Uganda and rafting at the source of the Nile

I was driving west—from Nairobi to Kampala. It was early Sunday morning, and the road, running over creased, hilly land, was empty. On the asphalt ahead of me, the rays of the sun created lakes of light, glistening, vibrating. As I approached, the light would vanish, the asphalt would be gray for a moment, then turn to black, but soon the next lake would flame up, and the next. The journey was being transformed into a cruise through a realm of radiant waters, abruptly igniting and dying out, like strobe lights in a crazed discotheque... Well, up to this point I copied it entirely from Kapuściński (The Shadow of the Sun) 😉 Now let’s move on to Dekaro, with his slightly more sparse, odd, and sometimes ungrammatical style, though no less pleasant, it must be said. So. It wasn’t a Sunday morning but a Thursday when I was on that stretch of road, and I certainly didn’t feel like being poetic at the time. If anything, I felt like swearing. But let’s start from the beginning.

I forced myself to leave the beach bungalow in Zanzibar and throw myself back into the chaos of buses, minibuses, and all kinds of stress. I spent a day in Dar es Salaam and then made it to a city in north-central Tanzania, Arusha, where, with a local guy, I visited on foot several small Maasai villages around the city, where they speak only the Maasai language, not even Swahili.

Since I had already visited Kenya on a previous trip, after a couple of days I decided to continue on to Uganda. I still had to pass through Nairobi, using the only available means of transport: a huge, completely rickety bus at an obscenely low price.
On that bus it was as if the suspension didn’t exist — every bump, even the smallest one, sent you literally flying into the air! After just ten minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. It lasted 18 hours, from 5 in the afternoon until 11 the next morning. It was a constant bouncing, and during some of those “flights,” everything fell from the overhead racks. The floor was covered in broken glass and various spilled liquids. It was awful. At least, as seems to be tradition on this trip whenever I take long overnight bus journeys, I had a nice girl sitting next to me, Dalin, from Tanzania, who is studying at university in Kampala.

Eventually, I reached Kampala, the capital of Uganda. It’s not a beautiful city and the traffic is absolutely chaotic, yet it’s still quite pleasant to stay in. The city centre is on a hill, where the parliament and luxury hotels are located, while heading down towards the main bus station it turns into total chaos, with stalls spilling into the streets on both sides or completely taking them over. The best way to get around is by motorbike taxis, which, although a bit recklessly, manage to weave through the traffic.
In the trees and on the poles there are some strange birds, maybe pelicans. Very curious to look at, kind of ugly and clumsy. It’s funny watching them, when they move it looks like they’re always on the verge of falling, and when they fly short distances it almost seems like they can’t manage to carry their own weight. But once they’re up in the air, they glide around in a majestic and elegant way (like Baudelaire’s albatross).

My hotel was right next to a majestic mosque perched on another hill and visible from all over the city. The problem with staying next to mosques is that every now and then they blast the prayers at full volume through loudspeakers. They sound like endless, heartbreaking wails. I had already experienced this in Stone Town, but especially in Arusha, where in the middle of the night I would be woken up by a loud, mournful cry coming from the mosque next door. It was still pitch dark and it just wouldn’t stop. Then, just as I managed to fall asleep again, other mosques would start up. On the second night I checked the time: 5 a.m.!

