Africa 1987    Chapter I  

We had a soft landing in East Africa. We arrived at Nairobi Airport from Cairo early Friday morning and called the Lees, who we had met in India. Yvonne enthusiastically invited us to stay with them in Karen. We took the 34 bus into Nairobi and then bus 111 for 12km to Karen. We stayed with Yvonne, John, daughter Susan, their two dogs Maxi and Midge for 11 days. We sure appreciated their generosity.

We had two weekends with the Lees. The first of which, we drove out to the Rift Valley to one of the dig sites. We were mesmerized by a herd of seven giraffes. We also thoroughly enjoyed time at the Karen Club swimming pool. Laying on the poolside grass, Nairobi seemed like a pretty nice place to live. On the second weekend, we all packed up for camping at Lake Naivasha at the Safari Land Lodge. We toured Hell’s Gate game reserve and viewed herds of zebra, hartebeest, giraffes and endless birds. The hippos at Naivasha lazed in the water by day, but in the evenings we could hear the farmers banging pots and pans to chase them out of their fields. It was all quite marvellous.

During the business week, we drove into Nairobi with John early each morning to run our errands. By week’s end, we were quite successful. Our passports contained visas for Zaire, Rwanda and Burundi. Although we found camping supplies to be limited and expensive, we managed to procure some items secondhand from departing travellers (the youth hostel was a  focal point). We had a kerosene stove, a brilliant lightweight tent, sleeping pads, shoes, tailor made long and short pants and an external frame rucksack (the best we could do). Sheila bought some blue material and made a skirt. We also studied a visitor’s book at the hostel that provided plenty of information, especially for the Ruwenzori mountains.

We had an interesting visit to the Canadian High Commission. The Chief doctor organized cholera stamps in our inoculation booklets. One of the advisors had a word with us; Uganda was not advised for Canadians. The Ugandan civil war had just ended. After we brushed him off, he privately expressed his envy.

We watched “Out of Africa” one evening and Yvonne pointed out friends who were extras during the filming in Karen. We closed out our stay with the Lees, with the last of our errands. Glenn cooked up an Italian dinner served with French wine. We left in good spirits.

We travelled to the Uganda border, second class couchette that was as luxurious as first class trains in Asia. The second class sleepers were segregated by men and women. Glenn’s compartment was full, whereas Sheila shared with a girl headed for Eldoret. The journey cost 150 Kenya Shillings (CDN 12), 18hrs to travel 600km. We enjoyed  a fine dinner served by waiters smartly dressed in white suits for $5, worth every penny. When the ticket inspector came around in the morning at Malaba, it was discovered that the young girl in Sheila’s compartment had missed her stop, and she became quite distressed. We bought her a ticket back to Eldoret and gave her some pocket money. 

A Kenyan immigration official at a bare desk collected our currency forms and put exit stamps in our passports and we proceeded on a ten minute walk through "no man's land". We were pulled over twice by Kenyan army fellows with machine guns to check our passports and we fended off money changers to reach the Ugandan immigration. There were more men and machine guns milling about while we breezed through the formalities. We caught a matatu (van) ride to Kampala for 19,000 Ugandan Shillings ($2). It took six hours to travel the 200km including stopping at ten armed checkpoints where everyone's ID's were checked each time. Apparently, there were thirty check points the year previous. Huge potholes appeared as we closed in on Kampala.

 The city was busy on arrival with people going on with their daily business and the bustling market caught our attention. A large pineapple was going for USH 1,000 (10 cents) and mangoes for half that. Maribu storks stood on guard on rooftops, poles and picked their way through garbage piles around town. 

Our late afternoon arrival meant that most of the hotels were full and we settled for a flea-bag (literally, as we found later) for 5,000 USH (50 cents) a bed. There was  a run down medical clinic operating in the room beside us and room #9 offered astrological services that could cure malaria, diabetes, heart attacks, rheumatism and  impotence and improve business success. A grubby bathroom was down the hall, past the beauty parlour. Our room was heavy with dark green paint, illuminated  by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There were five cots, that filled up and two of the African men slept on the floor. Mice tried to get into our food bag and we endured an onslaught of flees that were undeterred by insect repellent and flea powder. Between the snoring and fleas, we didn't get much sleep that night. By morning we were covered in bites and Sheila had swelling around one of her eyes. 

