I awoke to the roar of the Nile bounding of the verdant hills in the background.
That’s where the magic ended.
I rolled out of bed – careful not to wake the social misfits that reaked havoc on Evan and I the night before.
I crept over Evan and woke him up.
“I’m going to figure a way to get us out of this hell hole.”
“Okay.” He mumbled. “I’ll get up soon.”
We were both feeling pretty terrible after a night of basically no sleep.
I walked to the office so I could inquire about paying (we hadn’t paid a cent thus far) and how the H*LL to get transportation to Jinja where we could get a matatu to Kampala.
FRONT OFFICE HOURS
8:00 AM – 8:00 PM
I looked at my watch. It was 6:50.
Sigh.
I walked to the patio overlooking a sweeping section of the Nile. It was one of the more beautiful sights I’d ever woken up to. It was a shame it had to be viewed with the taste of debauchery from the previous night still fresh in my mouth, the scent of spilled beer coursing through my nose and piles of shattered beer bottles and pumpkins smashed on the path below me that led to the base of the Nile several stories below.
Who would litter in a place like this? Even when you’re drunk? I mean – c’mon people – some things are sacred.
Evan walked over, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“How long are we stuck till?”
“At least 8:00.” I said.
He nodded and sat next to me.
We watched as a woman cleaned the tables and stared in disbelief when she took the bottles off the tables and haphazardly tossed them into the bush alongside the Nile.
WHAT?!
Nile beer bottle. Toss into the bushes. Club beer bottle. Toss into the bushes. Empty cups. Toss into the bushes. Napkins and plates and ballons. Toss into the bushes.
She WORKED at this place! It was pretty upsetting. I’m not one of those eco-freeks or anything – but I can appreciate beauty and this lady was systematically destroying that beauty.
Evan and I bit our tongues. In retrospect maybe we should have said something. I don’t know. Hindsight is always 20 20.
Finally the woman at the front desk showed up.
Evan was still pretty upset from the night before. His conversation with the woman was really funny.
“So last night was one of the worst nights of my life. Someone stole my shirt. Someone else threw a kayak at my head.” He paused. “PEOPLE WERE HAVING S** REALLY CLOSE TO US.”
The lady looked at him like he had two heads.
“I’m sorry.” She offered. “I can’t give you a discount but I’ll give you a free towel.”
Whoop-dee-doo.
We walked outside the compound and found a special hire that was willing to drive us to Jinja for 12,000 USH ($6.00). He was playing Johnny Cash as we drove. I thought that was super random.
He dropped us off in Jinja where Evan and I were assaulted by a million matatu drivers all trying to pull us in their respective vehicles. Its super annoying and it makes NO SENSE. These guys don’t even know where we’re going and they’re trying to get us to get in their vehicle that’s going to Mbale even though we’re going to Kampala. I mean…I know they think mzungus are stupid…but c’mon give us some credit.
One matatu driver grabbed my arm.
“C’mon – I already have your friends in my van.”
I looked inside. It was a mzungu couple all by themselves.
“They’re not my friends.” I laughed.
We finally found a bus that was mostly full (that’s the trick when selecting a matatu by the way – matatu’s don’t leave until they’re full so if you get in one with not many people you could sit around for a LONG time before you leave.)
The ride back was pretty miserable. The seats are uncomfortable. The roads are bad and the bus pulled over every couple of minutes to drop people off. There was no aisle (seats fold down) so if someone from the back of the bus wanted to get off everyone in the aisle seat before her/him had to get off the bus and then get back on. It was a two hour ride.
This is when I first started feeling really sick. My stomach was nauseous. I was happy to have a seat because the last hour I felt like I might barf at any moment. (I didn’t).
We finally got back to Kampala and Evan wanted to go to Shop Rite to get some goods for his 22-hour bus ride to Moshi. The store was uneventful except for people that kept cutting in front of us.
One guy did it and I let it slide.
Then another guy came up and blatantly cut us. I looked at Evan.
“Is this typical?” It had never happened to me.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I turned to the man. “Sebbo, you cut us.”
“Yes.” He said without smiling.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
He didn’t look like a very nice person. I swallowed my pride.
When he checked out I patted him on the back. “HAVE A NICE DAY SEBBO.”
No response.
By the time we got to Buziga I felt like I’d contracted the bubonic plague.
I saw Rachel.
“You don’t look too hot.” She said. “Have you taken your temperature.”
I nodded.
She got a thermometer. “You need to monitor your temperature. Its important.”
I took my temp – 99.9. Not bad. But I wasn’t happy to have a fever. It can mean about a million things. I think it might have something to do with the liter of the Nile I swallowed the day before.
I passed out at 2:00 in the afternoon.
I woke up at 10:00 the girls came into my room to check on me. They brought me good sick food and candy and water and stuff like that.
They took good care of me. I woke up for a few hours and then passed out again. Taking a page from my Dad’s book. Resting as much as possible…drinking a lot of fluids and hope to beat the bug as soon as possible.
Someone once told me that the act of throwing trash down on the ground has been imbedded in certain cultures from the time when things food and other goods were wrapped in leaves and similar biodegradables. This makes little sense to me. I've traveled a good bit of Central and South America and have had similar experiences to yours. It's painful ... and completely nonsensical. Even in cultures that place a high value on Mother Earth ("Pacha Mama" in Peru), the environmental trash is piling up in a big way. I don't get it.
ReplyDeleteSorry you're sick, Joe!!