An Adventure in Africa

True to form, obtaining the vehicles was no piece of cake as clearance threatened to be delayed for up to three weeks, not unusual in this part of the world.  This was my third visit to see the agent, each trip involving a round trip of 200km. I had decided that this was going to have to be third time lucky.

By the time my three Kenyan mates had journeyed the 18hr bus ride to Mombasa to pick up the vans, I’d worn down the agent and he was pulling out all the stops just to get me off his back! A few tortuous hours later we were driving our beauties out of the gates and into the hustle-bustle of Mombasa - I couldn’t believe how far we’d actually come.

We finally reached Kisumu, not too far away from the Ugandan border.  We stayed at a grotty bar in what can only be described as hell-town.  The guys went to bed but I hit the bar as I wanted to watch France play football in the World Cup. The bar was literally that - made from steel bars, either to keep the punters from the booze or the barmaid.  It was like walking into one of those bars in Star Wars, many weird and wonderful specimens. There was a makeshift butchery in the corner with an abandoned half side of goat on a hook, the obligatory fly accompaniment and aroma to match. While the six-inch monitor (TV?) belted out African coverage of the football in the other corner, smartly arranged with enough clearance to miss the leaky shower fittings from the room above, I enjoyed a game of pool with the locals. This helped to break the ice and, of course, the tension.  I finally managed to slope off to bed under the flimsy excuse of an urgent toilet break.

The next day took us to the border crossing and what an experience that turned out to be.  Basically you have to wait and wait whilst being hassled and questioned over the tiniest detail.  The midday sun belted down throughout and I was suffering from heat exhaustion as shade was impossible to find.  Many trials and tribulations followed and we eventually reached stalemate.  Hours later my driver mates were trying to resurrect negotiations when miraculously something just gave and we were finally free to complete the drive to Kampala just another 300 clicks or so away.

On arrival at the centre I felt so privileged to have been able to deliver the vehicles in one piece.  It’s difficult to put into words the sense of gratitude the guys have shown over here.  I felt I had been part of something very special, tough but special, and extremely worthwhile.  Also, the sense of support from back home has been incredibly strong through both prayers and encouragement. Thank you.

The next two weeks involved another nightmare round of clearing the vehicles into the country.  The usual delays followed which became more and more worrying as we were under increasing pressure to urgently transport three girls to work in a rural community, followed swiftly by a visiting school team from St David’s.

Finally, by 4.30pm on the day before we were due to leave, the buggies were cleared.  It was then another race against time as the holding bay for the cars closed at five so we immediately split up, each jumping on a boda-boda to tear across the city to get our license plates before meeting at the holding bay.  We managed to make it there in time and the cars were released, albeit with one having a flat tyre.  … unbelievable.

The following morning I awoke the girls at five and we left for a long drive to Kbale, about 500kms away on yet more unstable roads.  We were met by a very pleasant Pastor and continued our drive further up into the mountains.  The road was treacherous and the 4x4 facility that came with these cars was an absolute necessity.

After an hour in this stunning remote mountain village, a flat back truck stuffed with around 30 folks and furniture, stormed into the camp.  They started unloading items and we quickly learned that the son of one of the men from the village had died so this party was bringing back his body in a makeshift coffin. We all stared on in disbelief at the events unravelling. It was hard enough to imagine how those people survived the ride on the back of that rickety old thing from Kampala, let alone witness a father calmly receiving his deceased son.

I stayed to assist milk the cows and then help to eat one of them.  That night I slept in the car to ensure its safety.  The following day I left the girls behind.  They were naturally feeling rather apprehensive at staying in such a remote location with no phone network, “It’s character building” the classic line rolled off my tongue… I drove back the seven hours to Kampala on my own, reflecting on how much my character had been building over the last few weeks.

The St David’s team arrived on the Monday were plunged in at the deep end, to teach at the local school.  They were there for two weeks and well armed with an amazing £5000 worth of children’s books which had been donated by a school in Manchester. What a marvellous group of young individuals they were, how hard they worked and how exemplary their behaviour.

Whilst the kids were teaching I was having fun behind the driving wheel, organizing trips for the team. We went to Jinja, source of the River Nile, for one weekend where enjoyed rafting and staying at the stunning Kingfisher Safari lodge on the shores of Lake Victoria.

The schools work finished well with a great Friday feast of local food and entertainment.  We then set off for a long drive to Kigali in neighbouring Rwanda.  The border crossing was swift in comparison to my earlier experience, and once in Rwanda the scenery changed instantly.  The flatlands squash up as part of the rift valley explodes through the country, creating alpine-like views and rolling valleys, fertile with tea and rice plantations.  It’s an extraordinary part of Eastern Africa with good roads and relatively sound systems of governance and infrastructure.