After two days in Kampala, I went to Jinja to do one of the most fun things of the entire trip: rafting at the source of the Nile. Extraordinary. I’m not really a rafting enthusiast, but according to experts I’ve done two of the best rafting experiences in the world: here in Uganda and in Nepal. This one, however, was more demanding. In Nepal they had given us some instructions on what to do if you fell out of the raft, but here it was basically assumed that it would happen at least once. So before setting off, we practiced on some small rapids how to behave once we ended up in the river.
Even the raft capsizing was considered almost certain, and we practiced for that as well. So off we went. 31 kilometers of pure adrenaline! In reality, many stretches are calm and you can relax, drifting slowly and enjoying breathtaking scenery, between the green of the river and the surrounding vegetation. Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. (This one is also borrowed, but this time I’ll leave it to you to guess where it comes from).
Anyway, of course, the main attraction was the rapids. Sometimes, before certain sections, we could choose between the difficult or the easier route, but needless to say, in those situations you always go for the dangerous one (otherwise we wouldn’t have gone at all).
Even as we approached the first rapid, the guide asked us whether we wanted the easy or the hard option—in the difficult one, it was very likely the raft would flip over. And all of us: go for it! It won’t flip! Let’s do it! And of course, we flipped over. But it’s nothing dramatic, you suddenly find yourself in the water without even knowing how, and you try (current allowing) to get back to the raft.
But after that, I messed up the part where you flip the raft back over. The procedure for righting the raft was as follows: we all hung onto one side of the raft, pulling it down, while the guide, standing on top, flipped it back upright. So for a moment we all ended up under the raft and had to swim out from underneath it as quickly as possible. I hadn’t really understood it properly. The guide told us to take a deep breath, but I didn’t even have time to do so before I suddenly found myself under the raft. I had no air left, and my head was being pressed down by the bottom of the raft. I started swimming around blindly, trying to find an exit, but I had no idea where to go, especially because the raft above me was still moving as well. Then, just when I genuinely felt I had no air left at all, I suddenly found myself back outside, gasping for breath. Pure adrenaline!
And it was more or less like that for the whole trip. That was the only time we actually capsized, but some of the rapids were absolutely thrilling, like small waterfalls. There were as many as three Grade 5 rapids, which is the highest level in the world of rafting (there is also a Grade 6 rapid, which means that no one has ever managed to run it without flipping over. If someone ever does, it is automatically downgraded to Grade 5).

In the evening and at night we relaxed, drinking and eating on the terrace of the guesthouse, with a view of the river flowing slowly about fifty metres below. For sleeping, I set up my tent, which I hadn’t used for a long time.

The next morning, I had just woken up when I started hearing heavy drops falling right on the tip of the tent (it is an igloo-shaped one). But it wasn’t raining. Strange. Then a large lump of something fell again on the very top, silhouetted against the light. I suddenly had a terrible suspicion, which unfortunately turned out to be correct: a monkey up in the tree pissed and pooped on my tent! Disgusting. I went out and there was no one in the tree, but right next to the tent there was indeed a large monkey. His testicles were bright blue, I’m not kidding! Since there were no others around, he was almost certainly the guilty one, so I cursed him out loud and signalled for him to get lost. But he didn’t move and instead stood perfectly upright, as if posing. I got a bit closer, and still nothing, he just stayed there, almost as if he was challenging me. I picked up my shoe and I really was about to throw it at his head when finally, somewhat reluctantly and very slowly, he left.

In the afternoon I went with three girls to visit Jinja and the exact point where the Nile is born, branching off from Lake Victoria and eventually reaching the Mediterranean Sea after about three months. There, Mahatma Gandhi chose to have some of his ashes scattered. A decision that left many people puzzled: why there? But it’s obvious: because he wanted to be the first man to go rafting on the Nile! May peace be with you.

Photos:


Arusha bus station, Tanzania.



Small church in a Maasai village near Arusha.



School in a Maasai village near Arusha.









Goat.



Eye.



The strange bird in Kampala, Uganda.



The mosque near my hotel in Kampala.



Football match, Kampala.



The source of the Nile, where it branches off from Lake Victoria.



The Nile, seen from the guesthouse terrace near Jinja.


And now some photos of my rafting! In the photo at the beginning of the post, you can see the group: four Pakistanis at the front, a Danish couple in the middle, me at the back, and the guide behind us.

Let’s start with the highlight: the capsizing sequence!


I’m the one with the yellow helmet, already almost underwater.



Here only one of my arms is visible.



And that’s it.



Eh eh...

Other photos, I’m the one with the yellow helmet in the back.

























Pure adrenaline!!

