and noisily airing their views on anything they could think of. It's funny, a couple of times I have been traveling with a group of friends and we would have loved it but with my girlfriend in Africa I couldn't bare to be there. I grabbed a puzzle book off the shelf and we went down to the water front to escape it all. It was a far cry from the bar area upstairs as we chatted away with a German family who came down for a swim.

We had a long sleep as we used the tent for refuge. Before the other tourists arose with pounding headaches we ate and ran. We wanted to get the boat back before it started raining. The trip was just shorter than the two previous days combined so our conservative estimate was just over three hours. It actually took us just over 1. There were two of us in the boat but it was comforting that we were at least quicker than the locals going it solo.

When we got back I relayed the story of the lost boat to the super friendly manager. He gave me the impression that he wouldn't have minded too much, as long as it showed up in the long-run. Di and I were in no rush to leave the lake so I had another swim before we settled down for some cards. In the midst of a round of two-handed five hundred my attention was drawn to some footsteps coming down the path to where we sat. The smiling face of Miguel (from the Tanzanian safari) appeared from above the roof line. We put the cads down and caught up on everything that had passed between our rushed farewell and the present. We were happy to hear that the rest of his safari had gone well. At Miguels suggestion we paced up a hill behind our hotel to catch some good lake views before the threatening skies opened up.