The following day, we had three business items: to change money, purchase train tickets and find a proper hotel. We knew of a certain camera shop that was known as a safe and honest place to exchange money. We changed USD 300 into Shillings, but hadn't anticipated the volume of bills that we received (the unofficial exchange rate was ten times higher than the bank rate). I looked at the shop owner and said" I should probably count this" but he told me that it was his business and I could count it in my hotel room. OK, but then I had to stuff the bills into a bag and it looked like we had just robbed a bank. Our next stop was to purchase train tickets to Kasese. We ended up with "special second class" tickets for USH 10,000, or $1 each for the following day. The USH 14,000 "special first class" tickets were sold out. Thirdly, we found a hotel with a double room for USH 40,000 ($4) with clean sheets, no bed bugs or fleas but no running water.

A westerner was in the next room, so Glenn & Brad toured the city and Sheila had a sleep. Three of us went for dinner at the Imperial, the best hotel in town. They were out of steaks, fish and sausages, but they had chicken. So we prepaid for our dinner (USH 12,000) and had a reasonably good and filling meal. Brad had just completed a 4 month tour of central and east Africa with his girlfriend. He was emaciated but his malaria fever had broken while his girlfriend was still feverish and delirious in bed. His appearance made us uneasy about our planned journey. 

The train was scheduled to leave at 3:00pm but the station master announced a delay to 8:00pm. When we returned to the station, the train pulled in at 7:45pm, and departed at 11:00pm. Special second class was modern, clean and comfortable with working lights and fans. The compartments seated six, separated by male and female, and we were in separate compartments and different train cars.  Drunk soldiers toting machine guns went in and out of the ladies compartments, often demanding to see everyone's papers or made other requests. They were generally ignored by the women and the soldiers lost patience and left to be replaced by another until the train pulled out of the station. Once the beds were put down, we managed to sleep. A conductor checked tickets in the middle of the night. By day we passed through grassland, light bush and stopped at small villages. We arrived at Kasese at 5:00pm; the 350km train journey had taken 18 hours (20km/hr). 

Kasese featured one paved road (the main highway) and a few dirt roads lined with run down one storey buildings. It was a place where time seemed to stand still. Lanky Africans walked through the tall grass, a huge variety of birds were perched in the trees, with an always scorching equatorial (0.17°N) sun by day and the sounds of the invisible insects by night. We stayed two nights at the Saad Hotel, that was surprisingly comfortable featuring clean double rooms, attached toilets and shower with running water most of the time.  Sunday was pretty quiet in Kasese; most people lazed about, wealthier Ugandans had meals at the Saad Hotel and the storks ate garbage. We found the people to be friendly and smiled back at you. The kids would great us with "How are You?" (the English equivalent of "Habari?". 

The big attraction on Sunday nights was video movies at the Saad Hotel hall. Tickets were USH 1,000 (ten cents), but hotel guests had complimentary admission. The hall had a scattering of plastic chairs and wooden benches. A small TV with VCR sat at the foot of a large white screen. "Raw Deal", featuring Arnold Schwarzeneger was the feature attraction. It was nearly impossible to see the screen and the sound was inaudible. At times, I thought that I was hallucinating as the TV screen seemed to recede to a small dot in the dark hall. We watched  it for a few minutes and left. Sorry Arnold.

Kasese was livelier on Monday and we had some shopping to do. We had to purchase supplies to furnish the porters and guide on our upcoming Ruwenzori hike and food for ourselves. We were aware of the porter requirements and we met three guys who had just returned from the Ruwenzoris (I had had met one of them earlier at the Nairobi Youth Hostel). They helped us to identify the specific items in the market. We picked up sugar, powdered milk, tea, curry powder, ground nuts, cigarettes, cassava flour, dried fish and cooking oil for the porters. It quickly turned into a mountain of food.  Later we bought food for ourselves. Our staple diet was to be rice and beans, supplemented with fresh vegetables and fruits. The cost of the porter/guide's food was USH 202,500 ($20) and the cost for our own food was USH 60,000 ($6).

