Get Schooled - Helping Kids in Uganda Succeed

Today’s ride was for Talemwa Angel and Namweruka Violet and I needed their faces in my field of vision all day. It was pretty nondescript and we didn’t even take any photos today.

It was a relatively short ride ride today, wasn’t too steep or too hot and on pretty good pavement. But my body seems to be rebelling. I am discouraged by how much everything hurt today. My back especially, but also my right thigh, left knee, left foot/toes and left arm and elbow. Whaaat ?!?!

We made it to Mbarara by noon after riding only fifty-five kilometres with only 1500 feet of climbing as we are now coming out of mountains. We dropped from 5400 to 4700 feet. John always rides slower for me to be able to stay with him, but I had a really hard time keeping up the pace today and had to do a lot of self-talk. If I wouldn’t have been worried about being even more of a spectacle than I already am being a white woman on a bicycle over here, I would have just sat in the ditch and cried today. To be honest, I did cry, but because my #1 cheerleader was right there, he didn’t let me curl up in the ditch. I blew my nose, wiped the sweat and tears onto my already-nasty bike gloves and kept pedalling, albeit reluctantly. I thought to myself, “I can always cry in the shower later if I still need to.” Our next ride is another hard day of 100 kilometres through Lake Mburaro National Park, so in order to enjoy that more, we are gonna give this old body a break tomorrow and see if that helps. The place we found for tonight upgraded our room for free so that we had ample space for our bikes. It’s quiet and the shower is hot. And you won’t be surprised to learn that another factor in our decision for a rest day is that there is an amazing pizza (African-style) place only one kilometre away.

I tried to distract myself today by listing in my head the many funny things I’ve seen people wearing on this trip so far. I know many of you understand that third-world countries receive their clothes from people in wealthier countries who give old, used and sometimes out-of-style items to various church groups or NGOs who bring them over here to donate. These items often end up being sold at local shops and markets to those who have no idea what the slogans say, mean or represent. Please understand I’m not making fun of the reality of poverty that forces hard-working people to just take what they can get to provide for their families. More often than not, what occurs to me is how ironic it is to see kids wearing team jerseys that represent such wealth and lifestyles that these kids will probably never see firsthand and have little framework to understand the magnitude of the money spent on professional sports. And Old Navy puffy coats are apparently making a comeback over here when the temperature drops below 70 degrees. Especially the pink ones. So far, my Top Three Funny Things I Have Seen People Wear that I want to document merely for my own memory are:

1. A boda driver wearing a yellow construction hardhat as his helmet – not strapped on, of course

2. An old man of about 60 walking with a cane, wearing a bright red Santa hat complete with the white pom pom hanging off the back

3. A man wearing a t-shirt that said, “I gotta pee.” I don’t even understand how that slogan was a good idea in any country. I have seen shirts promoting the Canadian Olympics, the Green Bay Packers, Shawn Mendez, Eminem, Vans, Superman, Hello Kitty, The Patriots, the Chicago Bulls, AC⚡️DC, the Edmonton Oilers, a threadbare Spiderman costume and all manner of race and 5K event tee-shirts that people realized they will never wear past race day before finally donating them.

It’s 5 pm right now and I’m laying here with a full belly, an unused first aid kit, good wifi and I’m done for the day while the thunder rolls outside and the curtains flap with a cool breeze. As mentioned in a previous post, my kids gave me letters for my birthday and I had to read the one for when I’m feeling inadequate. My kids know me well and their encouraging words lift me up more than they will even know. Although I’m not having a great day emotionally and have doubts about dragging my butt through the last of our two weeks here, I know, deep down, that I’ve come too far to quit now and baring anything unforeseen, it will be accomplished… with a little help from the lovely Ugandans who keep my spirits up with a mere smile and a wave, and my best friend who now lays right beside me, listening to cycling podcasts.

Today’s 100-kilometre ride, with 5200 feet of elevation gain, was for two beautiful twins, Babirye Nalwadda Juliet and Nakato Nasiwa Harriet who want to be a doctor and a nurse respectively.

