Whethefakawe
Race Dog
- Joined
- Jun 21, 2006
- Messages
- 621
- Reaction score
- 2
- Bike
- KTM 950 Adventure S
My most recent trip To Uganda was a 3 week affair the first part of February. I'd been climbing the walls for a while and it was an excellent escape from the rock and the hard place I'm between for a little while longer. Things had changed dramatically. Paddy and his girlfriend Lynn, an extremely clued-in and capable woman from old Rhodesia, had started a drilling business with $2500 they leveraged into several hundred thousand. After an incredibly stressful first year or so things took off, and today they run a highly regarded drilling and construction business in northern Uganda. They earned their reputation by getting the job done in what was till last December or so a very dangerous war zone, thanks to a certain Joseph Kony. And by making it known to all that they don't give or take bribes, even if it costs them business.
This Kony character is a wannabe crusader whose rag-tag bunch of criminals, the "Lord's Resistance Army", LRA for short, has been killing indiscriminately in the north for 20 years or so. They supposedly want to install a government that will run the country according to the Ten Commandments, but somewhere along the way ole Joe got the Bible and Mein Kampf mixed up. They have committed the most horrific atrocities for two decades. Mass rape and shootings are the mildest items on their murderous agenda. Cutting off noses and lips, chopping off hands and feet, burning families alive in huts is how they make people come to Jesus.
But the tide has turned, and Joseph Kony's clock is ticking louder every day. He moved his pack of hyenas across the border into southern Sudan and is now trying to "negotiate" his return to Uganda with a full pardon. The government of president Museveni, or M7 as they call him, is refusing to negotiate and wants to put Kony and his cronies on trial for war crimes. Rumour in the bush has it that he won't make it to a trial, he has a big bullseye on his forehead.
Enough history lesson. Just wanted to fill in the background for the story I'm about to unfold.
There are basically 2 ways to get to Uganda from far away: through Joburg or through London. I flew British Airways straight from Phoenix to Heathrow, a very convenient 8 hour 25 minute nap. I love wandering around Heathrow in the 4 hours before getting on the Joburg flight. There are bookstores with excellent selections of history books, good restaurants and pubs, and excellent people watching. Birdwatching, to be specific. You see some very fine specimens of the Booby and Trasher families flitting about. Vodacom had a display in one area, I must have spent 20 slack-jawed minutes circling this:
The 2007 McLaren MP44, which has won 5 of the 10 GP's so far this year in the hands of Alonso and Hamilton. I was stunned. I saw my first F1 GP at Kyalami in 1972, and every one till 1979. The last actual GP I watched was in 1982, when I was on leave from Ovamboland. This is a completely different kettle of fish. The technology is unbelievable. The thing weighs 600 kilos and puts out over 800 horsepower at 19000 rpm. I've driven a racing kart and can only imagine what a ride this must be.
But I digress. I went on to Joburg, and spent a week at my dad's. This time I flew up on SAA, a nice flight of 4 1/2 hours. Hopefully I won't be saying the same about SAA as I did about East African Eagle Airlines in part 1.
SAA airbus 319 after arrival at Entebbe airport:
Paddy and Lynn were late, so I parked myself at the familiar bar and had a Tusker, a Tusker, and a Tusker. We went straight to one of the hot ex-pat hangouts in Kampala, an Irish Pub called "Bubbles O'Leary's". Bubbles was a man, I want to say the original owner but maybe that's quoting Sir Guinness. Bubbles has a fascinating history behind it. I forget where in Ireland the pub was located, but it was demolished a few years ago. An Irish oke named Declin, whom we hung out with a lot, bought the furnishings and had it shipped to Uganda. By furnishings I mean every plank, beer mug, table, barstool, sign, light and floor tile. Apparently it's identical to the original, down to the worn floorboards. A very cool place. The only negative is that the nightfighters start pulling in around 7. Hookers, for you choirboys out there. They take up space and sip one lite beer for 5 hours. We brought it up to Declin but he's between a rock and a hard place on the issue. It's fun to watch them circlie and dive in for the kill, I must admit. The willing targets are mostly eurotrash and smellies.
Bubbles from outside:
Bubbles on the inside:
A good place, not to be missed.
Public transportation in third world countries fascinate me. Indonesia has tuk-tuks, Kenya has matatu's, SA has a bunch of bloody maniacs, and Uganda has boda-boda's. Scooters like Honda Benly's all over the place. They are very efficient, and despite their kamikaze style, surprisingly safe. Lynn had to leave for a doctor's appointment while we were at Bubbles one day and knew better than to try and get Paddy and me to leave, so she went by boda:
The other ex-pat joint we frequent is "Just Kicking", a sports bar that serves good food and rugby and cricket matches on big-screen TV's. Another thing in Uganda that amuses and intrigues me is the way they use the english language. It's in a naive, direct sort of way which is a delightful change from the "buzzwords" and "catch phrases" of the commercialised generic shopping mall culture I'm caught in for now.
