The first in a series which will provide an account for my trip to Uganda. On day 1 I learned the importance of being prepared.
After a 1 hour flight to Detroit, 8 hours to Amsterdam, and another 10 to Entebbe, I found myself in the airport lobby at 10:30 PM watching a sea of people finding their drivers. The drivers held signs that had names of hotels, tour groups, individuals’ names, and names of NGOs (shorthand for Non-Governmental Organization, what we’d call nonprofits). Unfortunately I saw no one holding a sign for Wendy, nor CRWRC, nor Emmaus Guest House. Hmmm. Maybe the driver was running late.
I had to pee, but there was no toilet paper in the bathroom and the tissues I’d packed were at the very bottom of my suitcase. I inhaled the dusty, sweaty aroma that all airports seem to have in the global south and decided to wait.
I started to weigh my options. Luckily I had written down the phone number of one of our staff members, plus the phone number and address of the guest house where I’d be staying in case it was required for the immigration form. But I had no phone that works overseas. I’d be getting a loaner from the Ugandan office. Do they have public phones in Uganda? Maybe one of the older couples would let me borrow theirs. Or maybe I could ask one of the drivers holding a Christian NGO sign. I had no Ugandan money yet, and the money exchange booth was closed, and besides; it’s not the safest thing to just pick up a taxi at the airport in a foreign country.
An hour went by and no driver. The crowd, including the older couple I’d thought might be safe to ask for use of their phone, had mostly dispersed. There was a woman at the information desk so I decided to ask if there was a public phone. She asked why and I explained my situation. To my surprise she called my contact person’s phone. No answer (not surprising, as it was now 11:30 PM). Then she called the guest house for me. They confirmed that I was staying there, and agreed to pay for a taxi and just charge our group for the cost. She called over a taxi driver and took down his cell phone, and gave it to the guest house. I felt safe so I went with the driver.
On the way out of Entebbe we stopped at a gas station. The lights were dark and the attendant was sitting on the front steps with a machine gun.
“He is scared because there is no power,” the driver said.
After filling up with Petrol we made the 45 minute drive to Kampala. The streets were eerily deserted, but there were still a few people walking along the sides of the road carrying baskets, either on their heads or on bicycles. The driver asked where I was from, whether I’d been to Uganda before, and how long I’d be staying. When at last I arrived at the guest house I was utterly exhausted. I was shown to my room (noting along the way that the guest house had electricity—woo hoo!) and told that breakfast would be at 8 AM. As it was now 1:30 AM, and having traveled for 24 hours through several time zones, I knew it would be here in the blink of an eye. I peed, brushed my teeth with bottled water, tucked in the mosquito netting around the bed, set the alarm on my watch, and fell fast asleep.
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