I reply to a comment:

Hi Pierre! Yes, I saw many interesting places since then. The best I think is Zanzibar, it was wonderful!! :-)
I will show all the pics in full resolution when I will be in London, I think maybe at the end of may. See you soon! :-)

Map of the places visited so far and some answers

Hello everyone! I can’t upload photos on this computer, so I’m taking the opportunity to share a zoomable map of the places visited so far and to answer some questions from the corresponding Italian blog that might be of interest.

In general, from Johannesburg into Mozambique, up to Vilankulos and the Bazaruto Archipelago, then down into Swaziland, along the South African coast to Cape Town, then Namibia, traveling up and down by off-road vehicle, then east again... Zambia, down into Botswana, back to Zambia, then Malawi traveling up along the lake, and finally Tanzania here in Zanzibar.

The questions from my friend Marco were: “Which place has been the most beautiful so far? What’s the most delicious and unusual food you’ve eaten so far? What about the drink? Have you learned any phrases, or at least a few words in the local languages? Have you made any local friends?”

As for the "most beautiful place", it’s really hard to say, but if I had to pick one, I’d probably say Zanzibar. The thing is, I especially like the sea with a nice beach, and here there are plenty of them. There’s nothing truly spectacular on the island, like Victoria Falls in Zambia, the red dunes in the Namibian desert, or the Okavango Delta in Botswana, etc., but overall everything is very pleasant: the town of Stone Town, the green-blue-turquoise sea, the little streets surrounded by greenery, a certain “Arab” charm, and so on.
Then of course it depends on personal tastes and the reasons for travelling. If you want to see the most authentic Africa, then Zambia and Malawi. For animals, Etosha National Park (or the Masai Mara and Serengeti between Kenya and Tanzania, which I visited on a previous trip). And so on... every place has its own charm and magic, it’s impossible to say objectively which one is better.

As for "unusual food"... well, it’s strange this question came so late. One dish that stands out is something I had in Stone Town. A local guy suggested I eat in the market area, where at sunset women set up small street kitchens. I tried cassava with coconut, something I may never have eaten before. It’s a kind of tuber, like a potato, mashed with coconut into a white paste. Really tasty and very cheap: about half a euro.
Another unusual food is Nsima in Malawi, which is always eaten alongside other dishes. I don’t like it. It’s a sort of white porridge made, I think, from maize. It’s used mostly like bread, to dip into dishes such as curries or soups. People then keep shaping it into balls with their hands, and once it is already coated with various sauces, it was a bit off-putting for me to look at. In any case, it doesn’t really taste of much. In Malawi I didn’t eat very well, and I remember staying at a guesthouse that the Lonely Planet recommended for its “excellent cuisine.” I’m not very demanding when it comes to food and I can easily be satisfied, but there the food was really bad, almost inedible. But sometimes it really feels like Lonely Planet is just making fun of people... I’ve come to realize that. I could give dozens of other examples.
In hostels in Swaziland and South Africa, on the other hand, they almost always prepared delicious traditional dishes, usually a fixed plate with meat, vegetables, and more. Every evening it was something different, and they never disappointed me.
Then I remember a particular skewer I had in Namibia: each piece was a different exotic animal. There was zebra, antelope, ostrich, crocodile! Crocodile has a strange taste, right in between chicken and fish, a bit like snake meat, I don’t like it very much. The other pieces weren’t bad, but overall I was pretty indifferent, since it was just for fun. I don’t really want to add more animal species to those I already eat.

As for drinks, in South Africa they are crazy about Amarula, but it basically tastes the same as whiskey cream liqueur. The wine there is excellent and very cheap. In Malawi I tried the local beer brewed in the villages. It’s very yellow and thick, it doesn’t really taste like beer but more like a generic alcoholic drink. It’s good. Ah, I didn’t mention that Namibia has, probably, the best beer in the world: Windhoek. Maybe the only positive thing left by German colonialism. I drank who knows how many litres of it! It’s the classic easy-drinking beer, very smooth, not too strong in taste, lightly carbonated, really good.