We sat around enjoying passion fruit juice and lunch at the Saad Hotel when the taxi appeared and we loaded our gear and bags of food into the trunk and set of for Ibanda, some 18kms away. We turned off the Kasese to Fort Portal road, onto a dirt track through banana trees and a few huts. Just as we approached Ibanda, a crazy looking mazungu (white person), wearing ski goggles, waved his arms in all directions to stop the taxi. "My boots, my boots, do you have my boots?". We stopped and the driver pulled a pair of hiking boots out of the trunk and the mazungu jumped in the front seat and we continued on to the "Mountain Club of Ibanda", that was no more than a shack. To our complete amazement, Andrew was a fellow Canadian who had left Vancouver just a couple of days earlier. He had travelled 36 hours via London, Nairobi, through Entebbe and somewhat miraculously a plane to Kasese. He had accidentally left his boots in the taxi, the same taxi we came by (there probably weren't very many taxis in Kasese). It became clear quickly, that he was not aware of the unofficial currency market, because he was running out of money. He was finding Uganda to be incredibly expensive; "8 dollars for a beer and there were plenty of people at the bar. I thought Africa was poor." He was over-paying for everything and then discovered he would have to hire a guide & porters for the hike, and he didn't have enough cash. His travel buddy, who had organized the trip, had cancelled at the last hour because of a family tragedy.

I talked to John Matte of the "Mountain Club" to arrange for porters and for some additional food for our now larger expedition. We then sat back to enjoy the basic surroundings of Ibanda. A German couple with a nine year old son arrived from out of the mountains. They looked dirty and worn.  She was hysterical, ranting about the cold, the mud and the bamboo! If we hadn't talked to other people who had completed the walk, we might have been tempted to turn back. A pick-up truck came by and she leapt in front of it, yelling "my child, my poor child, we must get to Kasese tonight!". They disappeared down the road, into the night.

We arranged for dinner; a lump of matoke (cooked plantains). Andrew slept in the hut that crawled with rodents and we thought that we were clever to sleep in our tent. However, a half-crazed goat kept us awake with strange noises through the night and then at dawn, it decided to jump up on our tent.

The following morning, I spent some time negotiating over blankets, pots & pans and wages. We were supposed to purchase hardware and give it to the porters. We ended up simply paying each porter USH 50,000 and let them bring their own blankets, and we paid a rental fee for some hardware including machete, sweaters for the porters, pots & pans. Our party consisted of three of us, four porters, with one with the title of "translator" and a guide. The porters would earn USH 3,500 (35 cents)/day, the translator 5,000/day and 7,000 for the guide. Rain days attracted attracted a 50% premium.

We loaded up our personal gear and food supplies in burlap bags which the porters carried with crude straps made of bark. We set off in the heat of the day along a dirt road past banana tree groves.  The snows of the Ruwenzoris were visible. Kids ran out of their houses screaming "hello!" and "how are you?". At the end of the road, we reached a cool stream where we had a quick wash as a few locals watched from the rickety bridge and a young boy herded longhorn cattle across the creek. That was the last of civilization. 

We headed up a narrow path through tall elephant grass that gradually gave way to forest and giant ferns. Small yellow butterflies danced at our feet. The vegetation became denser, more tangled and sometimes we could only see a few feet in front of us. Tunnels had been cut through the vines and fallen trees. Stinging nettles sliced our legs and arms. Sometimes armies of flying ants would fly up and sting us. Six hours later, we reached the first campsite of Nyabitaba at 8,700 feet (2,650m) and a tin shack. We inspected the shack but opted to sleep under a nearby overhanging rock on a bed of grass. When we arrived, one of the barefoot porters, wearing a trench coat, began flapping his arms about, dancing and chanting "why-kano, why-kano". This daily ritual was to renew the strength of all. We set about preparing a dinner of rice and lentils while the porters cooked up dried fish and cassava. Andrew had brought freeze-dried foods from home and had a chicken casserole dish that night. Andrew kept us entertained telling us stories of life of the fast life as a young lawyer. We convinced him to drink more water as he was clearly dehydrated. We all bedded down, quite tired and enjoyed a mosquito-free sleep.

