Storage?

I crawled out of bed bleary eyed: it had been a good night’s sleep. My bedroom door, however, opened in to a far more sinister atmosphere- one of fear. There was a tension in the air that could be cut with the sharp edge of a Dinka spear. Out of the darkness of the room opposite emerged the two condemned, heads low, faces contorted in anxiety. There was clearly no amount of silver or gold to keep this pair from the gallows pole. Death row: not a pleasant place to be. This, at least, is what sprung to my mind emerging from a swirling world of dreams filled with leopard, lion and eland dancing together under the yellow African moon. The faces came into focus- it was John and Jane, Heidi’s parents, and I realised they were not about to meet the hangman at all, just have the adventure of a lifetime to see the critically endangered Mountain Gorillas of the Bwindi Impenetrable forest. And there emerges the reason for the apprehension- Impenetrable. At this point we hadn’t even reminded them that in the mid-90’s a group of tourists were taken by fugitive Interahamwe from the Rwandan genocide and brutally murdered. But this was all history, and in a few hours time they were about to face the nearly mythic beasts in the wild, and the anxiety would all be worth it.

When Speke and Grant first hacked through the jungle and found themselves in the then Buganda they were in for a surprise. Unlike the independent and aggressive tribes of the slavery ravaged plains of what is now central Tanzania and the largely untouched but disordered hunter gatherers of the Upper Nile they stumbled into a civilisation few could have perceived possible amidst such savagery. An organised kingdom ruled by Mutesa with an iron fist. They were dressed in togas similar to those of ancient Rome, they farmed the land, held court in a palace on a hill and worshiped their gods and ancestors. They also massacred huge numbers of their community in human sacrifice and Mutesa pranced around on his tip toes mimicking the walk of a lion considered to make him appear more regal. Bizarrely (in my book) one of the first gifts to this sophisticated but blood thirsty king was a rifle, which was instantly tested on an innocent villager from the palace walls. Equally interesting was the kingdom next door ruled by a king with a penchant for larger women. He had a number of beautiful girls force fed full fat milk through straws until they were so big they could not stand and he kept them in huts of their own for his pleasure. Speke took detailed measurements of these women which was frowned upon in the Victorian society of England. (for more detailed history and a very good read, pick up ‘The White Nile’ by Alan Moorehead- awesome)

So, why all this about Uganda? Well, Heidi’s parents came to visit us in Africa and rather than a trip to Juba, which is nice and all but has very little to do in it, we decided to all meet in Entebbe and take it from there. The trip was sweet as a sugared date from the Republic of Sudan (that’s the ‘new’ name for the northern half of Sudan, to differentiate it from the Republic of South Sudan, in the south surprisingly). After sating our desire for ground coffee, fresh milk, burgers and pizza (and going to bed so swollen we wished we hadn’t) we were off into the Pearl of Africa (Winston Churchill, not me). As Ben, our guide for the fortnight, drove steadily through the crowded, noisy and bustling streets of Kampala I wished I hadn’t had that second cup of Joe just before leaving and through the deafening cry of my stretching bladder I heard Heidi and her parents catching up on the events of Reigate and gossip from Juba, or vice versa. Driving through such a buzzing city with cars and people everywhere, muddy roads backed up with minibuses missing so many parts you wouldn’t be surprised to see legs poking through the bottom and the passengers carrying the metal frame like the Flintstones, and carts wheeling through the potholed pavements with piles of passion fruit, pineapples, and plantains, and boda bodas (motorbike taxis named after a corruption of the word border-borders when they carried travellers between the no-man’s-land of, I think, Kenya and Uganda) with families of four perched on the back, or carrying crates of chickens, car windscreens or mattresses piled higher than the surrounding lorries I was reminded just how small Juba really is, and how quiet in comparison, and again, how I really really should not have had that cup of coffee; I was just deciding whether or not to cut myself open with the Leatherman knife given by Harri and Christian for Christmas to relieve the pressure, or just urinate out of the window into the crowds (never good in any circumstance, and certainly not in front of the in-laws) when we swung into a petrol station and I felt that relief that must truly be a briefest glimpse of heaven.

Feeling better, the drive to Murchison’s falls (named by Samuel Baker after the then president of the Royal Geographical Society- yes, there may be a few historical references in this piece) was a very pleasant affair and it was great to spend time catching up with John and Jane. A quick rhino trek later (the only rhino in Uganda are kept under 24 hour watch by guards to ensure their safety after they were wiped out during the Amin years along with a large number of other animals that ended up in the bellies of starving families and un-paid and hungry soldiers) and we were pulling into our guest house; the adventure was afoot.

Beautiful colours

An elephant scrap

Man and nature side by side

A cry of the wild

Vultures feast

Crossing the Nile

After marvelling at the mighty Nile compressed through a 7 meter gap at the falls itself, and boating past the crocodiles that wait at the bottom for the dazed fish to arrive in the frothy melee we were off to Kabale Forest and chimpanzee trekking. The car danced down steep muddy back roads as the ‘real’ Uganda slide by us, hut by hut, village by village and then tea plantation by tea plantation, the iridescent green of the fresh tips glowing in the dying light. The highlight there for Heidi and me was three nights in a tree house in the rainforest surrounded by Colobus monkeys swinging in the trees and the rousing cry of the Habada Ibis hidden on the branches. From here we ventured down Queen Elizabeth National Park. Despite day drives with very little game, we saw all the animals we needed in the evenings in front of the huge open log fire with a glass of wine and Safari Top Trumps (made in England!). The ‘when we nearly died’ story comes from the charge of a huge (and very tasty looking) Giant Forest Hog that was startled by our footsteps (and possibly disturbed by my bacon burps, another overindulgence from the months of abstinence in Juba) while on a walking safari. As it disappeared in to the bush a few centimetres behind Heidi we all took out our animal tick-lists for this rarely sighted beast, calmly marked it off and strolled on.

Walking to the top of Murchison's Falls

Murchison's Falls

Loading vehicles

The tree house

Some birding in the swamp

James keeping an eye out for monkeys from the tree house

Beer run

Scene of the hog charge

Gorillas in the mist

Before the final relax on Lake Bunyoni was the trip climax, and there we return to the opening paragraph: the Gorillas. Nearly wiped out by disease, war and a diminishing habitat Uganda, Rwanda and the DRC are the last home of the Mountain species, even more endangered than the Lowland relatives that dwell in Central Africa. But despite the nerves the trek was a huge success. Heidi and I ventured into the Impenetrable Forest on a trek of our own to its famous waterfall while Heidi’s parents headed into the denser bush for the Silver-backed beast, and were not disappointed. It was smiles all round in the evening as the mists rose from the mountains, the sun dropped into the distance and the cry of children chasing their family cattle back into the kraal for the night sounded in the birdsong filled evening air. A trip to remember, and a well needed break from Juba!

John ready for the jungle trek

Guards escorting us into the forest

Relaxing after the trek

Mastering the technique of paddling in a dugout canoe

And why is it called ‘storage’? This is a Luganda word (the local tribal language spoken in Kampala) asked when meeting a friend for the first time in the morning. It is a corruption of the English word ‘stories?’ as a way of asking for an update after the night. So Omakwano (my friends)- storage?