Regarding languages, here in Africa each person knows at least two, sometimes more. First of all, the language of their own tribe, then English, which is now almost everywhere the official language, and then often also that of some neighboring tribe. At ATMs in South Africa, the language selection screen had English, Afrikaans, and then another six tribal languages, which I think changed depending on the location.
I have learned very few words. In Afrikaans I only remember: Dankie = thank you. As I mentioned before, a boy in Malawi taught me a few phrases in Chichewa, but now I only remember: Muli-bangi = how are you? (used as a greeting), to which you respond: Dili-bino = fine. Children used to always shout something like "Giambuia", which meant they wanted to have their photo taken. Here in Tanzania, the main language is Swahili, and people say "Jambo" to greet someone, and "Hakuna Matata" = everything is fine, no problem.

Yes, in general I am meeting many local people, except in Namibia where we were mostly on our own (also because there was often literally no one within kilometres!). People often approach to try to sell or offer something. In some cases it is indeed annoying and they are just trying to trick you, but many also have a genuine desire to meet you and tell you about themselves. For example, the boy I mentioned earlier who took me to the market to eat cassava. The next day he even took me to his home to meet his family. Of course, he had a typical large African family: his mother, aunts, brothers, cousins, and, despite being very young, a beautiful 8-year-old daughter he was particularly proud of. We all watched a really terrible Nigerian movie together, and then some African music videos. Afterwards, when he took me back, I had the feeling that something was missing from the family picture, until it finally came to me and I asked: "And your wife?"... He completely flew into a rage: "My wife?? My wife?? That whore!! Whore! She only cared about sleeping around… with everyone! Whore!!" And so on... I tried to change the subject (which had also become very repetitive), but there was no way. By then he was just muttering to himself, and he went on like that until we parted ways.
As for keeping in touch, I usually use email, but here in Africa it’s very rare. Not only do people often not have their own email address, but they also rarely know anyone who does. Very occasionally someone does have email, for example, I’ve just received one from a singer from Zambia I met on the bus. She said the tour was a success, but that it was a real shame we didn’t meet again. A pity.

Finally, I’ll answer a question from Danilo, who asked me whether Africa is dangerous. In general, Africa is not dangerous, and I have not had any mishaps so far. I have felt a bit of tension in some bus stations, especially in Zambia, Malawi, and Tanzania. Once in Malawi, a poor guy who had rightly suggested taking a minibus instead of the one I was about to board ended up being beaten by the driver of the latter!
There are, of course, countries that are currently very dangerous or not recommended, such as Somalia, the Congo, and Darfur in southern Sudan.

See you!

Still in Zanzibar!

Hi everyone! I’m still in beautiful Zanzibar. After Stone Town, I spent four days in Nungwi, in the north of the island, and three days in Jambiani, on the east coast. I liked Jambiani less than Nungwi, mainly because of the tide, which recedes by hundreds of meters, making it almost always impossible to swim. In both places, though, I didn’t do very much.

In Nungwi, I went on a tour: we went to see dolphins, had lunch on a small island, and I had the best snorkeling I’ve had so far in Africa, thanks to the crystal-clear water. There were loads of colorful fish of all shapes and sizes, lazily drifting around the corals.
There was also a little stall where you could swap used books by adding one euro. I rather reluctantly gave away a wonderful book, The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin, and somewhat randomly picked up Eye of the Needle by Ken Follett, an author I had never read before. It’s a very good spy story. Spoiler: in the end, he dies. Then I returned it and picked up Christiane F. – We Children of Bahnhof Zoo, which I had read when I was a teenager. I remembered it quite well, perhaps also because I had seen the film as well, which is very accurate.

From Jambiani, one day I cycled to a nearby village to the north, Paje. The distance was just a little over ten kilometers, but the day was extremely hot and humid, and by the time I got back I was half dead.

After that, I went back to Stone Town for a few more days. By chance, I met Min again, the Chinese-Canadian girl I had also met in Botswana and Malawi. She was with a French girl, Celine, and for dinner we went to a small park near the port where, in the evening, dozens of stalls sell fish skewers, baby octopus, sugarcane juice, and other tasty treats.