The signs at JK tell it the way it is:
I met another one of Paddy and Lynn's ex-Rhodie connections, an oke named Ox, supposedly because he calls everybody "ox". Rumour and his T-shirt have it different. TMI, I'll believe it's because of his mode of address.
Traffic in Kampala is, like every other big city in Africa or the world, a joke. Throw in broken robots and "Suggestions for road and pavement use" instead of rules of the road, and it gets chaotic at rush hour:
This Landy was from some or other gayme lodge, my guess was the one where no women are allowed:
Kampala city centre. Note the Maribu storks nesting in the tree, and the name on the back window of the matatu. Most taxi's in Kampala have names, in Kenya it's taken to extremes.
The view from Paddy's house in Kampala, looking south towards Lake Vic, Entebbe is 30 k's beyond the hills:
They just moved to northern Uganda lock, stock and two smoking barrels. The house was becoming an unneccessary expense cause they were spending maybe 3 days a month in it.
Not far from the house is a "club", which means you have to pay a "membership" fee even if just for the day, to enter. The fee is much more than poor locals can afford so it's a way to keep the masses out. It's discriminatory, albeit economic in nature. C'est la vie. It's five star quality, so all the embassy wives and various other parasites flock there. I wasn't too impressed by the loudmouth american woman with her 5 yard apes close by saying nothing at full volume all afternoon. But hey, she's "on safari" so the adrenaline must have been pumping. Can't say that I was surprised.
Paddy had taken the two little Yamahas to his Italian connections Paolo and Christian. They run a workshop in Kampala, nice okes, but have yet to learn that supervision, nay micromanagement, is required in such endeavours in Africa. The bikes came out as screwed up as they went in. Only difference was, the mechanical problems had migrated from a dirty carb and flat tyres to a stripped rear axle and rock-solid front brake lever on one bike. I was laughing my arse off, and Paddy was not happy:
But I suspect that the Landy 109 behind him, and another one outside, both of which are his and had been at the shop for 8 months with the same results as the bikes, may have had something to do with it. ;D
Personally, I thought Paolo and Christian were too diversified. Usually that's a good thing in business, but a car, bike, boat, truck, and bulldozer workshop all in one might be a bit much. Especially if you hang out in pubs all day and have girlfriend problems that force you to delegate your business concerns. ;D
The boatyard:
OK, enough for now, the trip up north and the ride next.
This Kony character is a wannabe crusader whose rag-tag bunch of criminals, the "Lord's Resistance Army", LRA for short, has been killing indiscriminately in the north for 20 years or so. They supposedly want to install a government that will run the country according to the Ten Commandments, but somewhere along the way ole Joe got the Bible and Mein Kampf mixed up. They have committed the most horrific atrocities for two decades. Mass rape and shootings are the mildest items on their murderous agenda. Cutting off noses and lips, chopping off hands and feet, burning families alive in huts is how they make people come to Jesus.
But the tide has turned, and Joseph Kony's clock is ticking louder every day. He moved his pack of hyenas across the border into southern Sudan and is now trying to "negotiate" his return to Uganda with a full pardon. The government of president Museveni, or M7 as they call him, is refusing to negotiate and wants to put Kony and his cronies on trial for war crimes. Rumour in the bush has it that he won't make it to a trial, he has a big bullseye on his forehead.
Enough history lesson. Just wanted to fill in the background for the story I'm about to unfold.
There are basically 2 ways to get to Uganda from far away: through Joburg or through London. I flew British Airways straight from Phoenix to Heathrow, a very convenient 8 hour 25 minute nap. I love wandering around Heathrow in the 4 hours before getting on the Joburg flight. There are bookstores with excellent selections of history books, good restaurants and pubs, and excellent people watching. Birdwatching, to be specific. You see some very fine specimens of the Booby and Trasher families flitting about. Vodacom had a display in one area, I must have spent 20 slack-jawed minutes circling this:
The 2007 McLaren MP44, which has won 5 of the 10 GP's so far this year in the hands of Alonso and Hamilton. I was stunned. I saw my first F1 GP at Kyalami in 1972, and every one till 1979. The last actual GP I watched was in 1982, when I was on leave from Ovamboland. This is a completely different kettle of fish. The technology is unbelievable. The thing weighs 600 kilos and puts out over 800 horsepower at 19000 rpm. I've driven a racing kart and can only imagine what a ride this must be.