On the morning of the second day, we wolfed down porridge, then we clambered down a steep trail surrounded by ferns to the fast flowing Mabuku River, had a wash before making a difficult crossing.  We had fine weather but it was warm climbing up the steep trail through thick vegetation. We all wilted under the hot sand but were rejuvenated by a juicy pineapple. A Japanese climber stumbled by us, desperately trying to get back to civilization. "Snow eye" he said. One look at his swollen eyes indicated that he had snow blindness. "Good Ruck" were the last words we heard as he stumbled down the trail.

By afternoon, the vegetation changed dramatically. The ground turned marshy and the plant life was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Giant lobelias with purple/green leaves had spiked tops, reaching 15-20 feet high. The giant groundsels were like trees with ballooned branches and long green leaves at the ends. We had arrived at the "Mountains of the Moon". In the less marshy areas, there were stands of trees covered in moss clumps with bright green moss draped from the branches. We skirted the Bigo Bog, a marsh area that was a kilometre wide and just as long. The lobelias and groundsels were prolific. We tried to keep our feet dry, but eventually succumbed and sloshed our way through. 

We reached Bigo Hut (11,300 feet, 3,450m) surrounded by secondary Ruwenzori peaks and we went straight to the nearby stream to wash off the mud. Glenn and Andrew walked straight into the water while Sheila tried to keep her feet dry and scrapped the mud off with a stick. Bigo Hut was an octagonal tin building with a wood plank floor, the centre of which was burned out by a camp fire. After dinner, we munched on hot, freshly roasted ground nuts. The night was cool and the floor was hard. None of us slept well and Andrew woke up with a cold.

We decided to take the advice of another traveller who had been to the Ruwenzoris "Don't take the mud seriously", so we immersed our boots into a cool stream and plugged away through the muddy path rather than attempting to jump around mud. It was muddier than the previous day and we emerged onto yet another beautiful bog with views of the twin peaks of Mt Stanley. We found the strange vegetation with a glacial backdrop to be surreal. We walked slowly as we gained elevation, drinking litre upon litre of water. We reached the Bujuku Hut in the early afternoon and we enjoyed the views, particularly a thin waterfall emanating from the Mt Speke glaciers. The Bujuku Hut (13,000 feet, 3962m)  had a few bunks in place that we could sleep on, three across. Although the hut had no door and only half a wooden floor, it felt like home. The porters slept huddled together in a rock shelter ten minutes walk below the hut. The trunks of dead groundsel was cut and used for firewood. It burned smokey. We cooked up rice and lentils for dinner. Once again, we roasted groundnuts over a fire (under clear skies) while Andrew slept, with the effects of altitude, jet lag and a cold all rolled into one. Glenn was awakened in the middle of the night with a vole scurrying through his hair.

It had been our original intention to go as far as we could up Mt Speke, but the following morning, no one moved quickly and the consensus was to stay put and rest. We got a fire going and heated up a continuous supply of hot water and we all managed to bathe. We admired the magnificent scenery. The clouds rolled in with another group of trekkers. The group was a veritable United Nations and much like the world organization, it had degenerated into petty squabbling.  Then the rain started which made for cramped quarters as nine people piled into the hut. There was a solo American and a group of five who bickered constantly. The Spaniard borrowed our chili sauce to liven up a bean dish and the German threatened to kill him if he made it too spicy. One of the group staggered out of the hut unable to keep food in his stomach, a likely sign of mild altitude sickness. We wore every stitch of clothing to stay warm.

As the rain continued, we admired some of the graffiti on the hut walls. Memorable comments included "Turn back, it's a trap!" and "Chinese Double Happiness brand matches do not work in the Ruwenzoris". The gem was a Bob Dylan ballad, "Hard Rain is Gonna Fall: Where have you been my blue-eyed son? Where have you been darling young one? I've stumbled and slashed for three slippery days. I've waded thru mud for thirty-five k's. I've spent a cold night between three misty mountains. And it's a hard rain gonna fall. I've chewed on a hyrex and walked to Zaire. I've gasped and I've panted until I've gone woozy. I've spent the night dreamin' about a Jaccuzi. And it's a hard rain been fallin'"

We woke up to overcast skies, gummed down watery porridge, washed down with coffee and we set off to climb over Scott Elliot Pass (14,350 feet, 4,372M). We left the other group lying in their sleeping bags, looking sick and cold, and we heard complaints of diarrhoea and  arguments about breakfast. We were somewhat surprised to continue slogging through more mud and groundsels of the Bujuku Bog until the trail really steepened and it give way to rocky slopes. When we reached the pass, we were treated with clear views of Mount Speke and enjoyed some of Andrew's M&M candies.