I know we came here to ride our bikes and sometimes we feel a little lame taking a day off, let alone three! But it’s during these rests that we have time and opportunity to connect with the people around us. The OM Hostel has been my favourite place to stay so far, not only because of the peaceful lake atmosphere and privacy, but mostly because I learned so much and enjoyed our new Ugandan friends so deeply. I sent off last night’s blog too soon. You just never know what’s going to happen. We went up to the campfire to find a new guest named Phil, a student at Stanford from Texas, and Bowie, a recent graduate from UBC who’s from Richmond, BC (small world). Boaz, one of the chefs, was sitting there silently as the two college students complained about the price of tuition and talked about all the cool places they have travelled. Listening to them, I imagined what it would be like to be Boaz (who does speak English btw and I’m sure could understand them) to sit there and listen to two North Americans, who are about his age, talk about such things when his life consists of sharing a small room with four other guys, cooking amazing meals over an open fire and boiling water for people like Phil and Bowie to have a hot shower. They were not engaging with him at all and I felt bad for Boaz and annoyed with Phil and Bowie for being so oblivious. So I pulled up a seat next to Boaz and asked him questions about his family, his education, etc. Before long, we heard music coming from the boys’ room and Boaz went to check things out. When he came back, John asked if they were having a dance party in there. Well, I’m not sure what Boaz heard, but he got a really excited look on his face and tore back into the room. He came out with Neville and Bosco and we realized that we were going to have an actual dance party. I asked them to please show us some of their Chiga tribal dancing. They all put their heads together and whispered and laughed a little bit and then Neville started to sing while Boaz and Bosco started to dance, stamping their feet very hard (to represent the strength of their tribe) and whooping. They were enjoying themselves as much as we were enjoying watching them. Neville sang a song of welcome and about how they will miss us and want us to come back. It was amazing, but they weren’t done yet. Neville wanted to show us his moves since he only got to sing and clap for the first number. Bosco got a water jug and a stick and started to drum while Neville and Boaz did another traditional dance, apologizing they they didn’t have grass tiaras and skirts to make it more authentic. After that, they still wanted to sing one more song. It was the happy birthday song so they wondered whose birthday was the closest. I quickly reminded them that the reason I was in Uganda in the first place was because of my birthday so they sang the traditional happy birthday song to me. It was a dance party that I won’t forget and I didn’t even have to dance. Once the ice was broken, all the young people, including Bowie and Phil, got talking about soccer and fishing and we oldies said goodnight, hearing them continue to laugh as we descended the stairs to our hut.

This morning we enjoyed one last breakfast, compliments of Chef Bosco, before we headed across the lake in a wooden boat with our bikes. I was excited that it was the one and only “Friendly Boat” that we shoes a picture of the other day. The driver was on time and everything. After getting to the middle of the lake, the engine sputtered and died. He got it started again. Well, it died again and I thought it was dead for good. He had run out of fuel. Nope, not when you tip it on its edge to pull the last drops out. There it goes. And we’re off!!

Bosco helped unload our bikes and we were off to pedal another hundred-kilometre day. We climbed out of the lake’s valley and then got to descend the hill from hell from a few days ago. We had to stop a couple times and just rest our hands and forearms from the braking. I felt like I was on a bucking bronco that was out of control but enjoyed every minute of it. On the sides of the road, there are rock quarries where hundreds of men are breaking stone and separating rock from sand -all by hand. One big man yelled out to John, “I am strong!!” That’s Chiga for ya. We hit the pavement and rode through a beautiful valley with gentle hills and lots of action as it was market day.

We wanted to see Kisiizi Falls today and then continue on to Rukungiri. It was not an easy day to navigate as we have gone off our route completely. John is relying on a few resources (that all contradict each other) to find intricate paths and obscure roads while trying to protect me from having to kill myself. I was amazed by his skills again today as he found our way through some crazy and isolated terrain. He didn’t make a single misstep. Incredible. The ascent and decent to the falls, although difficult, were two of my favourite parts of the ride so far. The climb was ridiculous but gradual and the descent made me feel like I was in Colorado or Moab or home in Nelson. Rocks, loose gravel, sand and pine trees were all part of the story and I was smiling so much, I had dirt in my teeth. It was truly a logging road just like home- steep gravel and men working throughout the forest. The main difference was that these men cut their logs into planks right on site using a ten foot-long hand saw operated by two men at a time. The log sits above ground by about eight feet and one man is below and one is above and they cut all day, every day, the full length of the log, plank after two-inch-thick plank.

Kisiizil Falls was beautiful and worth the work to get there, but it has a horribly gruesome and sad history. If a woman from that area was found to be pregnant and unwed, her dad and/or brothers would take her to the top of the falls, tie her up, and push her over the edge. The practice happened for a long time until the day that one desperate woman grabbed her dad and brother and pulled them down with her to their deaths. The men in charge decided that it was now too dangerous for them to continue the practice because the other girls would hear what she had done and follow suit. It was an amazing waterfall with a very nice suspension bridge and a vivid tragic monument that you can see below. It was hard for me not to imagine the fear the women would feel and hear the pleading and screams.

