Thursday, July 10: Masaka

Our destination today was Masaka, which is always shown as one of Uganda’s other large cities. We had been near Masaka at Christmas when we went down to the area for Michael’s father’s funeral. It is nearly 200 kilometers from Kampala, and it lies south of the equator on Masaka Road, which leads to Tanzania, Rwanda, and beyond. We have 3 children in Masaka, al there as a result of moves from a much closer area. Joseph and Vincent didn’t want to go to Masaka because they said it was too far to see only 3. I suggested we could use our time coming back to visit several schools along the Masaka Road outside the city of Kampala. When they checked, we would be able to see 22 kids by doing things this way!

But it was 200 kilometers away, so the Joseph, Vincent, and Grace showed up at 6:00 a. m. to take us. David wasn’t with us because he had responsibilities at the church. Everyone else was down on time, but Angie had asked about getting breakfast before we left. The same sweet soul who waited on us the evening before met us in the lobby to tell us she had prepared breakfast for us all. She even offered eggs. So I asked Joseph and Vincent to eat first, and they did. It slowed us by 30 minutes, but it saved us an hour-long tea break!

We were finally on the road around 6:30. There was little traffic and, at first, few pedestrians as we wove through the city. By the time we reached the market at the edge of the city, Kampala was coming to life. The sidewalks were packed with people and the stalls appeared to be stuffed as soon as the proprietor opened his shop. Traffic began to build, but I really didn’t care. It was fascinating to watch this huge, complex city come to life!

After we left the market, the traffic evaporated and the number of pedestrians shifted completely. Instead of workers on their way to work and shoppers on their way to shop, we saw school children. The average age of those on the street was suddenly considerably less than 20! Each school had its own colors from yellow to dark blue to white too a green found only here. The distance clicked by, measured not in miles or kilometers, but in the area of blue uniforms followed by the green and the red. We were in Uganda, where directions this morning might be, “Go past the white shirts and the green sweaters until you reach the dark blue skirts. Turn there.”

There were second graders leading pre-kindergartners. There were clusters of high school students, far too cool to wave at us, but once one did, the whole group broke into waves and smiles. Our progress toward Masaka was no longer measured. There were laughing children everywhere, chasing and running with no one to chase or be chased by.

And there were huge trucks carrying matoki and mattresses and who knows what. These 18 whellers barreled along the road at unbelievable speeds. “I feel much safer knowing that each of these trucks has recently passed a thorough safety inspection,” said Jeff as we passed a matoki-filled truck with a broken rear axle. It was the fourth broken down mega-truck in about five miles. Masaka Road is a very dangerous place for cars, but especially for the running, giggling kids: a false step or a stumble could easily mean death.

But these are not the only risks on the Masaka Road. Uganda has a very large stork. It is black and white with a huge bill, and it stands more than four feet tall. It has very long bony legs and a wingspan of more than six feet, with some quite a bit more than that. They eat dead things, so they look like undertakers as they stand in fields or on top of buildings in Kampala.

We pointed out a field full of these scary birds to Angie as we rolled along at about 100 kph. She said, “I hope I never have a close encounter with one of those.” There were two storks beside the road feasting on some kind of road kill and as soon as “those” left her lips, one of the birds took off in front of our left front wheel. It jumped toward the middle of the grille of our van and as it did, it opened his huge wings. Two flaps got it high enough for its massive body to clear the van, then it straightened out its legs and started to flap in earnest. We grazed one of its gnarled feet, but not enough to change its flight path. Jeff was sitting in the shotgun seat, which is on the left side in a British car. One the bird jumped, he almost jumped over the seat. Were it not for his seatbelt, I think he very well might have joined us in the back! This bird probably weighed as much as a small dear.

Vincent squealed, but other than that, he just kept driving.

When we first talked about Masaka, neither Vincent nor Joseph wanted to go. “It is very far,” they said, “and we have only three children there.” But when I asked about the kids in Mpigi, there were three more there and we would pass by Mpigi en route. Then they started checking and found we had 22 kids off Masaka Road. By arranging things carefully, we could go all the way to Masaka, then spend the day coming back and stopping at these schools.

Our first stop was in a commercial area outside Masaka. We pulled over and Michael came walking up to the van. We knew this Michael from Kassanda. He was a police officer there and a minister in the church until his unit was mobilized as part of the UN Peacekeeping Force in Dar Four. He signed on for a year, but his commitment was extended to 18 months. His wife moved the family to her parent’s village (Masaka) so the good news was that Michael was home on furlough. The bad news was that the furlough was granted when his obligation was extended to two years. He said it was better there now than when he first went up, but it was still very dangerous. In fact he had received word that one of his fellow officers had been killed the day before by sniper fire.

Michael road with us to his daughter’s school. She was scared to death of us, which surprised me because when I visited their home as he was being called up, she was at least sort of friendly. We took her picture, then one with me. Michael told Lisa our visit would be something she remembered for the rest of her life.