After a photo session, we headed down the other, somewhat drier side of the saddle through forests of giant heather plants, some as high as 6 feet. We reached the Kitandara hut (13,500 feet, 4,023m) that was in the best condition of all the huts. It had three tier bunks, windows and even a door. The hut was in a picturesque setting overlooking a small lake, surrounded by green mountains with trees budding pink flowers. 

I cooked up lunch; a hearty soup of rice and cabbage, followed by tea. We were pleased with our day as we watched the rain come in. When the other group arrived, a few went straight to bed while others were subdued. It cleared off that evening and the three of us cooked a fish stew (from dried fish purchased in Kasase) on a smokey groundsel campfire. 

We had a full day and we all had a batch of porridge and coffee that I prepared on Andrew's MSR stove. It was a cool damp day, and we first reached Freshfield Pass (14,375 feet or 4,382m) that offered clear views to the west and Zaire but grey and cloudy in our direction of travel. Sheila led the charge up, while Andrew was slowed by his terrible cold. Scarlet-tufted malachite sunbirds fed on nectar, poking their sharp beaks into the flower spikes of the giant lobelias.

Much like the previous walking days, it was futile to keep our feet dry as we slogged through mud. It was to be the longest and hardest day of the trek; it took us eleven hours. The marathon day was because the usual overnight stop would have been the Kichuchu Rock shelter, but it wasn't large enough for both groups, so we had decided to press on further that day. We slid down mud slides, slippery rock faces and waded through mud bogs and hacked through thick vegetation. Although we had started earlier, our barefoot, sure-footed porters raced past us. At one point we had no choice but to walk ankle deep mud in mud on a one metre-wide bog ledge with cliffs both above and below us. Sheila was the winner of the "high mud mark" award. It started to pour and we felt fortunate to take a lunch break under an overhang. Although the weather started to clear, the rain had made the trail more treacherous. The last part of the day, we descended through bamboo forest then a forest of tall trees. We startled a troop of monkeys.  We were elated to reach the familiar Nyabitaba Hut of our first night. We slept better at the warmer, lower elevation.

Nyabitaba marked the completion of our circuit (the trek was a "lollipop") so on the seventh day of our trek, we marched 4 hours back to Ibanda. We were able to wash in the river before starting out. We came across a half metre long worm with blueish silver coloration. We completed the customary haggling over wages and then set off down to the road. Andrew was carrying a heavy pack.  Luckily, we walked only 3km's of the expected 8km to the main road and caught a lift with a  delivery truck from Bugoye to Kasese and the comfort of the Saad Hotel. After bucket showers, a few Tusker beers and a hearty chicken dinner, the Mountains of the Moon became but a memory.

Cost of the Expedition (in Ugandan Shillings):

Our Food - 60,000

Porters food - 202,000

Rental of machete, carry sacks, pots, sweaters for porters - 75,000

Cash payment in lieu of blankets - 250,000

Porter & Guides salaries - 213,000

Transport to and from Ibanda/Kasese - 60,000

TOTAL - 860,000 ($86)

Cost per person for seven days  - $29

We said our farewells the following day. Andrew capitalized on the experience and altitude acclimatization and climbed Mount Kilimanjaro shortly thereafter.