We stayed at the Diocesan Guesthouse just around the corner from Hotel Rwanda, in the heights of the city.  The following day saw us visiting the moving Genocide memorial from 1994.  It’s a haunting introduction to a beautiful land that has been unforgettably scarred by its historical civil wars.  The memorial centre houses several mass graves containing over 250,000 bodies of those Tutsi’s slaughtered mercilessly in the Genocide.  The proceeding educational tour of the memorial centre confronts one with the stark realities of what happened during those three months of terror, 12 years ago and leaves very little to the imagination.  It was an awful shock for our young people to absorb and most were moved to tears.  I was impressed by their resolve and the maturity with which they handled the information they had to take on board that day. 

We left that place to return to our quarters in a very sombre and confused state of mind, trying to work out how human beings can treat each other so terribly in such extreme situations.

The next day we had planned to journey south and stay in a guesthouse out in the sticks.  We knew there was another memorial site to visit, but we had little information on what to expect.  We pulled up in a ghost-like dusty square in search of the guesthouse.  The youngsters produced a football and played with the 50 kids who materialised out of the woodwork.

It gradually dawned on us that the memorial site was in fact a church where over 10,000 victims had been tricked into seeking refuge, squashed in to bursting point, only to be brutally massacred in the ensuing violence. We all held our breath as we led the young people into the church building.  The first thing that hit me as we entered was a vestry on the left, full to the ceiling with clothes.  These had been the clothes of the victims.  The second thing to assault my senses was the bullet holes littering the tin roof, stone walls and cement floor.  There was an altar at the front, with a vestment stained with blood to the top of the table. Seeing the font battered by bullets I looked up to the stained-glass windows with sunlight piercing though at jagged angles, lighting up the floor.  The roof evidenced the stains of human remnants that had flown in the array of bullets fired through the roof and windows.  Ten thousand human beings had been slain in here and left piled up for a whole year to follow.

It’s a gory explanation that I am giving but this is the way our group experienced this scene in all its stark reality.  Indeed, survivors have had to deal with their horror without any watering down of the facts and there’s little point in blunting such a startling truth.

Behind the church were the mass graves.  We stood looking down the steps of the graves and could see coffins wrapped loosely in vestments and parchments.  Each coffin contained the remains of 200 people.  We were asked if we wanted to go down those steps.  I volunteered and descended them into the darkness, standing frozen with fear amongst the dead as they slept.  As I climbed out the group was standing around another of the graves.  Again I chose to go down inside and a couple of the others in the group came down too.  The tomb was lit by shafts of light.  The light dimly bounced around the place and to our shock this tomb contained no coffins, simply the bones and skulls of thousands of people.  I can’t describe the feelings I had in there.  We were literally walking amongst the dead.  I felt as though the souls of those people were not at rest, and that the eyes of these souls stared deeply into mine and pleaded for some kind of justice.  Not for the first time here in Africa I felt totally and utterly helpless.

Our guide recounted her own personal experience of this annihilation.  Unbelievably she had been in the church when it had happened.  Aged nine, she was crushed by bodies and knocked unconscious.  She had laid there for days.  Some survivors had been hiding in the local marshes and bravely crept into the church at night to search for any living.  She was pulled from the bodies and hid with the others in the marshes for two months.  When that area was eventually made safe, she and the others emerged from the swamps and lived to tell the tale.  She told me that she couldn’t leave the place and besides, there were no other jobs for people like herself in the community.

We thought it best to leave Rwanda a day early and headed back over the border.  We drove North West to Queen Elizabeth Safari Park, Western Uganda.  It was a welcome break from the intensities faced in Rwanda.  Our hotel was a classic safari lodge from the 1950’s, perched spectacularly on the edge of the Rwenzori Mountain range, and still intact with all its character and intrigue.   It reminded us of the hotel in the film ‘The Shining’.  We approached the local safari park with excitement, finding elephants and hippos in abundance.  A special guide tried to find us some lions but they seemed to be lying low which was a bit of a shame.  The trip was an awesome invitation to visit some dramatic volcanic landscape set amongst the aptly nicknamed ‘Mountains of the Moon’. We stayed in Rwenzori for two days and then drove the final gruelling 500km home to Kampala.

Well, my time here is now approaching its end.  It’s been fascinating and one that I will treasure for the challenges and rewards it’s offered me.  The main achievement has been to safely obtain those vehicles and learn to appreciate the complexities of Eastern Africa’s administration procedures!

I continue to work with Link and pursue our dream to bridge the gap between the west and the third world, especially in sharing the challenges faced between young people.  Considerable networks are being established and certainly providing fantastic opportunities for the schools at home and in Africa.  It’s wonderful to see young people of vastly differing backgrounds interacting and spending time together.  What a privilege to be involved in such a worthy project.