Kampala, Uganda

Two weeks on and the end of the trip looms large. I have yet to calculate the number of kilometres travelled (for the next post) but we have completed what we set out to do and have enjoyed the time bumbling about the continent. It’s raining now as I have a coffee in a beautiful garden overlooking Lake Victoria, filled with the sounds and sights of dozens of tropical birds. But back a few days …

After Nairobi, we opted for an Uber + driver to get us to Naivasha, a lake town in the Great Rift Valley. I remember the route from decades ago, only improved slightly with the rerouting of the heavy trucks, and the expansive views of the valley as the car comes round a corner at the top of the escarpment and the land drops away below. Still awe-inspiring. The town itself is of limited interest, but I’d found a comfortable little guest house from where we could start a number of the ‘tours’ on offer - a boat trip on the lake to see animals and birds, and a drive into the Hell’s Gate National Park - another experience of the new Kenyan mass data gathering system for national sites which is intrusive, unnecessary in its complexity, and a guaranteed way to deter the tourists they want to visit. 

  

 

From there it was a series of matatu trips to Eldoret and onwards to the Kenya/Uganda border, and then on to Tororo on the UG side the next day. The Kenyan vehicles, named ‘luxury shuttles’ for some reason, plied back and forth along these roads on a frequent basis and we had a seat each in several vans with one complete row less than their Ugandan cousins, which made them at least bearable if not exactly comfortable. Once across the border we were squeezed into a departing vehicle (luckily only half full) for the short drive into town, and thereafter chose a car and driver rather than be compressed into minivans with 23 or so others.

A night in Jinja enjoying the kind hospitality of Ken (former WFP Cambodia colleague) and Margarethe was delightful, in their little bit of paradise overlooking the Nile as it leaves Lake Victoria on its own journey northwards. Fifteen years ago when last here the view from their land would have taken in the Bujagali Falls, but since a dam was constructed downstream a few years ago the white water rapids are no more - and the dam itself is not delivering on the promises made!

 

On again to Kampala, to this wonderful house and garden overlooking Lake Victoria, to meet up with old friend Kathy - last seen in Cape Town a few weeks ago, but first met in Karamoja in 1980 during the major famine in the area where we were both working. Although we have met up often in the meantime, these final days of the journey were one of the main reasons to do the whole exercise -  to return for a safari to Karamoja and particularly to the splendid Kidepo Valley National Park in the far north, and to see the changes over the last 44 years. The settlements of Moroto and Kaabong, where Save the Children had been based, are now much larger towns, and I recognised almost nothing beyond the spectacular mountain scenery around. The people, now clothed and disarmed, and in most cases without their cattle, still live a precarious existence in the semi-desert, but there are some jobs and agriculture these days, and many have solar-powered lights in their huts and solar chargers for their mobile phones even if not much else.

Kidepo was a delight, just as stunning as remembered, a far cry from the more developed parts of this country, with almost no tourists because of its remoteness (bordering South Sudan and Kenya). We saw masses of plains game herds, particularly hartebeest, buffalo, giraffe and zebra, and a large herd of about 50 elephants, but no cats - they have been AWOL for some months apparently. We stayed in a tented camp on a hillside overlooking the plains, where they managed to look after us well despite being miles from anywhere. Recently announced plans to build - for some unknown reason - a Qatari-funded international airport at Kidepo will, if it goes ahead, ruin this spectacle, so we can only hope the various authorities see sense and pull the plug on this crazy idea.

Next stop was the Murchison Falls National Park for a couple of nights, where we did see a number of young lions (and a leopard, too far away to photograph) as well as many other antelope species, giraffe, zebra, and birds, plus crocs and hippos in the Nile after it cascades through the falls themselves in - apparently - the most powerful falls in the world. All water levels, from Lake Victoria and downstream, are very high, up to two metres more than usual, and while people are all noting these changes and assuming it’s caused by global warming, in fact water level readings over past decades show a fairly cyclical rise and fall of levels every 10-15 years; but the mass of water trying to flow down the river is nevertheless impressive, and very different from the Victoria Falls in Zambia right now. 

So with renewed thanks to Kathy, Ken and Margarethe for these great final days in Uganda, it’s time to pack and head out later this evening. The flight to London is via Kigali (Rwanda), a route that the last British government spectacularly failed to deliver despite years of threats/promises, and into the cold of the UK tomorrow morning for a few days.