We got off to a late start from Kasase as we spent a chunk of time posting a parcel and then waited for our laundry. We found a matatu (collective van or pick-up truck) that would bring us to the entrance of the QE National Park. The ride proved to be one of the most uncomfortable rides in  2 & 1/2 years of travel. There were twenty people in the back of the pick-up along with boxes, bags, oil drums and banana bunches travelling on rough roads. We did pass the equator and we saw hundreds of kob (antelope) as we approached the park. We could barely get out of the truck, then stretched our aching legs and paid the USH 1,000 (ten cents) admission fee to enter the park. We caught another lift late in the afternoon bouncing along in a trailer pulled by a tractor the final 8 kms. All recollection of the travel hardship instantly disappeared when we saw a herd of 60 elephant at the water's edge of the lake. The Mweya lodge was on a hilltop overlooking the lake and grasslands, a stone building with a long veranda. We had a great fish dinner and met a number of interesting people.  At nightfall, a large group of us sat around and told tall tales and watched the elephant herd below. 

The following day, at 6:30am, eight of us climbed into a Land Rover with a driver and a ranger riding shot gun. Within half an hour, we all jumped out of the vehicle to gain a closer view of an elephant herd while a bright red ball, the sun, arose over the horizon. Later we saw several hyenas close to the track, followed by waterbuck, warthogs, cape buffalo and many kob.The cost was USH 15,000 each ($1.50). 

Afternoons were warm. On our first afternoon, we boarded the "Hippo Express" (USH 6,000 or 60 cents each). We headed along the Kazinga Channel towards Lake Edward but just 200m into our journey, I spotted something moving in the reeds, a baby elephant. I called out to the boat captain and we reversed direction. A tiny trunk approached the boat, disappeared and then reappeared. A strong tourist hauled it into the boat, and suddenly the boat was buzzing with activity and we all crowded around it for a better look. We had to tie one its legs with a rope to a post to keep it from running around.  It tried to suck on people's hands in search of milk. The boat trip went on with hippos galore, and Sheila stayed with the baby elephant. This was a once in a lifetime experience, and it got better.

Once we returned to the dock, our next task was to somehow get the baby to a herd of elephants about a kilometre away. It took some effort to convince the elephant to disembark from the boat, but once we were on land, it followed in the park ranger's steps. We got as close to a herd as we dared and then we made a quick dash away from them. The baby started to cry and run with us, but the true mother trumpeted and came running, ears out, ready to charge. Fortunately, the baby stopped in its tracks. When mom arrived, it went straight to her breasts between her forelegs. Five other female elephants arrived and encircled the young one for protection until it had enough energy to move on. What a sight, and what a happy ending. We all returned to the lodge veranda and had a few beers with a great sense of satisfaction. What a day it had been.

The following day, most of the other guests left, but we still managed to arrange a Landrover safari with another tourist. In the afternoon, we joined the boat ride, this time with two Russian diplomats and their wives. They were almost as entertaining as the animals. They handed out postcards of Moscow and USSR magazines to the boatmen and then stripped down to out-of-date swimwear. 

Without the distraction of a baby elephant on board, we could focus on the boat tour. There were large groups of hippos, some with 30-40 members, lazing about the channel. The boatman drove close (too close in my opinion) to the hippos sending some disappearing below the surface while others laboriously walked up onto the beach shoreline. They are truly monstrous creatures with lovely pink bellies and wide rear ends. Along the shore were some Cape Buffalo and prolific bird life including fish eagles, egrets, cormorants, herons, storks, ibis, Egyptian geese, cranes and tiny but colourful malachite kingfishers. It was a real delight.

The next day, all the visitors cleared out and it was just us, so neither the safari vehicle nor the boat ran that day. We sat around chatting with lodge employees. One fellow was considering a second wife and asked for my views on the matter. He was surprised to hear that polygamy was not practised in Canada. He really didn't believe me. There was a shortage of men in the local village (100 lost during the civil wars) and you could understand his line of inquiry. 

