Traveling to Gulu

I've crossed the Nile! I had heard that the source is Lake Victoria, Uganda side, but it came as a surprise when we suddenly were crossing it during the drive from Kampala northward to Gulu; this part of the river is called the Victoria Nile, a section of the White Nile. Picture beautiful, sparkly-clear water plunging rapidly past boulders on its 3-month, 2,300-mile trip to the Mediterranean. Sadly I did not get to view it for long or get a photo as no stopping is allowed. Personal confession moment: I'm having trouble grasping that this mighty river is flowing south to north, but I do know it goes to Cairo! Having spent my young years near the Mighty Mississippi and watching it flow lazily down to the Gulf, my brain is wired to think of rivers as flowing north to south. I'm trying to get those brain cells rearranged. I think I need to google 'geography, rivers, 5th grade level.'

The trip to Gulu was exciting before we even got out of Kampala. Halle was skillfully (and bravely) negotiating her place in one of the free-for-alls they call roundabouts or traffic circles when a driver in front of her jumped out of his car,yelling that she had hit him. Not accepting her "no, I did not hit you," he got out a note pad as if to write her license and report her. We backed up and left him there. Apparently this kind of thing happens to foreigners who, if they feel intimidated enough, will pay just to avoid further delays and potential fines if a crooked policeman shows up.

During the 200-mile trip (4-1/2 hour drive) we were passing grassy savannah land and also lush green growing things -- some of which I recognized as coffee bushes and banana palms. They painted a colorful contrast to the orange-red soil that creates a Ugandan canvas. We passed traditional round thatch-roof huts, usually grouped together into small enclaves, and small villages or trading centers with rows of stalls lining the road or goods spread out on the ground. And, of course, people -- people walking or riding bicycles (or pushing them). The walkers, even small children, are usually carrying things, as often as not a couple of heavy, water-filled 'jerrycans' and often their heavy loads are balanced on their head.

Scarily-deep pot holes are everywhere -- sometimes you can swerve around them but often you have no option but to bump over them and hope you don't fall in. Parts of this main road that goes north to Sudan are quite smooth.

Road construction was underway at some point, with heavy equipment and vehicles blocking half the road. We were tentatively flagged down by a pretty, dressed-up woman wearing a floppy straw hat and a fluorescent green vest. She was holding red and green flags but didn't seem to know quite when or how to wave them. We waited until she signaled for us to go -- only to then be yelled at, scolded, or glared at by every construction person we slowly passed. At the other end of this stretch, several cars were waiting their turn. Maybe our traffic director miscued us. Who knows? The woman waving flags at the other end also looked to be a timid trainee. Good thing everyone was driving slowly, and tentatively.

There's always at least one stretch of road being resurfaced. This is progress, a good thing, but today it means driving several miles at about 5 mph in order to drive over big speed bumps placed about every 5 to 10 yards. Apparently the loose aggregate they are spreading would be displaced if people drove over it at normal speed, so the road bumps force drivers to slow down to a creep, plus it creates jobs. Once it's packed down, weeks or months later, road workers return with pick axes to hack away the 'bumps' and allow normal traffic flow.

A favorite few moments of the trip came when we encountered four or five baboons along the edge of the road. They seemed relatively unperturbed by our proximity -- one nursing her baby did move a few feet away and was, I perceived, glaring at us for capturing her private activity, digitally.