My time in Jinja is coming to a close. At some point I shifted imperceptibly from feeling like a visitor to a resident, and I shall be very sad to leave.

Towards the end of last week, Chloe and Rosie went off on safari and so the weekend proved the perfect time for me to enjoy a spot of bird watching.  Moses had put me in contact with one of his neighbours, Bosco, who arranges various trips.  I walked to the end of the road to find a boda to take me to Bujagali. A driver immediately came across offering his services. It was fairly obvious that he did not understand where I wanted to go but he was undeterred.  I asked him to name his a price and he then set off following my directions. When he finally realised where we were heading, he laughed and renegotiated the price.

Bosco had arranged to bring along a colleague, David, who is more knowledgeable on birds.  There is also an abundance of beautiful butterflies in Uganda but I have yet to meet a local who claims to be able to name any of them. I had obtained a costed itinerary from Bosco a few days beforehand but I still wasn’t quite sure how things were going to proceed. I’ve learnt here just to go with the flow as something always happens even if it isn’t quite as expected. The three of us set off along the river at Bujagali on a motorised boat complete with driver.  It was billed as a sunset trip although it was about a quarter past three in the afternoon. Bosco took my camera, David had a notebook for recording the names of the observed birds and I just sat back with my binoculars!  It was very tranquil and beautiful. David complained that the bright sunshine would mean less bird activity due to the reduced availability of food but there was plenty to satisfy me.  One particular highlight was spotting a pair of African fish eagles sitting on a tree with one balancing a fish on the branch.  We also observed a woman bungee jumping from a tower.  White water rafting is one thing, but I cannot see the appeal of hanging upside down over the River Nile! Within a couple of hours, we were back on dry land. 

A second trip had been planned for early the following day.  Bosco had agreed to arrange overnight accommodation for me to avoid the difficulty of finding suitable transport at that time in the morning. The three of us then set off on two bodas and made the long, bumpy journey to Itanda.  It is amusing to look back and remember how apprehensive I was about taking my first short boda trip from Jinja town centre to home. Now I’ll happily travel for an hour across hilly, rugged terrain or go hands-free in town with Kabibe on my lap.   However, careful positioning on the seat is essential.  It isn’t appropriate to sit too close to the driver in such an unladylike fashion but it is advantageous to be bent slightly forward with one’s bottom’s well clear of the metal bar at the back.  It feels rather like being the Queen as children in the countryside constantly call out and wave although, of course, she would ride sidesaddle!

We arrived at a small, brick built, concrete clad house with glass windows hidden behind a high wall and padlocked door and I was led to a small room around the back.  The latrine was down the end of the garden and there was no sign of any running water. The owner was nowhere in sight but Bosco had a key.  We paused only to leave my rucksack and then we set off to have supper.  Itanda is a good-sized village.  Some of the houses are built from brick, others have the classis mud and cow dung walls with banana fibre and dried grass roofs. Even most of the simpler homes in Uganda have more than one room such that the kitchen is normally a separate building. On the way we passed an indoor cinema complete with flat screen and tiered wooden benches.  We arrived at what I guess should be described as a restaurant.  It consisted of a very spartan, tiny candlelit room with wooden benches and tables.  All the food preparation was being coordinated from a little open sided room to the front beside an open fire. Four men were sitting outside playing ludo on a very large board.  An amazing array of food appeared: boiled rice; sweet potato; small pieces of chapati; meat stew; beans in sauce and grated cabbage fried in a little oil.  I assumed that this was for the three of us to share.  However, two more sets of bowls appeared such that it was hardly possible to fit everything on the table. Ugandans tend to use just a fork.  The meat pieces were quite large and not particularly tender and, as I couldn’t cut them up, my jaw began to ache. Nevertheless, it was a fine meal. The guys polished off the whole lot but it was more than I could manage.

We walked back down the road to a little market where people sat on the ground in the candlelight selling produce such as tomatoes.  From there, Bosco and David escorted me back to my room by boda and then disappeared.  The owner had obviously returned, as there was a little light on in my room, which was powered by a large battery connected by crocodile clips.  The mosquito net was only tied at three corners and had several holes that needed plugging, but once that had been sorted, I settled down for the night.