  

Still going north

After a week in Zambia, initial impressions of Tanzania were positive - there was much more activity and ‘life’, shops and markets were well-stocked and full of people; everyone seemed to be doing something, land was being cultivated and produce sold on roadside stalls. Admittedly we were seeing this along a major international trunk road whereas the train had been through the rural areas, but it was a stark contrast. The ‘major international trunk road’ was in fact a poorly maintained two-lane highway with a string of hundreds of 40mt trucks lined up nose to tail for about 10 kms waiting to even get to the border itself, which proved to be a bit of an obstacle course for the other road users. Luckily we were going the other direction (see last post).

The impression was also a far cry from what I remember from my time working in TZ in the early 1980s, a period of strong socialism based on cooperative agriculture under the leadership of the first president, Julius Nyerere. But it hadn’t really worked, people were critically poor and despondent, there was little money circulating, shops were empty (we often had trouble buying even basic food with cash as traders, even in the countryside, would rather barter their goods for other commodities as money was fairly useless to them). The economy had collapsed and when Nyerere resigned in 1985, TZ was one of the poorest countries in the world. All that aside, he was an interesting and influential politician, particularly during the decolonization efforts and was instrumental in the founding of the African Union, and is well worth reading about.

So to continue from the last post: we now had flights booked, and after a tuktuk to the airport, a totally ridiculous security procedure during check-in involving five paperwork checks and two complete security scans (belts, shoes and all) all within 25 metres of each other, we finally arrived in Zanzibar. Welcome to a very photogenic setting in Stone Town, the main centre, and a system totally geared up to fleece and hassle the tourists who contribute significantly to the local economy. This started with the government having recently imposed a $44 ‘health insurance’ requirement on all visitors, irrespective of any other insurances in place, and payable at the airport through some convoluted electronic system that took ages to complete. Advice: if you are going to Zanzibar, do this process online before you arrive.

Stone Town, the old Arab quarter and the main town area on the island, is fascinating, with a warren of small streets and alleys going in various directions, and although pedestrian in dimension, more often than not being used by motorcycles, hand- or donkey-carts and various other contraptions designed to avoid argument with anyone on foot. But it was a pleasure to wander about and see the history and architecture of these places, very often derelict and crumbling behind the facade, with posh ‘boutique’ hotels suddenly appearing in a backstreet, and to see the variety of marvellous carved wooden doors that Stone Town is renowned for. 

We spent one afternoon visiting the Anglican cathedral which had been built on the site of the main slave market, and went through a very good exhibition of the history of this trade on this side of the continent over the centuries. Given the recent fuss about reparations or apologies from some quarters, it was interesting to note that in Zanzibar it was the British who largely brought forced slavery to an end - although conditions for the people ‘liberated’ didn’t actually change much for the better, but they were technically free and not being traded overseas. Well worth a visit if you’re on the island; and again, reading up on this (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slavery_in_Zanzibar). The small Freddie Mercury museum was also good, for those of us of that generation (he was born here).

We didn’t have time or inclination to visit the beaches of the east coast, but took a vehicle one day through the countryside to some impressive limestone caves in a forest reserve, and came back via a community spice farm where they grow and process many of the products that gave the Spice Islands their name, cloves included. Many plants were recognisable from Cambodia.

We stayed in a rather dingy but perfectly adequate little guesthouse in Stone Town; ate some great Ethiopian food and other offerings, and enjoyed the three days there. Plans to head back to the mainland to look round Dar es Salaam were thwarted a bit by time availability, so we ended up taking a cheap flight direct to Arusha, and had a couple of days there. As a town it was nothing exciting although located on the plains below the impressive Mount Meru (an extinct volcano rising to 4,562 m above sea level), and it was somewhat challenging to track down a beer at night, which is never a good sign (we managed). 

We had hoped to go for a one-day hike in the Meru foothills, but this proved too complicated to organise (!), so took took a driver (Bidongo) and headed out towards Mt Kilimanjaro (5,895 m) a couple of hours to the east. But that day Kilimanjaro was totally covered in cloud so we saw nothing, though still had a good trip through the countryside, a stop at a colonial-era eco-hotel for coffee, had a good discussion with Bidongo about life and taxes as a small businessman in Tanzania, and about the country more generally, and how it had changed since Nyerere, particularly under a more recent administration. He voiced what we have heard elsewhere in Africa - that Trump would be the preferred choice for these countries (with a certain amount of reasoning thrown in), and he got his wish, announced the following day, but I was gagging in the front seat at the very thought. He was a very careful driver and we probably never exceeded 30 km/h on the whole journey, competing with the Zambian train for the slowest journey of the trip to date. We ate at a veritable Arusha institution - the Khan brothers’ street barbecue stall, with tables in the street shared with whoever else turned up, and excellent food, still going strong after about 40 years.

