Entebbe is so close to Kampala, yet it seems a world away. The drive is barely 30-40 km. It can take anywhere from a brief hour of travel time to a grueling four hours, depending on the infamous traffic of Kampala. Yesterday it only took me an hour. I began in the dirty, smog filled Kampala. I’ve been there for nearly a week now, enjoying luxurious meals and fast internet while trying to cope with the buzzing traffic of people, cars, bicycles, and motorcycles without losing my patience. My Nile-induced sinus infection has been lingering in the smog, red dirt filled air of the city, and my ears have been ringing with the sounds of shouting, honking horns, and screeching brakes. After two months in the field and two days on the Nile River, bustling, restaurant-rich Kampala was a thrill. By yesterday, however, this thrill had long faded, and I was ready for Entebbe.
I awoke from another sleepless night and lay awake under my mosquito net for a few extra minutes that morning. I listened to the clanging dishes in the restaurant downstairs and the singing of the hotel maids as they scrubbed the hallway floors. I could already hear horns honking and boda drivers shouting on the street below when I decided it was time to peel back my net and stumble out of my room and into the shower. The showerhead was not working, no surprise, so I tried to duck under the cold water rushing from the faucet to give my hair a quick wash. I threw on a skirt and a gray t-shirt and made my way down the steep staircase and into the bright sunlight of busy DeWinton road. Boda drivers immediately kicked on engines and flooded towards me, honking, slapping seats, and shouting, “Mzungu! Where to! Let us go!” Staring forward, I kept marching down the road and towards my usual café, where I spent the next several hours enjoying internet, reading, and sucking down my giant latte.
A few hours later, when I’d packed my bags (something I’ve become very good at) and went to the desk to check out, the hostess gave me a shocked look when I replied to her usual question of “where to next, Ah-lee-see-ah?” with Entebbe, then the USA! “You will not return?” She looked a bit hurt, so I reassured her that one day next year I would be back. I walked downstairs and stared up and down the street at the available cabs waiting, trying to place my bets on which would be the safest, fastest, and least likely to try to rip me off. I picked an old, beat up Toyota and asked the driver how much one should pay to go to Entebbe. This is my usual test to see just how reliable and honest the man is. He gave me my fair price, so we loaded my luggage and were off. Within minutes I knew I’d made the right choice. He had a sticker for a private Muslim school for girls on his dash (probably where his daughter goes) and reached below his seat to un-crumple a traditional Muslim cap and smooth it onto his head. I thought of a conversation with my friend Will about how Muslim drivers are the best score in Africa. Because Muslims are forbidden to drink, they are the least likely to drive you around while intoxicated. Score.
I tried to appreciate my last few minutes in Kampala, to feel nostalgic about leaving the city, but I could find nothing but relief to leave the noise, the smell, and the constant madness. An hour later, I felt like I was a world away in the tourist-rich, relaxed city of Entebbe.
Entebbe sits right on Lake Victoria, and is the location of the only major and international airport in Uganda. This makes it an odd mix of tourists-meet-traditional-lakeside-African-culture. I spent a bit of time on the other side of Lake Victoria when I was in Kenya, and found some similarities. The lakeshores are beach-like, with sand and pretty birds. Here in Entebbe the shores are littered with hotels, resorts, and small bars for tourists. Local teenagers fill the beaches and water in the afternoons, swimming, flirting, and making noise like teenagers do. The villages are rural African-like, with grass thatch and tin roofed houses, barefoot, half dressed children, and women in their layers of bright, mismatched fabrics. The main road into Entebbe is amazing for East Africa with its pavement and painted lines, but every side street is the typical red mud, rocky road that I have seen elsewhere. Like I said, an odd mix.
It is a good place to reflect though. Some people like to spend their first few days here, but I prefer to toss myself headfirst into Africa, then spend my last few days in this resting place reflecting on my adventures and experiences, examining whether I’ve changed at all (in more ways than those usual, extra few starch-induced pounds, that is).
I’m staying at the zoo. I read in my guidebook that you could stay at the very simple, yet safe hostel here for only $10 per night, and I loved the idea of sleeping at a zoo. I spent just about every weekend in college leading overnight tours of the Pittsburgh Zoo, and sleeping there became a familiar, comforting thing for me. So here I am, sleeping at a zoo in Uganda for my last few days in the country. What I am calling a zoo is officially known as the Wildlife Education Center, and is a world-renown wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center. Most of the animals at the zoo have been rescued from poachers or confiscated from the black-market pet trade. It’s amazingly clean and well maintained for an African park, and I feel good giving my hostel money to help maintain their work. My room is basic, but much larger than what I had in Kampala. The hostel is empty enough that they gave me a free upgrade to a private room with two twin beds, two windows, and a desk. Like my hotel in Kampala, there are communal bathrooms/showers in an outbuilding. Hot water is unavailable, but the showerheads actually work and the toilets flush. Best of all, I went to sleep with the sound of lions, and I awoke to the sound of screaming chimpanzees. When I stumbled out my door toward the bathroom I heard vervet monkeys in the trees next to my window and instantly felt at home. Yes, a good place for reflection indeed.
So here I am. My last full day in Africa, again. My flight leaves tomorrow evening, and all I have planned for today is writing, reading, sitting, eating, and reading more. The zoo is close to a fancy hotel with a lovely café on the porch, and I’ve been walking back and forth here for meals down a red clay road where two tiny girls in bare feet shout “howareyou! howareyou!” from shy, beaming smiles each time I walk past them. There is a beach within the zoo, and there is a chimpanzee exhibit where I plan to sit for at least an hour. So begins my day of reflection, and my final step of departure.
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