After our blissful stay in Queen Elizabeth Park, we returned to the hard reality of African torture travel. Our rides to Kasese were relatively comfortable; in the back of a large truck and then in a pick-up truck with five other passengers. After a huge breakfast at the Saad Hotel, we headed on our way to Kabale, 300 km to the south. Our first ride was a two hour "crusher"; twenty people crammed in the back of a pick-up truck with heaps of luggage and gerry cans of gasoline. Part way along, we transferred  and were directed to a beaten up Peugeot station wagon, four abreast in the back seat. Then another four were to sit on our laps. We abandoned ship. A friendly driver called us over to his empty pick-up truck and we tried again, this time in the front cab. We munched down fresh pineapple while we waited for the truck to fill up. With four of us in the cab, it seemed like luxury. The truck crawled through the pot holes and some ways a long, we passed the Peugeot that we had abandoned. It was broken down and we carried on to Mbarara, another town of decaying buildings. It was now six in the evening and we managed to find a van leaving for Kabale. We started out four across in a three-seater, and we ended up five across, but it was a cushioned seat. We reached Kabale four hours later at 10:00pm, a hard day. Then we went to a recommended hotel to encounter a stubborn clerk demanding that we pay for the room in hard currency (40 USD). We left, then later returned, left again,eventually we were called back and allowed to pay in shillings as long as we cleared out at 7:00am, before the manager arrived.  

I went out for food, and came back with a couple of half-frozen Coca-colas. We were up in the hills and the shower was cold, so Glenn fired up our kerosene stove in the room. It some how malfunctioned creating flames and black smoke before it died down. Phew, a close call. I washed by candlelight when the power went off and then we collapsed in bed. 

Someone knocked on our door at 7:00am. We had enough time for an omlette breakfast and then we jumped into the back of a loaded pick-up truck to drive through the morning mist and thus we didn't see much of the mountains. We had twenty adults and three children in the back that morning, as we drove higher from farmland into bamboo forest. At a checkpoint a tough looking kid, no more than 8 years old, in army fatigues, carrying a sub-machine gun, asked us which bags were ours. He checked all the other bags, but not ours. They looked for goods of interest without receipts that they could confiscate. 

Kisoro was another sleepy ghost town, with a line of deserted shops, once operated by Asian merchants, and a covered walkway. We walked through town and sat under a large tree. An African dressed in a worn brown suit strolled over and talked to us in French.The eccentricity of the French had apparently rubbed off on him as later in the day, I saw him again, listening to a radio. I asked him what he was listening to and he responding "Huamanité ....le drôle du monde" (the absurdity of life).

We settled down at the Travellers Rest Hotel (USH 22,000 for a room, dinners for 7,000). Kisoro is 8km from Rwanda and 10km from Zaire. Not much was happening in town. The odd store opened for a few hours to sell a few items from its mostly bare shelves. We rested up in Kisoro for two nights, attended the small weekly market (largely  corn, bananas,rock salt, tobacco, tomatoes, cabbage, potatoes, dried beans millet, baskets and hemp for making rope). We found that wazungu's (white people, us) attracted a great deal of attention.

 I tried the kerosene stove once again, this time outside in the hotel garden. It burned uncontrollably, the legs fell off, flames spewed from the pump and finally the kerosene exhausted itself to leave a smouldering mess. Not a good result. The assistant hotel manager suggested a kerosene light repairman who I found bashing tin with a hammer in the hot sun. His tools seemed to be a hammer, file and pliers. I left the ruin of a stove with him, expecting nothing. Two hours later, I returned to find a fine, well functioning stove, complete with new soldered legs. Amazing.

We set out for Zaire and the gorillas on Tuesday morning. The 7:30am breakfast did not materialize and it took some time to organize a pick-up charter (USH 80,000). We reached the border at 9:00am. and searched for an official in the staff quarters. He stamped us out, offered us a poor exchange rate for Zaire dollars, so we pressed on to Zaire immigration, 100m further along. The official there passed us on to the army commander to change $50, at a poor rate. Two passing men were heading near the Gorilla camp and we followed them on a shortcut that saved us a lot of walking. We walked at a blistering pace through mainly potato and corn fields. Farmers were hacking away at the soil, but they all seemed to stop to watch and greet us. 

Disappointment awaited us at the Gorilla camp. It was an especially busy week, compounded by the arrival of an Expedition truck with 25 passengers. Only 10 people were able to visit the two gorilla groups each day. We made bookings for Sunday and Monday, five days hence and spent the evening camped next to the visitors hut. The following morning, we retreated down the hill, back to the border and passed through the Zaire Immigration quickly. However, we were unable to find Charles, the Ugandan official. It was market day and he was likely off somewhere drinking. Eventually, he returned and stamped our passports. We were lucky to catch a ride down to Kisoro.