The day ended on pavement once again but because of the heat and the fact that I didn’t really eat anything after Bosco’s eggs and toast, my legs were cramping for the last fifteen kilometres and it was a long climb to end the day. We are on the third floor of the hotel and our legs feel like lead going up to our room. We laid our money on pizza again, but for the first time in my entire life, I met a pizza I didn’t like. Where’s Chef Bosco when you need him? Our traditional bag of chips and pop have never tasted so good. And I could have stood in the cold shower for an hour. So although there is no longer dust and dirt flying into my eyes and teeth while cycling, there was a bit of sand in the pizza. But I’m still smiling.

I didn’t sleep very well last night because of the lack of exercise, I think. I guess these stairs just aren’t doing the job, although my legs do feel a little sore in different places. I had a dream that the craters in our foam mattress were potholes that I was trying to avoid and that my leg muscles were atrophying after three days of not riding. I hope that some dreams do not come true as we have about ninety kilometres to ride in the mountains tomorrow and mostly on rough gravel roads. In my mind our departure tomorrow is a turning point in the trip as we are now heading back to where we started. We have about nine days of riding left to do in just over two weeks, so we are adding some segments to the trip that we didn’t originally plan for. So I’m pretty excited to take a ferry over to the Ssese Islands in Lake Victoria later next week and ride around there for a couple days. I think tomorrow will be the last day in the steep mountains. Everything else will seem like simple rolling hills after what we’ve ridden through for the last week or so.

Today we relaxed, read, ate, swam, got the bikes ready for tomorrow and went for a short hike. I feel like I’ve been in a bubble the last three days and I actually miss the chaos and more importantly, the bike. I never thought I would say this but my body is craving the movement and pedalling will feel pretty good, I think. It’s like all that ya happened this past month is now far, far away, but I know that tomorrow morning, as soon as we get to the other side of the lake by boat, the requests for money, shocked looks, rutty roads and potholes, will bring the reality that is Uganda right back. The shift will spur these two muzungus on to pedal faster past boda boda drivers’ comments and whistles and the craving for pop will magically reappear.

Tonight around the campfire, Neville was explaining why there is a cattle path right by their property. Cows are taken across the lake in wooden row boats, sometimes for grazing, but mostly to pay for bride prices. He explained and, of course, acted out the entire process of the men trying to get the cows into the boats. His exact words were, “It’s a tug-of-war” to get the cows in without them falling into the water. They push and pull the cows into the water and in protest, the cows rear up so that it kinda jumps up enough to try and push them into the boats. Once they are in the boat, the men have to paddle like crazy to keep them from jumping out. It was hilarious to see Neville’s crazy paddling motions as he laughed and laughed. We have enjoyed him immensely and have learned so much from him. When he was little he lived in a traditional mud hut with a grass roof. Although we have seen thousands of them along the road in the northern part of Uganda, it was interesting to talk to someone about their experience growing up in that environment. John asked him why we haven’t seen any of those in this area and Neville said it’s because they’ve run out of the grass used for the roofs because of all the farms planting crops for food. So it’s not because of an improved economic status like we guessed when we saw all the aluminum roofs in the south. It’s just a lack of resources. In the mud hut growing up, when it rained it would often drip on him throughout the night. Sometimes, in the rainy season, they would put a piece of plastic above them and then it would fill up and release all at once, dousing him with a bucket-worth of water, most often in the middle of the night. He slept on a grass mat and his blanket was also just a mat that was woven with grass and it was quite cold at times and not at all comfortable.

He’s only twenty-three now so we were surprised to hear that only fifteen years ago, he would run and hide if he and his friends saw a car or a plane because they didn’t really understand what they were. His favourite game was trying to ride on the back of a lamb, holding onto its ears, but if his parents caught him he would be in big trouble. He is happy to now be sharing one room with the other workers and using an outhouse. Like most Ugandans we have spent time with, he is easy to laugh, grand in his gestures and exudes gratitude.

Today’s treat was taking out a dugout canoe and paddling along the shore, watching birds and local fishermen doing their thing. This lake truly is beautiful with all the islands and the beautifully-tiered landscapes and I encourage all of you to add seeing this lake to your bucket list. We went around the corner of our little peninsula and the wind picked up just a tiny bit. There were two local men tucked into the reeds along the shore and they called out a greeting of welcome and asked us where we were going. Just paddling around for leisure seemed like a strange answer, albeit true, because they only go with a purpose. They said they were hiding there until the storm passed. We looked around. Is there something they know that we don’t? The water was still pretty calm. After chatting with us for only a minute and my failed attempts to use some Luganda that might translate into something familiar to them, they backed up their canoe and took off again, one of them calling back, “We are now continuing our journey so you can go now too.” By the time we had our 17-foot eucalyptus tree turned around, they were already almost out of sight.