There seemed to be some strange noises coming from the roof during the night, which I couldn’t identify.  However, I was up before sunrise as David was coming to collect me at 6.30am.  Out in the lane there were lots of people de-winging and collecting white ants (or enswa) in bowls ready to fry and eat.  We had a cup of warm milk at the restaurant and took our freshly cooked rolex to eat along the way. 

We wandered through the country side with Bosco taking photos again, David pointing out and sometimes remembering to record the birds and I just strolling along taking it all in with light cloud making conditions perfect. It was easy walking, firstly down a track with a hedgerow and then through a wooded area of eucalyptus followed by pines.  The only real hazard was pausing on unnoticed trails of ants, and each of us experienced being bitten by at least one ant that had managed to crawl inside our clothes.  For the first time I saw tomatoes, aubergines and tobaccos being grown along with the more familiar crops. 

We arrived at the River Nile just at the point where we had walked around Itanda Falls whilst rafting a few days earlier.  I understand that there are plans to build another hydroelectric dam in this area, which will have the effect of submerging various rapids rather like at Bujagali. There is much anger about this in the local community. It would obviously affect the tourist trade but perhaps even more frustratingly for the locals, the hydroelectric power currently produced appears to be exported to Kenya.  People in places like Itanda do not even have the option of buying electricity even if they can afford it, as there are no power lines. 

There was just one slightly scary section of the walk where we passed along a rather slippery, narrow path with a sheer drop beside it down to the Nile and we went ‘mpola, mpola’ (slowly, slowly).  At another one point we found ourselves ploughing our way through an area of densely planted maize.  Bosco had promised me two sets of entertainers.  Only one materialised and was described as ‘swimming dancers’.  It involved two men diving into the Nile at the ‘Bad Place’ and swimming through the rapids.  Apparently, they make their living in this way. I was just grateful that they had not been injured ‘entertaining’ me.  They returned triumphantly to dry land keen to have their photo taken with me.

Initially there had been talk of crossing over to one of the small islands.  However, after walking for about three and a half hours, Bosco decided that we should simply relax in the sunshine by Itanda Falls and follow the progress of a raft that would shortly be negotiating the ‘Bad Place’.  As we watched the raft being tossed in the rapids (and then capsizing), I marvelled that I had been doing much the same a few days earlier and felt quite emotional.  We then returned to Itanda for a meal that was almost identical to the previous evening’s supper. Having expressing my gratitude for a lovely trip, I returned to Jinja.

Back at home, Monica, one of our cleaners, said a surprisingly emotional goodbye to me. I then phoned Chloe’s ‘friend’, Peter, to ask if he would drive me over to the dog minder’s to collect Kabibe.  As I prepared to go downstairs I realized that, in the emotion of the moment, Monica had padlocked me inside the apartment!  So I phoned Peter to ask if he would come to my rescue.  He is a charming man and probably older than many of the other boda drivers and he patiently negotiated with the security guard to be allowed on site.  Initially, I thought that I would have to throw the keys over the back balcony.  However, we discovered that by standing on a chair, I could pass them through the grid above the front door and all was well again.

My last week at Kyabirwa proved particularly rewarding. Joy had mentioned to me a while ago that she would soon be rehearsing the school choir for a competition and I had expressed an interest in getting involved.  When I was first free to attend a rehearsal, I was utterly astonished to find them attempting to sing an arrangement of John Dowland’s Come again, sweet love doth now invite, originally written for solo voice and lute.  It had been arranged for two soprano and two alto parts and they were making a brave attempt at singing the top three parts. This is the compulsory English piece for the competition. It is rhythmically very challenging and the text is archaic and it would be incomprehensible to many English adults and children. Joy was desperate for any help that I could give.

