Crazy Kayak Lady

What a weekend! After a taxing week of teaching, I wanted nothing more than to do something exciting that didn't involve chalk. So, I found a company called The Nile River Explorers via Wikitravel, and booked a day of kayaking, a night at the hostel that overlooks the river, and then a day of rafting. Little did I know that some serious shenanigans would ensue...

The weekend began with a long drive early Saturday morning. Jinja is a smaller city about an hour and a half from Kampala, and the first rapids I encountered were on what they call the "roads" in the rural areas between these cities. I thought I had seen some potholes back on Harrison Avenue in E'ville, but I was sorely mistaken. Lucking, I met some really interesting medical students from Ireland, and they distracted me with all the crazy stuff that happens in the hospitals here: no pain-killers even for childbirth, surgery with no anesthesia, and plenty of other stuff that I don't want to include in this PG blog.

So, we arrived and enjoyed our free breakfast, and got our security briefing from the Aussies who runs the place. The way things go at this company as well as the other rafting gigs here is that there are about 6 to ten rafts taken out each day, with a guide on each, and a few other guys on kayaks that follow the whole group to pick up debris, both equipment and rafters. When the guy doing the briefing said that we'd have 6 rafts and one tandem, I realized that I was surrounded by some of the most adventurous people in the world, and I'm the only one stupid enough to wanna get on a tiny little boat and go over several massive waterfalls. What was I thinking? Moreover, why are the letting me do this?!

I was then introduced to my guide, Ibra. I learned on the bus ride to the drop off point that he's from a small village outside of Jinja, and that he's been doing this for seven years. You'd think that that would be comforting, but this is what I was thinking: A-locals here are fearless and seem to place little value on human life... B-if he's been doing this for a long time he's probably much more likely to take risks... and C-I'm a Muzungu and what's stopping him from pulling the kayak into some lagoon and kidnapping me. These were probably the most racist, misguided thoughts of my life, and I couldn't have been more wrong.

When we got to the river and everyone suited up and got on their rafts, I decided to go ahead despite my misgivings. I've done a lot of things I've been scared to do, and rarely has it bitten me in the ass, so why not, right? I got into the kayak and Ibra showed me a few things about what I needed to do, all the while I'm staying tight-lipped and serious, trying to simply focus and well, stay alive. He then asked me where I'm from and what the heck I'm doing here in Uganda. So I told him about teaching, not divulging anything really personal, and he became really interested in my work. We launched into this huge discussion about the ridiculous number of students in each class, the caning (yes, they cane students here), the lack of resources, etc. He finished secondary school/high school, but never went back because of the awful experience he had. It's a real shame, too, because he knows everything about the Nile and the environment and would make a great teacher.

As we paddled along, at this point not reaching any rapids yet, he showed me dozens of bird species, some so rare that bird watchers travel from all over the world to see them. This photo is of some sort of Kingfisher that's almost never seen. I also learned about the dam being built for hydro power (good) that will eventually eliminate the rapids I was about to enjoy (bad). On the banks there were people from local villages washing clothes and themselves, yelling "Muzungus!" at all the crazy white people on the strange orange boats. Most of them live in fishing villages, like Ibra's, and think we're idiots apparently. Are they wrong?

First stop: Bujagali Falls. This is a class five, the highest you can go through with out a certification. I was freaking out at this point, and felt completely unprepared. All I could see was the precipice in front of me, and the sound of water hitting rock was deafening. Ibra reminded me to simply paddle as hard as I could, and that "the paddle is your hands, and you have to grab the waves before they grab you." He also reminded me to hug the kayak if we flip, and that it might take as long as ten seconds for him to bring us upright, more if I don't hug the kayak. I said okay, even though I wasn't. Needless to say, I survived, but the few times I opened my eyes, all I saw was white water. We didn't flip, but we might as well have I swallowed so much water. I came out coughing, wide-eyed, and Ibra said I looked like a baby just born. I asked if it was okay for me to scream then. He said of course, and I screamed as loudly as I could. I truly felt reborn.

The next few stops felt like nothing. Class threes, peh. Then, we got to Silver Back, and the experience was similar to Bujagali: lots of coughing, closed eyes, and paddling like my life depended on it. Again, we didn't flip, and we didn't for the whole day, thank god! The trip took about seven hours, and we went through four class fives (I think), one of which we had to do in a raft because the kayak wouldn't be safe. Throughout the day, Ibra and I talked about life, work, Uganda, America, and a myriad of other topics. I couldn't have asked for a better guide, and I enjoyed my day more than I can express. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

At the end of the day, everyone who goes rafting enjoyed a lavish bar-b-que and beer, all included in the price of the trip. I talked with my Irish friends about their experience, and felt reassured that I had made the right choice to go kayaking. While I stayed safely upright and got to go toe-to-toe with the rapids, they all flipped several times in the rafts, and weren't nearly as connected to the experience. Another good decision made.

After dinner, Ibra and some of his co-workers deemed me cool enough to go out dancing with them after the video of the day was shown at 9 o'clock. I was really hesitant for all the reasons you're thinking right now. But, I hadn't really "gone out" since I got here, and I certainly didn't plan on going "out" in Kampala right after bombs killed over 80 people in bars targeted because they're known to be foreigner hangouts. So, I figured this would be my only opportunity, and why not? These guys work for this company, so they're certainly not going to kidnap or hurt me, lest the lose their jobs. Plus, they don't need to rob me, I have my phone, and I told my other friends where exactly we were going. So, again, I did what many would deem reckless, and had a badass time doing it! We all danced, had a few beers, and came back at 4 AM tired, laughing, and ready for sleep. Only problem was that the hostel was locked up, and no one had a key. My new friends could have gone back to camp where they live, but they refused to leave me there alone, and we all slept in the car awaiting someone--anyone please!--to unlock the door at seven. So, my first night in Jinja was in the passenger's seat of a car, with three African rafters asleep around me. Not really a dear-future-grandchildren moment, but still a pretty damn good story.

I was supposed to go rafting on Sunday, but I was waaaaaaaaaaaayyy too tired, so I slept in and booked another trip for this weekend. I'm going to stay for two nights this time, and plan to go out dancing again with the rafters. Let's hope someone has a key this time.

Thanks for reading. Much love to all you guys,
T