Today I am sitting in the browning grass under the relentless sun remembering the trip I took to Sipi Falls last month.
A few weeks back I embarked on my first adventure out of town. Early on a Friday morning I prepared to board a bus heading south with the other “muzungos” I had been living with. Four of us clumsily piled ourselves and bags for the weekend onto two boda taxis (we asked for more, but that is how many showed up), and headed into town a half an hour before our bus was scheduled to leave. I assumed we would have plenty of time before the bus actually departed given that everyone and everything here moves at a leisurely, lingering pace. I imagined I would scour the market for a bit of breakfast and maybe run to the bank across the street…Silly assumptions. Our feet barely grazed the ground between clamoring off the bodas and being swept onto the rolling bus already halfway through its turn out of the bustling lot. After the hectic boarding I learned that the buses leave as soon as they are full, whether that is prematurely or two hours after the scheduled departure. Our bus was undoubtedly full; we were separated and squished into seats. I was squeezed into a row, supposedly able to seat three, with two other women, each with a child on their lap and one of their bags under my feet. Although all the seats were taken, each time the bus stopped more people filled the aisle and the illusion of personal space was left behind. Social psych course lessons on how the appropriate distance between two people varies among different cultures came to life. Unlike riding the public transportation in the States where one goes to great lengths not to unnecessarily make physical contact with a stranger, people on the bus were more than comfortable leaning their bodies against you, making a seat of your luggage, or letting their children rest their heads on your lap.
As we rumbled along the bus alternated between scarily speeding by other vehicles and stopping every 30 kilometers to pick up more passengers. The never ending boarders brought with them anything and everything from live chickens, to human-sized bags of charcoal. On our journey we made stops in the towns of Lira, Dokolo, and Soroti, where vendors surrounded the bus carrying on their heads bananas and containers of fried cassava. Some sold through the window while others defied the odds wedging their way onto the bus to peddle chapatti, kabobs, crackers, mandazi (like Native Alaskan fry bread), airtime, and even bed sheets. The driver allotted time for sales and we continued on.
On the 6 1/2 hour bus trip down I opted to soak in the sounds and scenery while saving my ipod battery for the ride home, which always seems longer. At first, sights were similar to those on my initial venture up to Gulu from Kampala. Then, as we broached our destination the landscape became increasingly lush. The burnt orange brick huts of the north gave way to ashen shaded ones, mirroring the shift in the color of the soil. Had my camera not been buried in my backpack I would be sharing some snapshots.
As the sun peaked and began its descent back down, I attempted to adjust in my seat to avoid its impressions and tried to convert the remaining kilometers to miles. We began to see signs for our stop: the town of Mabale. A kindly traveler stopped us from getting off the bus too soon – the taxis would be cheaper and easier to find towards the center of town. Armed with his directions we climbed and maneuvered our way off the bus and hired a taxi for the hour drive into the Mount Elgon National Park.
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| Our Huts! |
Following a ride in which it was uncertain if the car had enough power to prevent from rolling back down the slope, we finally arrived. Welcoming was provided by the jovial guide Tom who seemed surprised we were there despite our reservations. We were booked to stay in the main house, but Tom first wanted to show us the personal huts, we agreed to take a gander merely to appease our eager host. We expected a hike in price but for only 5,000 Shillings more a night ($2.09), we went back to grab our luggage without much thought. An order was made for dinner, we were warned it would take at least a couple of hours because they had to walk to town to get supplies, then I sat to enjoy the truly surreal view. My mind finally had time to catch up to everything that happened over the previous month. Looking out over the jade infused terrain, gratitude and renewal took root.