The first problem for me was the fact that the score was written in solfa notation.   This meant that I was slow to read the pitch of the notes and I had no idea how to decipher the rhythms. After a little investigation on the Internet, I was able to transfer the piece to staff notation.  Joy was very keen that I should sing through the various parts with her and also assist her with the pronunciation of the words.  She had made a great start but there were a few errors in both pitch and rhythm and it proved difficult to reteach her or the children.  However, she and the second sopranos mastered the most complex bar of the piece to perfection. Joy has a naturally deep voice and was rehearsing the children in a much lower key than was required. Thankfully I have a tuning fork/pitch pipe on my iPhone. She later produced a recorder and I was able to show her how to sound the key note. The boys and girls were a delight to teach and they worked extremely hard with great enthusiasm. All our rehearsals took place outside unless it was raining and it began to take shape. Joy was also keen that I should show her how to conduct the piece.  We managed to start adding some of the indicated dynamics and focusing on the tone. Joy encouraged the sopranos to sing more like me as it could all sound quite raucous at times.

On my final day, Robina, the head teacher came to listen.  Joy asked me to conduct the piece first and she then took her turn.  Both performances went amazingly well and I loved it. The head was delighted and she explained to me later that Joy had felt quite defeated by the piece until we started working on it together.  Originally, Joy didn’t feel that she could cope with teaching another part and asked me if it would matter. Given that she is keen to do very well, I did suggest that this might not be possible with a missing alto line.  The competition is not until 24^th July and I think that she feels that there is now time to add in the final part. They are also performing some traditional African songs complete with drummers and dancers.  I’m only sorry that I cannot be there.

Last week I mentioned that the pupils do not naturally talk to the teachers. Somebody explained to me that this is a legacy from the days when corporal punishment was used so liberally.  I did begin to get a feeling that, had I stayed longer, this might have begun to change, particularly with the choir members.

I am sure that schools around the world have a lot in common but there are times here in Ugandan when I have certainly known that I am not in England.  Monday was a case in point.  The school uses identical registers to those found in England.  However, as Primary 4 sat quietly writing, I observed Ronah gradually working her way through her five registers and some 150 names!  After lunch, I was preparing to take Primary 3 when it became apparent that literally scores of the children were making their way across the playing fields and down the lane. (There is no perimeter fence or formal outside entrance to the school.) It transpired that they were off to collect a consignment of firewood.  After some time they returned in dribs and drabs bringing a collection of leafy branches and logs.  There was even the odd sizeable piece of tree trunk, which required four or five children to carry it.  I chatted with Mary, the class teacher whilst we were waiting and we got onto the subject of food.  She decided to describe to me how to make dodo and then announced that I should start teaching when the children returned, as she was off to pick me the greens!  The lesson finally got underway, and Mary sat neatly chopping my greens as I taught the class!  However, progress was further hampered as it began to rain and there was no hope of the children understanding anything that I said. After school, I set off walking with Robina. She slithered in her wellies and I slithered in my sandals as there was no question of any bodas making it down the lane.  I hope very much to keep in touch with some of the teachers.

My last week of travelling with Assam went very well.  Even when he was late, I no longer felt the need to phone him to ensure that he was on his way.  He was always so polite, addressing me as ‘Madame’ rather than mama and I think that he was very proud to be my driver.  I must admit that I developed rather a soft spot for him.  He was clearly upset when he realized that it was my last week at Kyabirwa. 

Chloe and I have never really managed to learn the Ugandan way with regard to tipping and gifts etc.  I thought that I would like to give Assam a little something but I couldn’t really think of an appropriate gift and so I decided to write him a card and add some money, hoping that this would be well received.  On the final morning, Assam presented me with a photo of his entire family.  I was very touched and handed him my envelope.  Later in the day, on the way home, Assam suddenly stopped at a building and reappeared bearing a large mango and a traditional rug/mat, the like of which we have seen in Jinja market, which he duly presented to me.  I was very moved.  He then rung to say farewell before I departed for Kenya.

I have no idea how I am going to get the rug into my suitcase, as it is too long when rolled, and I shall have to see if I can fold it as well as keep within the baggage allowance. However, gifts can be more challenging than that.  A group of German women recently arrived at the school, two of which stayed on to visit ex Kyabirwa pupils who they are sponsoring through secondary school.  One of the families decided that they wanted to give a live chicken as a present that should then be slaughtered and eaten.  Moses tried to explain that the women were about to fly back to Germany but the family was insistent. The German women hit upon the idea of accepting the gift but then leaving it for Moses and his family.  I didn’t much enjoy seeing it left on its side for hours in the staff room with its feet bound with sticky tape.

When I next blog, I shall have made my brief visit to Kenya.