The boys at the OM Hostel have been taking good care of us. They named this place ‘OM’ because 85% of the words spoken in the local language start with the letters ”OM” which I think is pretty interesting. The local people and the young men who work here are from the Chiga tribe, the fourth largest tribe in Uganda and considered the strongest physically because of the steep environment in which they live and farm. They certainly have some interesting traditions in this male dominated culture…especially in the area of marriage and marital roles. The men still have to pay a bride price (common throughout Uganda) in cattle and that price goes up if the woman is educated or has a business. The price goes WAY down if it’s proven that the woman is not a virgin or pregnant by someone else. Remember Punishment Island from yesterday’s post? Yeah, they take it pretty seriously. It used to be a cultural norm that when a man married a woman, she was actually ‘for’ the whole family, so if a man’s brother wanted to sleep with her, he would just go to their house and leave his spear by the door (the symbolic tie on the doorknob). The man would come home from working on the fields to find his brother’s spear in the doorway and he would have to just come back later. Because of AIDS and STDs, they stopped this practice. Really?! That’s the only reason? One thing that makes the Chiga tribe distinguishable from all the other tribes in Uganda is that they are the only ones who do not have a king. Although it might seem dated because Uganda has also has a president, all other tribes still have a king even today. I asked Neville why the Chiga don’t have one and it’s because they believe that all men are created equal. I like that part, but too bad it doesn’t include women.

Something we have really noticed all over the country is the lack of laws and rules around anything related to safety. Everyone rides boda bodas without helmets, including the babies strapped to their mom’s backs. I have seen the rare boda driver with a helmet but it’s never strapped and John’s probably right when he says they wear them only so the visors keep out the bugs and dust. The only bike helmets we have seen were the professional cyclists we saw at the beginning of the trip. There are really no traffic laws to speak of. The only speed limit signs we have seen are around road construction and bigger towns and everyone drives at the highest speed they can manage without taking out their oil pans on the stupid speed bumps. Everyone, including us, just takes the path of least resistance and we are getting pretty confident at navigating the roundabouts and chaos of the towns we ride through. John even mentioned that he was happy they drive on the other side of the road because his accident effected his ability to turn his head to the left, but shoulder checking his right side is A-OK.

We spent quite awhile last night talking to Neville, the main host here right now, and another guest from South Africa. From Neville we learned a lot about the Chiga culture and a little bit about how the justice system works. He was speaking from experience when he told us that typically, if a crime happens, the police go to the bars and wait until closing time and just start gathering up a big group of men and then “do the research” in the morning and let people go as they are deemed innocent. He said if you pay a little bribe or if you’re fast enough, the police “might just slap you, hit you, or kick you” but then if you run away, they usually just let you go. They don’t typically shoot their AK-47’s, Neville says, unless there is an uprising. He was acting out the whole scene with grand gestures and flashing his smile at what he’s gotten away with. He was then careful to assure us, with a serious face, that he has never been arrested although he’s spent many nights in jail.

Our new ‘friend’ from South Africa sadly had a rude awakening to Uganda. He says that Africans typically don’t travel and if they do, it’s never within their own continent, so he wanted to tour Rwanda and Uganda for the first time on his two-week vacation. He came on a tour bus from Kigali, Rwanda but fell asleep and missed his stop. He got all the way to the next town (that we had biked from to get here) before they woke him up and literally kicked him off the bus. He doesn’t speak the language but he said because he’s black, they expected him to know what was happening. Well, he had no other choice but to take a mutatu (the cheaper taxi vans that cram as many passengers in as possible and usually have all kinds of crazy things strapped to the top or hanging out the back with precarious tie-downs) to Kabale, the town where the hellish dirt road starts that goes straight up and over to the lake. From Kabale, he had to take a boda boda, terribly worried about keeping all of his luggage intact on his lap while his driver navigated the bumps and hills. He made it to the main landing at the lake only to find that he had to now paddle a dug-out canoe for an hour over to the hostel. He walked up the four flights of steep stairs to the sitting area, huffing and puffing, and immediately ordered a beer. Seems we were not the only ones to have a hard time getting here. We talked politics, history, and about our trip. He was very relieved to hear about our positive experiences in Uganda and with the people. He had such a bad experience getting here and has also noticed the initially-stern looks from the people. We encouraged him to smile and wave and he would then be considered a friend. He spent the entire day in Kabale and came back while we were hanging out at the campfire (with Neville and Bosco) to tell us that we were right. He had wrongly judged the entire culture based on his experience with one or two rude people yesterday and humbly admitted that he had learned a valuable lesson.