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March 18 More fun and games with the lawEven though our stay in Uganda was amazing, it shouldn’t be a surprise that our return to Kenya would be a big molding cherry on top. Let’s just say that crossing the border had me on the verge of tears.
This is how it happened.
We arrived at the Ugandan immigration at 10:30, bladders busting we descended from the bus and ran for the toilets. Finally with that out of the way, I filled out a customs form; after a few moments, some niceties and an exit stamp I was shaking off currency exchangers and various other salesmen and walking across the border to Kenya.
About 10 minutes later, Michelle and I arrived at the Kenyan immigration, filled out our cards and handed them over, with our passports, to the man behind the glass. He glanced and immediately called us into the office. This had happened to Michelle on our way over so I said a quick prayer and just assumed that we would not be long. I assumed wrong.
He had a problem with virtually everything we presented him with. First it was that we were in Uganda at all. East Africa is indeed starting a visa for its entirety, so going from Kenya to Uganda is not considered renewing your visa. I explained to him that on our way to Uganda the man that was in his seat talked to his manager and they both decided to let us go. He huffed and puffed over that one, moving on to the next hurdle: our purpose in Kenya.
Clearly he has noticed that we have been there 6 months already, and on a tourist visa with our reasons for entering marked ‘volunteer’. He had a lot of questions about that and told us to prove with letters that we belonged to this organization. I of course had nothing on me but my small bag, Michelle having her laptop, pulled up a document she had prepared for the school. That wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t official enough. Again, huffing and puffing and telling us things that while being in his office we had no power to change. It seemed like a year passed, him asking questions and then ignoring the answers while he stamped documents of people outside, seeming to barely glance at theirs.
Our bus driver, every other passenger having finished and boarded, came to see what was happening and told the man to let us go. This did not go over well, with the woman sitting next to our captor, a mouthy, quarrelsome woman, as many female immigration officials are (sorry to misrepresent the pleasant ones but I haven’t met any yet), worldwide, told the bus driver to leave us. She yelled to him that he is running a business and if us being here is affecting his business then he should just leave us there and leave her alone. That was encouraging, her having the audacity to give really crappy advice to our driver, who we had already paid, to bring us across the remaining 9 hours of Kenyan soil to our home.
Somehow during his grilling and ignoring and talking about us in what sounded like Kisii or some other Bantu language the man decided to give us out visas. My heart finally slowed its pace a little. He stamped and scribbled and then held out his hand for the money. I paid for both Michelle and I with a $100 US bill. And again there was a problem. The bill was made in 1996. They don’t take US bills made before 2000. And he repeated this about 12 times pointing to the sign outside. Which would have been helpful if he had told me before I met him and got on the bus and before I was stuck in his office having Kenyan and Ugandan currency to barely make $30 let alone $50.
One lady took the money outside and tried to get one of the exchangers to give her change. No deal, they won’t take it because it’s from 1996. A police officer tried, same thing. He finally told me to go find money to which I looked outside at a gate and about 100 tractor trailers and asked how I was supposed to do that. I was told that there was a bank in town. This is when I started getting agitated. He had already wasted so much of our time and not only did I not know where our bus was but I was half sure that they had just left without us. And now I had to find a bank which I’m told is a 10 minute walk (when I’m sure now that it was at least 20). I left Michelle in the office, she had had enough Ugandan shillings to pay for her own visa. Outside a man helped me get a boda boda (a bicycle with a seat on the back) and told the rider to take me to the bank and back. I hopped on, my first boda boda ride ever, and off we went. On the way we passed out bus which had already been making its way through the heavy traffic out of town. The conductor hopped off as we went by and I tried to sign to him that I was coming quickly and getting money. He followed me on a boda boda and caught up just as I was leaving the ATM.
“You have to come collect your bags we are leaving.” This was not something I needed right now. I pleaded with him, explained to him that immigration would not take my money and that all I had to do was pay in Kenya shillings that’s why I was at the bank. I told him that I have the money in my pocket, I just have to ride back, put the money in his hand and then I will be on that bus. I begged him for 10 minutes telling him that I can’t stay here over night. He called the driver immediately and argued with him on the phone in a language I don’t know. He told my boda boda driver to go as fast as he can and rode back with me, on the phone the whole time trying to explain what was happening.
