Kisumu to Kampala – Friday August 3rd

My host kindly insisted on making me a coffee before heading off and we ended up chatting for about half an hour.

Then, once Simba was packed up, I headed off into the city to find the road to Busia as this was the border crossing into Uganda that I opted for. I had read previously that the British government donated millions to improve this particular crossing so as to speed up goods in transit which previously could take days. How benevolent they can sometimes be to former colonies. I wonder how that will work post Brexit.

The first few kilometres was rough, dusty, potholed dirt road but once I hit tar I was able to push on. I was giving myself two hours to get to the border and would get petrol and something to eat there.

Brunch was what you see in the photo but would do until evening. I had slowed down earlier for a couple of roadside vendors who were selling bananas but the crowds around them suggested more hassle than they were worth. But I was dying for a banana.

I pulled over at a quiet spot about five minutes before the border to sort out paperwork, smaller amounts of dollars etc. rather than do so under the watchful gaze of border vultures.

The run up to the first army checkpoint was as manic as I have come to expect at an African transit post with hundreds of articulated lorries and thousands of hot and tetchy people knocking around. As usual, I was the only “mzungu” within a hundred kilometres which always draws slightly uncomfortable attention. Unless I feel that it is safe to do so I would not produce a phone or camera to take a photo.

As I have done previously I picked out one of the dozens of “official” helpers who were pounding on me to assist. I actually picked well this time, a huge but seemingly pleasant guy called Derek. We agreed on one thousand Kenyan schillings (€9) but for that he was to assist me on both sides of the border, because you have to go through the same process twice. How he got over to the Ugandan side was to be his problem (but I did notice him later handing a donation to a group of soldiers at the barrier).

There was a bit of flapping at the Customs on the Kenyan side but it was basically down to her both not having a clue and wanting my Kenyan schillings that I no longer needed. I ended up showing her how to treat the Carnet and I told her loudly in front of big Derek that I had only enough schillings for him. I think that his large presence was enough to end that conversation. Immigration couldn’t find where my passport was stamped back at Mombasa but realistically she was also just looking for her piece the perceived pie that I was carrying.

On the Ugandan side there was a longer queue in the Customs office and boy was it hot and sweaty in that confined space. I measured it at two by six metres and I counted fourteen people squeezing together, each trying to push ahead of the other. After a while Derek pulled me to the front and nobody argued with him, least of all me.

After more fluting around he (correctly) advised me to buy insurance. This is the single biggest rip-off as I already have insurance from a company in Rotterdam for all African countries. On previous crossings I usually paid about $15 but the guy in the insurance office insisted that it would cost me $100. I told him I could buy a very good bike in Uganda for that money and I put a $20 note on the desk in front of him. He wasn’t going to give in until I started to pull the note away saying that I was fine with traveling on the insurance I had. He accepted the $20!!

After a bit of haggling for Ugandan schillings with “official” currency traders I said goodbye to Derek and actually gave him twice what he asked for as he had been a great help.

So after about one and a half hours getting across the border, hey presto, I was motorbiking in Uganda. The first noticeable thing was that the road was significantly better. No potholes and an even surface, at least until Kampala that is.

I pulled over to chat with Hans from Frankfurt who is spending two months cycling around Kenya and Uganda. I suggested that he put his hat back on or else he would have a fried nose by the time he got to the next town of Jinja.

It was at Jinja that I crossed the official source of the River Nile at the point where it enters Lake Victoria (please don’t message me debating the matter – it’s official, so Top Gear made their version up!!).

The outskirts and woeful traffic of Kampala starts about forty kilometres before you even get near the city. The road turned to crap and riding into the city felt like a game from a Mad Max movie. Christ it was wicked. At one point I spent twenty minutes on a completely jammed roundabout as the directing traffic policeman chatted away on his mobile phone – and it was 32 degrees Celsius.

I had a fairly good idea of where I was going and tried several detours, not one any better than another unfortunately.

By the time I arrived at the Airbnb I was knackered. However it was a perfect property in a really quiet and peaceful area south of the city overlooking the lake. They were a lovely family waiting to greet me and showed me into my annexe room/bathroom/sitting room off the main house. Boy did I need a shower.

The view over the lake was spectacular and I was really made feel at home.

I was even invited to join in on a penalty shootout. So much for my gammy knee!!

Food (vegetarian!) is cooked in a traditional manner over charcoal…

….. but I was starving and would have eaten a bowl of raw carrots.

At the end of a hectic slept I slept like a baby….