The following day had us belting up an empty highway northwards through Masai territory in a shuttle bus to the Kenyan border at Namanga. Their one-stop emi-/immigration arrangements were somewhat chaotic despite the good intent, and far more convoluted than those we had had coming in from Zambia. We were hassled by hordes of highly-decorated Masai women selling tourist tat, and wanting to exchange foreign notes or coins that previous skinflint backpackers had traded for such tat - one Romanian Lei, a few reals from Brazil, a five Euro-cent coin, etc. Some of these women spoke reasonable English - but sadly, for them at least, they failed in their attempts to sell anything.

And then into Nairobi - and traffic jams, closed roads, fumes and general chaos. I was here first in 1980, a pleasant green city in those days with jacaranda-lined avenues, easy (and safe) to walk around. We went for lunch today to the Thorn Tree cafe in the centre of town, reliving memories of a good meeting point (and watering hole) during our R&R visits to the city from Uganda. I have visited Kenya and Nairobi many, many times since and seen the slow ‘development’ (or deterioration) as buildings have been replaced, roads widened, and so on over time, but still everything appears to be work in progress. A new elevated expressway, a new fast train to the coast are all impressive, but there are far more cars and buses than the roads can cope with, and holes in roads and pavements wherever you care to look.

The central part of the city is still recognisable and walkable, and despite the warnings of insecurity, is bustling with friendly locals going about their business. Maybe not for a nighttime stroll, however.  We had a nice morning visit to the Karen Blixen house and museum in the suburbs, after a rather less pleasant experience (aborted) of trying to get into the National Museum where they wanted more personal information and detail than it takes to buy an air ticket. Told them to shove it and we walked out, while at Karen our taxi driver simply signed us in and we paid him the entrance fees with no more info demanded. New government policy, we were told, but how to drive tourists away!

Heading into the Rift Valley tomorrow and to Naivasha for a couple of days, en route to Uganda on Sunday. The time is flying! 

Plan B (version 2)

As you probably worked out already, we were obliged to go for Plan B, and the relaxing weekend at Chaminuka was part of that option to fill in some time before the next bit. Malawi and the boat simply wasn’t possible in the time available and will have to be on the itinerary for next time. Chaminuka itself was great - relaxing, some good food, cheese tasting, game drives, a bush walk etc, setting us up for what was to come. Plan B kicked off with a return to Lusaka and another bus northwards to a one-ass town called Kapiri Mposhi, whose only claim to any iota of fame is as the Zambian terminus of the Tazara railway. Abraham came with us and we got rooms at the Peniel Executive Lodge - Paul was unimpressed and felt it had to be only for miserably failing executives as no one else would choose such a dire place, but he also admits to having had the best sleep of the trip so far. It was clean, but it was also seriously dire!

  

I’d made a reservation for a 1st class compartment for the Tuesday 14:00h departure of the train to the border, but then found out it was scheduled to leave at midday. We went along, got the tickets ($52 for two people in a four-berth compartment with a journey of 882 kms thrown in), but failed to get much other info about anything at all: “it should leave at 12”, “it should take about 24 hours”, “we think there is food on board”, etc, and were relieved to see some supplies and cases of beer ready to be loaded. We stocked up on biscuits and water, and a tetra-pack of cheap wine just in case, waved Abraham off home, and waited … and waited … and waited. We finally boarded, amongst the hundreds of families and their voluminous packages and baskets, about 13:00h, and waited. There were 20 coaches, we were in no 19, way beyond the extent of the platform but also from the noise of the engines. They finally hitched the three locomotives to the front at about 14:15h, and ten minutes later we chugged out on the Mukuba Express along the single track towards Tanzania.

Zambia does appear to have trouble with some of the definitions it uses, ‘executive’ being one! Another is ‘Express’ - at times we were belting along at 70 kph, but every 20 kms or so the train stopped at some rural halt in the boonies and sat for ages having disgorged only a handful of passengers. All well and good, running through the night and into the next day, but with the GPS tracker on the phone worryingly not showing the anticipated rate of progress to the border station. Our ‘about 24 h’ came and went, and then we stopped at another God-forsaken place where a crowd had formed on the track. Apparently a train the day before had killed someone (further up the track) and the community wanted the body brought back to the village … the company obliged but it took close to four hours to resolve. And we were off again, now well into the second night aboard and with 200 kms still to run - alas, by this time without cheap wine or any beer - so settled in for another night aboard. 