We got back to immigration, I told the rider to get one more bike to go to the bus, ran in the office and asked how much to pay. I placed the 4000 K shillings in his hand and grabbed my passport. Michelle and I got on the bikes and we were off again, the conductor running till he could get his own ride, still on the phone. We finally got to the bus which was now even farther into town and boarded with looks from other passengers that ranged from hostility to sympathy to indifference.
It was 11:45 when we sat down and I spent the next half hour thanking God that we didn’t have to find a place to stay that night as I watched the run down border town of Malaba pass by me in the window. Kampala  South Eastern Uganda is beautiful. Western Kenya is green but not green like this. The weather feels like a perfect summer day in Toronto, slightly humid with a nice breeze every once in a while to remind you that you are not going to die from heat exhaustion.
Kampala is well developed, founded on seven hills so you can see the city from many angles. Drivers wont rave so much though, as every city outlet takes you through a shanty town and the traffic in those areas can be a bit tight. It didn’t seem to be as bad as Nairobi traffic though, but then I wasn’t there for very long. Apparently Kampala’s population doubled overnight and they still haven’t caught up to make the streets more user friendly.
Some things that we saw in Uganda that we don’t see in Nairobi:
-massive quantities of motorcycle taxis, they may outnumber the cars.
-storks that I can’t remember the name of, I just call them ugly storks
-birds that sound like monkeys, they almost chatter
-different cell phone lines, ones that charge you double just to call Kenya
-red soil
-a surprising lack of trash, which is apparently contributed to the garbage eating ugly storks
 -Lake Victoria
-the Nile, yes…. THE Nile!
We stayed with some relatives of friends in the city at their place. Michelle and I were given the guest cottage which had its very own air conditioner!!! Very exciting! They also had a pool which I took advantage of a couple of times.
  They were incredible hosts. They had their niece Elizabeth and nephew Kamau show us around the city a couple of days.
We went to (in no particular order)
 -the oldest cathedral in Uganda
  -the kings palace
  -the martyrs’ shrine
-a lounge
-a movie - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
-the beach (see above photo)
March 17 Illness(es)So I lost my voice at the beginning of February and even though it came back after about 4-5 days I still didn’t feel 100%. I then got sick again the beginning of March and it seemed like a sinus infection. A few days after that began, I started having fevers and I lost my energy. A couple of nights were kind of scary because everything seemed to ache, my insides felt like they were cooking and I could barely walk from the living room to my bedroom without having to rest. I decided that I needed to see a doctor.
I had been putting it off because I am un-naturally afraid of people who practice medicine on me mostly because of an experience I had with having blood taken about 14 years ago… pathetic I know. But it’s still a very real fear. At this point in my illness I was becoming more afraid of something happening because I was being irresponsible with my health so I decided to be responsible. The problem was that I was supposed to be on a bus to Uganda two days from then and I had a lot of things that I needed to do first. So I decided that if I felt even marginally better the day before travelling that I would see a doctor when I got to Uganda.
That’s what I did. Our host, Joy, was very gracious and found a doctor, a friend of her mother, and made me an appointment. I saw the doctor, nerves peaking and feeling kind of out of control but explained to him what had been happening. He obviously saw how nervous I was because he made a diagnosis and told me that he wouldn’t take blood unless I was worse the next day, to which I was very thankful.
Diagnosis:
I told you I was sick in February, well it was a viral infection that never really got better. As my body was fighting that, it was letting down its guard for bacteria (which there is a lot of in Kibera – where I spend a lot of my time) so then I got a bacterial infection. I was fighting off two infections which was taking everything I had without me even knowing it. That is why I had no energy and I was getting random fevers and I was aching like never before. He prescribed me some meds one about the size of an ant, but the second made up for the size of the first one, being as big as the last knuckle of my pinky to the end…literally. I started taking the meds and the next couple of days there was only a tiny bit of improvement. I spent a lot of time in bed; completely drained usually from swimming or walking up 4 stairs… it was crazy. But I’m better now; my energy is almost back to normal. My sinuses are still behaving strangely but I know that some of that is the travelling and the climate change.
I am going to be more responsible with me health though because I realize that at home if I’m sick it’s normally flu or cold… here, there are so many other illnesses that I don’t even know about that I’m susceptible to, malaria, TB and typhoid being a few of them. Please continue to pray for my health though, without it, I’m nothing. |
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