Views from Camp
That night we ate rice, beans, and some delicious greens by dim glow of lanterns. Tom told stories beginning with how he convinced his uncle to use his land to create the resort, and somehow ending with male circumcision rituals. After I complimented his presidential pants he modeled for a photograph that captures Tom’s spirit fairly well. We retired to our two huts before the rest of our group arrived; they drove from Gulu and were currently dealing with their second flat tire. The air was cool enough for long sleeves and I took pleasure in crawling into bed without wrestling a mosquito net. As I woke and watched the sun creep down into the tree strewn valley I thought how amazing it would be to live in Sipi and wake to this scene each day. I wondered if the local people became accustomed to it, like we often do to the beautiful everyday occurrences in our lives, or if they wake with the same wonder I was experiencing each morning. We found that our companions had arrived safely and began to eat the oatmeal we brought in shifts- hot water was served sparingly. Once we informed Tom that his guide price was too much for our meager budgets his enthusiasm for our group waned, we scarcely saw him for the remainder of the trip. A backpack was stuffed with cameras, water, sunscreen and swimsuits (which would never be used) and we set out to hike Sipi’s three waterfalls. We paid locals a fee to trudge across their land and began the trek with our teenaged guides down to the lowermost of the falls.
We descended and weaved through people’s farmland while the young guide pointed out coffee beans, chamomile and various plants used as local medicines. We passed farmers tilling soil and women gathering bananas. Reaching the first falls we scrambled down to take pictures and feel the cool mist. Testing the chilly water with my toes I decided, along with everyone else, it was not yet hot enough to take the plunge. Our observation of the water rhythmically plunging into the pool was interrupted as we noticed a rope sail into the air from the top of the falls and make its way down to the rocks across us. The guides explained that people pay to repel off the cliff parallel to the falls. My first reaction was that the venture is insane, but as I watch the local come down first to set up the ropes I was tempted. Not being in the budget we turned upwards and rambled on.
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| Lower Falls |
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| Here you can see the rope dangling |
The second view of the cascades was the hardest earned. We trudged uphill for some time; the 115 pound teenager surely would have dragged me up had I let him. I felt guilty, and kind of pathetic, stopping to rest as the women carrying large bundles of wood on their heads were catching up to us (at least they looked tired as well). The afternoon sun was in full force as we climbed a precarious bamboo ladder and approached our destination. Sweaty and spent, I was eager be drenched beneath the steady stream of cool water. After playing under the falls for a while we trekked back to camp for lunch on nearly level ground.
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| Frolic in the Falls |
Later a few of us continued on to the view the final set of falls. As we made our way crossing streams on wooden planks, through assemblies of cows and crops, I really began to feel like I was walking through scenes in a movie. We arrived and I sat captivated by the contrast of the stark white water against charcoal colored rock and let the mist spray over me. On the journey back the guide took us by the local swimming hole. We watched the young men do flips off the rocks into the seemingly shallow water. Reasoning that I might as well fully participate in the experience, I took the dive as well.
By the time we returned to camp my clothes were nearly dry and the sun was setting. I enjoyed a shower with water warmed over a fire. The remainder of the night was filled with dinner, wine, and a sporadic sing along cumulating with a trip anthem.
We rose early the next day for the journey home to Gulu. Mentally prepared for the close quarters the ride home was more manageable. A woman toting several kids and a few chickens boarded, despite my silent petitions, she settled in next to me. The chickens were surprisingly still and the ride was fairly quiet from behind my headphones. My seatmate purchased a new snack through the window. Though we could barely communicate she offered to share with me, curiously, I accepted what turned out to be a sesame seed ball (dry but tasty- kind of like a popcorn ball!). Near Gulu we approached a series of monstrous meter-wide speed bumps. After taking on one or two a few giggles could be heard from the rear. With each jostle out of our seats the laughter spread its way through the bus, the smiles cutting across the cultural divide.
I started this post last weekend and am just now finishing. Although later than usual, the weather finally changed. With the Ides of March came the much needed rain and cooler mornings. One morning, though it might have been sixty degrees at the coolest, I was lending out my fleece and the kids marched into the compound in their winter coats. Unfortunately, the expectation is that the rainy season will not last this year. I even received this text message: “A long dry season has been predicted. Expect shortages of food, water, and avoid hunger. The Office of the Prime Minister.” Some have said the mass texts are used to manipulate, which would not be surprising, we will have to wait and see.
Happy Equinox to everyone!
wishing you all plenty of balance in your lives