Then they discovered a fault in one of the locos so unhitched that and took it off to a depot to repair; at some point it must have come back and we set off again, but they unhitched others. I woke at 02:00h to find the train moving at about 1 km/h, and woke again at 05:00h and it was the same speed; though it had apparently had a faster spurt in between. By this stage there was only one loco pulling 800 mt and approaching hills and inclines … there was not enough traction to get up the hills, and after a final stop at an insignificant village halt, the next climb proved too much. They let it roll back down and up the other side of the valley, eventually brought another couple of locos from behind to give it a push, and as the sun came up, for the final 65 kms we were back up to speed. Exactly 43 hours after we left Kapiri we reached the border station at Nakonde; our 882 kms express journey had been covered at an average speed of 20 km/h.

But this isn’t a complaint, this is why we are doing this trip. No real deadlines or schedules except the final flights home, and very much taking it as it comes. We were the only foreigners on the train and it was nice to talk with the few fellow passengers who spoke enough English and who kept us updated on developments, we had a nice social hour in the dining car (another Zambian misnomer), could watch the countryside pass (albeit not very exciting), and being in the position of being totally powerless about anything were totally relaxed by events. 

Border formalities were surprisingly straightforward, and we were in Tanzania. This is where Plan B (v2) kicks off. No one could tell us if or when the train in Tanzania, meant to be a through train to Dar es Salaam, was due to leave, but what they could tell us was that we’d have to get a bus to Mbeya, 100 kms away, to find out. This wasn’t the luxury bus variety we’d enjoyed so much before; this was a chickens-and-all bush bus packed to the gunwales, stopping everywhere to further increase the overloading, which should (may?) eventually get us to the destination. The train - even if it did go - would be another 24 hours (read +/- 43); and the alternative was a jungle bus for 24 hrs minimum, probably nonstop and undoubtedly dangerous.

Without any significant debate, unsurprisingly, we amended the plan … maybe the days without proper facilities (eg: a shower) was a factor; but we decided to spend some of the pension and get an air ticket to Dar es Salaam; and a taxi rather than the bus to the airport town of Songwe, near Mbeya (38C3+XRH, Utengule, Tanzania on Google Maps). We’d met Charles, a Mr Fixit (aka tout) at the border who had helped point us in the right direction and changed some cash for us at rates slightly better than those on offer at the bank. I kept trying to work out how he was scamming us, but in fact I don’t think he was. Anyway, he got us into a car with strict instructions to not pay a cent more than the agreed price, and waved us off.

The vehicle was a beaten out little Toyota of an ancient variety (model unknown) though considerably less decrepit and more structurally complete than those operating as taxis in Lusaka. I was confident to see that its next service was recommended at 303,860 kms. Charles had told us it’d take an hour (for 100 kms!!) and despite the best efforts of the driver (whose name  we didn’t catch) it took quite a bit longer. He was OK on the descents but the car struggled with the uphills (a bit like the train), all the while dodging 40 mt trucks and buses, rickshaws and motorcycles coming from all sides. He was fixated on the next overtake and not getting stopped by the police; he only smiled when I broke out a few words in Swahili that I’d obviously not totally forgotten. Trucks in Africa often have slogans painted on the back (‘God is with you’, ‘Allah loves you’, ‘Have Faith in Jesus’ and more along similar lines) and the driver clearly considered these gave some sort of divine protection. Paul was content he was in the back.

We made it to this suggested hotel not far short of the airport, mainly to use their wifi (after four days without) and to while away the afternoon before the evening flight. When I tried to book there were no seats available, so we have checked in here - a missionary centre, so God is once again with us - but it’s the nicest accommodation we’ve had for many days and there are working showers, with a fantastic view northwards to the mountains in the sun. Flights now booked for lunchtime tomorrow with a connection to Zanzibar later, and sod the expense.

Moving on

We caught a ‘flying matatu’ (Kenya Airways) from Cape Town to Livingstone last Tuesday afternoon to begin the northward journey. Fairly uneventful once we had squeezed ourselves into the small seats of a full plane, amongst people who had no idea what “one piece of hand luggage” actually means; and surprisingly, no live chickens on board and as far as I could tell, and  nothing strapped to the roof of the matatu either. 

Only a handful of passengers got off in Livingstone, so we were though the airport in minutes - how travel used to be. Arrival at the riverfront hotel was delayed as a large herd of elephants, probably around 100, was all across the road - and they have priority over vehicles. While nice for us to see them, they are a major problem for the local people - it’s the dry season so vegetation is scarce, and the animals go for whatever they can track down, and do massive damage to compounds and gardens in the process. The neighbouring hotel had its wire and electric fence trampled one night we were there and the animals got in and had fun in the manicured gardens. Later there were some swimming across the Zambezi river to Zimbabwe to take their chances there, but we also saw some swimming back later and the herd was still around two days later. 

