We’d been in the country for about two weeks now, and Sharon, my friend and coworker at TEWDI Uganda (the women’s development NGO I was interning for) decided that that weekend we needed to get out of the office and go see some of Uganda’s spectacular natural beauty.
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On the road to Sipi Falls
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Sipi Falls ended up being just as beautiful as it had been described to me. As we traveled up the mountain towards the site, the air grew clearer, the land became greener, and the soil turned a deep, deep red. We took our time visiting each of the three waterfalls, stopping to take way too many photos and to speak to the smiling kids that would come out of their homes to greet us, many carrying Gerry cans of water or bundles of sugarcane on their heads.
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t was no surprise that it had gotten pretty late by the time we arrived back at our car. We drove down the mountain as the sun set spectacularly behind us. After the excursion of the day, and what with the warm, still air and the quiet hum of the radio, I was asleep before we reached the base.
When I awoke, it was dark and our driver, William, had pulled off to the side of the street in the middle of a nameless roadside town. Our car had stalled and wouldn’t start up again, so we all got out to take a look at the engine. We stood there for hours trying to figure out what was wrong.
Despite it being the middle of the night in the middle of the Ugandan countryside, I never felt unsafe. Many people walking by stopped to see if we were okay, offered their advice, and then ran off to fetch tools and yet more people. Cries of “No, sorry! The mechanic is in Mbale tonight!” and “Try this petrol!” grew louder and louder. Soon it felt like we had half the town crowded around our engine.
Eventually, the thousands of stars above us faded away as the moon rose and clouds started rolling in. It was decided that William would wait for the mechanic to travel up in the morning, and that the rest of us would make our way back to Soroti. We all, with the eager help of the townsfolk, pushed the car to the other side of the street.
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It got later and later while we tried to fix our engine
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It was a Sunday night, so not too many people were travelling. We missed the last bus and the full-to-the-brim taxis wouldn’t stop for us. We joked that soon we would all have to take boda-bodas (small motorcycles) back the long journey to Soroti. Just as we were about to give up, a ginormous pick-up, adorned with the skull of a long horned bull, pulled over. The front door opened and an American veterinarian and her husband got out of the car and offered us a ride.
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| Our ride home |
We all climbed into the trunk bed and flew down the road towards Soroti. It was incredibly windy, but I didn’t feel cold. I stared at the Ugandan countryside as it flew past me. The moon had completely risen now, and the water of the swamps reflected it’s light back to us.
I thought about how many things during my stay in Uganda (and not just transportation) had not turned out as expected. Everyday little details just wouldn’t pan out, like trying to communicate with people seemingly impossible to reach, having the power shut off midway through entering data on the computer, and battling a constant fight with unreliable cellphone service. Expecting the unexpected is a fact of life in development work: there are no givens.
Yet, it seemed, you could almost always rely on the kindness of a stranger. I thought about how eager everyone in town was to stand by us, offer up their saved stores of gasoline (stored in old soda liters), and help push our stalled car. Even when everything went south, there was always someone there to help right the wrongs.
We arrived back in Soroti with numbed limbs and wild, windswept hair. After saying goodbye to our ride, we ate a cold dinner and then walked home under the moonlight, joking and laughing the entire way. I felt thankful for all generous people I had met that day, and I felt a little more confident that when life doesn’t go as planned, I can handle it.
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