Now I’m back in Nungwi, where I’ve taken the same bungalow on the beach. It’s really nice here, I’m almost thinking of moving here forever and changing my name to Zanzibaro.


Me and two Italian friends I met in Nungwi. Across Africa, Zanzibar seems by far the most popular destination for Italians.
At night, the local guys light bonfires on the beach, and people sit around drinking under the stars while they play the bongo drums. The hypnotic dance of the flames, the sound of the waves in the background, the starry sky above, the moral law within… sometimes we even end up singing a Swahili song that you hear everywhere here, which goes: "Jambo, jambo bwana! - Habari gani? - Nzuri sana - Wageni - Wakaribishwa - Zanzibar Yetu - Hakuna Matata!". Once you’ve memorized it, you can practically have a conversation in Swahili, because it contains almost all the phrases you need!


Fishing boat in Jambiani.


Women harvesting seaweed in Jambiani.


Rudimentary sailboat in Jambiani.


Jambiani.


Woman in Stone Town.


People in Stone Town.


Street scene in Stone Town.


A cat sharpening its claws on a wooden door, Stone Town.


A kid looking up, despite the sign suggesting not to.


Window in Stone Town.


Glittering sea in Nungwi.


Nungwi.


Young girls in Nungwi.


Boat in Nungwi.


Women harvesting seaweed in Nungwi


Sunset at the beach in Nungwi.


Sunset over Nungwi.


And finally, a little quiz:

Who was born in Zanzibar?

a) Queen Elizabeth
b) Freddie Mercury
c) Prince
d) Martin Luther King

Zanzibar!

Hi guys! I’m in Zanzibar, the wonderful archipelago in Tanzania, though the name is also used for its main island, Unguja, where I am now. This island is about seventy kilometers long and roughly thirty wide, and it’s home to Stone Town, a small town made up of very narrow, winding streets like a maze. It’s impossible not to get lost, and during the four days I spent there, every time I tried to get back to my hotel it turned into an adventure.

Zanzibar was once a kind of trading outpost for commerce in East Africa and has been under various rules: Portuguese, Arab, and British. After independence, it came under the control of an Arab sultan, but shortly after, a violent revolution brought the African majority party to power. Eventually, it merged with Tanganyika, forming Tanzania (whose name is, in fact, a blend of TANganika and ZANzibar).
There’s a strong sense of history here, and part of it is a dark one, because the main trade was the slave trade, in which almost the entire world shamefully took part, especially Arabs, Europeans, and Americans. People were brought here from the mainland and sold in a square where a large Anglican church now stands, and the altar has taken the place of the platform where they were once displayed. One of the main and most influential activists in the fight to end the slave trade was David Livingstone, whom I mentioned in a previous post.

The island is surrounded by white sandy beaches and turquoise sea. The best way to reach them is by scooter (I’ve rented a Vespa), especially because the roads are really pleasant, with lots of greenery around: palm trees, banana trees, and so on. Yesterday, I rode my Vespa all the way to the northern tip, where there’s a rather unattractive village but an absolutely stunning sea. So today I moved here, and I’m now waiting for my beachfront bungalow to become available.
I think I’ll stay here and do nothing for a few days, especially since after Zanzibar I’ll probably head to Uganda, and I won’t see the sea again until the end of the trip.
The blog title doesn’t really fit anymore, since I’m no longer in Southern Africa but in East Africa, but who cares... Lots of kisses, talk to you next time! And remember: Dekaro always loves you. (Final bullshit, it happens to everyone).


Some photos, starting from Malawi:


View from my little bamboo hut in Nkhata Bay on Lake Malawi, where I lazily spent about a week.







Eagles flying over Lake Malawi.



Another bus accident in Malawi. We stopped because it was the same company we were travelling with. To be fair, driving in Africa isn’t bad at all, certainly nothing compared to what you see in parts of Asia like India or Vietnam, and yet, for some reason, there are so many accidents on the roads. Just before this, we came across an overturned truck, and shortly after, two more cars.



Zanzibar market. From now on, all photos are from Zanzibar.