I’d booked ‘adventure tents’ in the hotel grounds but with the elephants, and signs warning of hippos and crocodiles, I did begin to wonder if that had been a wise decision. It was: the tents were good (beds, power, fans etc), and beyond the mosquitoes the only wildlife nearby was an aging hippy character who played his ‘meditation music’ somewhat louder than he needed to, while staring into space and ignoring everyone else. 

Livingstone, the former capital of Zambia and its main tourist town, because of the Victoria Falls, is a rather faded and dusty place, but busy enough. We caught up with Abraham, who I worked with in July, and hit the museum which gave some good insight into modern day Zambia, but also  the connections with Dr David Livingstone and his years of African explorations. Because of very low water levels in the Zambezi, the Falls themselves were dry on the Zambian side, but still flowing on the Zimbabwe side, so we decided to make a day trip across the border, helpfully coinciding with a national holiday for Zambia’s 60th anniversary of independence.

So a taxi to the border, a walk across the iconic arched steel bridge, and on into Victoria Falls town itself revealed a very different scene. It is a small town - basically two principal streets - but totally geared to tourism with curio shops, travel agencies, banks etc in abundance, as well as a craft brew place which helped us while away the time. It was interesting to see how VF had capitalised sensibly on its major attraction, but Livingstone as a town has not - beyond a handful of upmarket hotels, and a range of activities to keep tourists occupied and spending money.

The Falls themselves, the principal draw for both places, were a mere trickle when compared with them at full force - which they were the last time I was here. There is this thunderous roar you can hear from a mile away, and spray which rises into the sky like a cloud - none of that at the moment. Paul said they were impressive enough even so, but I didn’t go into the national park to see them this time.

We also discussed the next steps of this journey … Plan A or Plan B.  Plan A involved a long  series of bus journeys from Livingstone to Lusaka (7 hrs), then on to Lilongwe (Malawi) (something like 12 hrs), another north to Mzuzu (5 hrs), and a fourth (2 hrs) to a place called Nkhata Bay, on the shores of Lake Malawi, where we would pick up a ride on the MV Ilala (https://www.malawitourism.com/transport/ilala-malawi-shipping-company/) to its northernmost port of call. The problem was the boat only sails north on a Sunday morning, and we didn’t really have the time to be sure of getting there on public transport (the idea of back-to-back buses journeys hours was already a bit off putting). We’d then have to get into Tanzania, and find a way to Dar es Salaam, etc etc. All a nice idea, but …

Plan B took a different route: getting onto the Tazara train (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TAZARA_Railway) from a small town 4 hrs north of Lusaka to travel the 1,860 kms through Zambia, across the border and then northeast through the Tanzanian highlands to Dar es Salaam. The problem here was that the train only leaves on a Tuesday and (we found out) currently only goes as far as the border … after which it all gets a bit uncertain.  Decisions, decisions.

 

But we moved onwards: a bus to Lusaka, advertised for 7 hrs but took more than eight, through the parched Zambian countryside. We decided to take a break and booked into a private game reserve called Chaminuka Lodge (https://www.chaminuka.com/), just outside Lusaka, which I visited 20 years ago. It’s a lovely, tranquil spot, with food and activities thrown in (for a price) but has been good before the uncertainty begins.

All through the time in Zambia, now and during my last trip in July, the country has been affected by extended power outages called ‘load shedding. The mains power goes off for hours on end, sometimes scheduled and sometimes not, so businesses and folks with the resources have to rely on generators; those without have nothing. This is put down to not enough water in the dams for the power stations, but it is most likely the result of years of poor planning, poor management, corruption and no investment in alternatives to hydro power. Phones can’t be charged, machines don’t work, the internet and wifi systems are offline: everyone struggles to cope, often in temperatures in the high 30s (C). We were in a large supermarket in Livingstone and had to do the shopping by phone light; arrived into the InterCity Bus Terminus in Lusaka in a blackout; in a shopping mall the same evening when all the lights went out; and here at Chaminuka it was out for about 36 hrs before going on earlier this morning. It is crippling businesses of all sizes and is hard to understand how the government can allow this to continue, while apparently still exporting fuel to South Africa. At what point will enough be enough for the people of this country?

Right now it is raining, a very welcome respite for the people (and animals) in this dry, hot and powerless country. But in the meantime, for us: Plan A or Plan B?  Or Plan C? Watch this space.