The Journey

I've had a few times when it just hit me that I'm actually going to Uganda for 8 months. When I was in Australia, these moments have often been accompanied by feelings of sadness and regret, but when I got to the UK all I could feel was excitement. The time it hit me the hardest was on January 7th, at 6pm, right after seeing Molkie say goodbye to his family and girlfriend and Boz saying goodbye to his dad (I said goodbye to Dad, Jane and Euan in Durham). I was literally shaking and could hardly talk until we got through the gate, when I calmed down and we looked for somewhere to eat. My last meal in the UK was a massive burger and chips, while Molkie had a parma and Boz had Fish 'n' Chips.

To our horror, the flight had been delayed 2 hours and we only had a 2 hour stop in Dubai, so it became obvious that we were going to miss our connecting flight. Sure enough, after a 7 hour flight we landed at 8.30am, just as our flight to Entebbe was taking off.

We waited in line to see what we could do, because there was only one flight a day direct to Entebbe. Thoughts of Will's flat with a pool crept into my head, as we thought we might have to spend 24 hours in Dubai, but we were informed that we could fly to Nairobi at 10am and get a connecting flight to Entebbe. We got to the gate to board at 9.15 but the man at the gate, after scanning my ticket, told me that the flight had been double booked. Thoughts of Will's flat crept back into my head, but instead we were devastated to hear that they would have to put us in business class =P

We reclined in our seats, sipped champagne and looked through the entertainment system. After 4 hours and 40 mins we landed in Nairobi, looked around Duty Free and chilled, drinking coffee, eating hot dogs and playing scrabble.

We boarded the small, cramped, Kenya Airways flight and arrived in Entebbe 1 hour later at 7pm, 5 hours after we were meant to land. After paying $50US for a 3 month visa, we went to collect our bags. After a short time, Molkie's bag came through, followed by Boz's. We waited and waited for my bag and guitar but neither of them came through. We asked if there were any more bags to come from the flight but there wasn't, so I filled out a baggage form and was told that they would arrive on the next flight, so with that we left. As we exited the airport we were bombarded by eager taxi drivers (because they can make Mzungus, or white people, pay more). Luckily one of them let us use his phone and I called Isobel and James, the Ugandan PT representatives. They were just in the carpark so we met them and began the drive to their home in Kampala.

We passed lively streets and exciting markets and after about 40 minutes we arrived, knackered at James' and Isobel's house. All the other volunteers came earlier to see us but were sent home by Isobel and James who thought we needed our rest. After a quick meal of pizza and salad, and a discussion about the Ugandan government and globalisation, we were under the mozzy net for our first sleep in our new home country.