But I digress. I went on to Joburg, and spent a week at my dad's. This time I flew up on SAA, a nice flight of 4 1/2 hours. Hopefully I won't be saying the same about SAA as I did about East African Eagle Airlines in part 1.
SAA airbus 319 after arrival at Entebbe airport:
Paddy and Lynn were late, so I parked myself at the familiar bar and had a Tusker, a Tusker, and a Tusker. We went straight to one of the hot ex-pat hangouts in Kampala, an Irish Pub called "Bubbles O'Leary's". Bubbles was a man, I want to say the original owner but maybe that's quoting Sir Guinness. Bubbles has a fascinating history behind it. I forget where in Ireland the pub was located, but it was demolished a few years ago. An Irish oke named Declin, whom we hung out with a lot, bought the furnishings and had it shipped to Uganda. By furnishings I mean every plank, beer mug, table, barstool, sign, light and floor tile. Apparently it's identical to the original, down to the worn floorboards. A very cool place. The only negative is that the nightfighters start pulling in around 7. Hookers, for you choirboys out there. They take up space and sip one lite beer for 5 hours. We brought it up to Declin but he's between a rock and a hard place on the issue. It's fun to watch them circlie and dive in for the kill, I must admit. The willing targets are mostly eurotrash and smellies.
Bubbles from outside:
Bubbles on the inside:
A good place, not to be missed.
Public transportation in third world countries fascinate me. Indonesia has tuk-tuks, Kenya has matatu's, SA has a bunch of bloody maniacs, and Uganda has boda-boda's. Scooters like Honda Benly's all over the place. They are very efficient, and despite their kamikaze style, surprisingly safe. Lynn had to leave for a doctor's appointment while we were at Bubbles one day and knew better than to try and get Paddy and me to leave, so she went by boda:
The other ex-pat joint we frequent is "Just Kicking", a sports bar that serves good food and rugby and cricket matches on big-screen TV's. Another thing in Uganda that amuses and intrigues me is the way they use the english language. It's in a naive, direct sort of way which is a delightful change from the "buzzwords" and "catch phrases" of the commercialised generic shopping mall culture I'm caught in for now.
The signs at JK tell it the way it is:
I met another one of Paddy and Lynn's ex-Rhodie connections, an oke named Ox, supposedly because he calls everybody "ox". Rumour and his T-shirt have it different. TMI, I'll believe it's because of his mode of address.
Traffic in Kampala is, like every other big city in Africa or the world, a joke. Throw in broken robots and "Suggestions for road and pavement use" instead of rules of the road, and it gets chaotic at rush hour:
This Landy was from some or other gayme lodge, my guess was the one where no women are allowed:
Kampala city centre. Note the Maribu storks nesting in the tree, and the name on the back window of the matatu. Most taxi's in Kampala have names, in Kenya it's taken to extremes.
The view from Paddy's house in Kampala, looking south towards Lake Vic, Entebbe is 30 k's beyond the hills:
They just moved to northern Uganda lock, stock and two smoking barrels. The house was becoming an unneccessary expense cause they were spending maybe 3 days a month in it.
Not far from the house is a "club", which means you have to pay a "membership" fee even if just for the day, to enter. The fee is much more than poor locals can afford so it's a way to keep the masses out. It's discriminatory, albeit economic in nature. C'est la vie. It's five star quality, so all the embassy wives and various other parasites flock there. I wasn't too impressed by the loudmouth american woman with her 5 yard apes close by saying nothing at full volume all afternoon. But hey, she's "on safari" so the adrenaline must have been pumping. Can't say that I was surprised.
Paddy had taken the two little Yamahas to his Italian connections Paolo and Christian. They run a workshop in Kampala, nice okes, but have yet to learn that supervision, nay micromanagement, is required in such endeavours in Africa. The bikes came out as screwed up as they went in. Only difference was, the mechanical problems had migrated from a dirty carb and flat tyres to a stripped rear axle and rock-solid front brake lever on one bike. I was laughing my arse off, and Paddy was not happy:
But I suspect that the Landy 109 behind him, and another one outside, both of which are his and had been at the shop for 8 months with the same results as the bikes, may have had something to do with it. ;D
Personally, I thought Paolo and Christian were too diversified. Usually that's a good thing in business, but a car, bike, boat, truck, and bulldozer workshop all in one might be a bit much. Especially if you hang out in pubs all day and have girlfriend problems that force you to delegate your business concerns. ;D
The boatyard:
OK, enough for now, the trip up north and the ride next.