His son had started at this school, but the pressure to convert from the Muslim leaders of the school forced Michael to move the boy. The daughter wasn’t experiencing this pressure, but Michael said the son didn’t want to go to school because it was so bad. We found him at his new school. He seemed happy and he said that he remembered me. He talked a bit, then he showed us his report card. He was 4 out of 52 students!

We returned Michael to the business area where we’d found him. He insisted on getting us a photocopy of his son’s grades before we parted. While we were waiting for him to return, Joseph told us about taxis in Masaka. They were small Hondas, all white, and they were everywhere. “They seat 11 people.”

“That’s not possible,” David said.

“It is, it is,” said Joseph. “There will be two in the driver’s seat, and two in the passenger’s seat with one more in the middle. Then, there will be six in the back.”

“I want to see one of these,” Jeff said. And within a few minutes, Joseph showed us a small Honda let out 11 passengers! The people were crammed in on top of each other.

“And if you complain, you are out,” said Grace.

While we were looking, Joseph also pointed out boda bodas with three adults squeezed in. We even found one with four adults! It was hard to believe that the little motor cycle would pull that much weight. And even harder to believe that the bicycle taxi drivers could pedal hard enough to carry two customers!

We drove through Masaka itself en route to the next school. It was far from a city! There were two three – story buildings and two streets of badly warn shops. It didn’t compare at all to the modern structures in Kampala or the fading glory of Jinja. It looked like a hundred other villages we’ve seen, only it’s main street ran on a bit further and there was a second, though short, parallel street. And there were tons of people!

We had one more visit in Masaka. It was another Muslim school, a situation where a mother was insisting that this was the right school. We pulled in a few minutes after 10:00 and Vincent went to see the head master. He refused to let us see the boy unless we waited for either break or lunch. The break was scheduled at 10:30. By then, it was only 15 minutes, so we waited. The boy seemed happy there and said he wasn’t being pressured to convert.

Vincent flew along the flat road. The flora here was a bit different from Kampala. There were naturally growing palm trees and the undergrowth was a bit less thick. The brick or mud houses were in the same style as Kampala. It was much, much flatter than the rolling hills around Kampala. After about an hour, we came to the equator, so Vincent pulled over. We wandered through shops for a bit then came out to watch the demonstration of how the equator impacts the flow of water down the drain. A man had three funnels with buckets underneath. On the north side, he poured the water into the funnel while holding his finger on the exit pipe. He used a piece of metal to steady the water then dropped in a flower. It turned as we would expect it to, and ran out the bottom of the funnel.

We then walked a few steps below the equator. When he did the same thing again, the flower went in the opposite direction. At a point marked as the equator, the flower didn’t turn at all. It simply rand through the hole. I would feel better about this if he used the same funnel each time. I know it’s true that water goes in the opposite direction below the equator, but I have no idea if the change occurs within only a few feet. And I have no idea if his “on the equator” thing even makes sense.

We walked to the end of the shops to a café. It was a great place, a large, high topped building with art and souvenirs everywhere. There was a counter at the back where food was being served. Our two Dallas ladies went for iced coffee drinks, but Lisa explained that the ice wasn’t safe. All the Americans ordered chicken wraps. All the Africans ordered muffins. I thought this wise because the other option was veggie wraps and I knew we shouldn’t eat them. We went out on a large porch and sat down in very comfortable chairs. There was a gentle breeze and it felt wonderful to sit in the shade.

Our food finally arrived and it was a disaster! The chicken wraps had guacamole all over them and they were stuffed with tomatoes. We ended up trading with our friends. They didn’t like them, and we weren’t wild about the muffins. In the end, Vincent got a doggie bag with one whole sandwich and 2/3 of another one.

Back in the van! Our first stops were the Mpigi schools. Last year, we found a young Brit running one of the schools and we were very curious to see if he was still around. We didn’t see any sign of him. These schools are a bit run down, but they often sit atop hills with sweeping views of valleys, hills, and ridges.

There was a very interesting school called Destiny Day and Boarding. It is run by the Pentecostal churches and it also has an orphanage. The school sits atop a ridge and is visible for miles from the road. There were several surprising things. First, Kabanda Charles (Wayne) was there. Kabanda quit school before Christmas. When I reported this to Wayne he asked me to personally find Kabanda during our Christmas trip and talk with him about his future. I did, and Kabanda agreed to stop working in the fields as his grandparents wanted and go to school. Vincent had moved him in as a boarder here, and he was brand new boy! He seemed happy and talkative. The head master said he was doing great!

The other big surprise was that both of Joseph’s boys and one of Michael’s had been moved into boarding here. That’s something that will require a bit of investigating!!

Vincent took me to meet the head master. He was very young and very professional. He explained that by the end of next year, they would have secondary 1 going, and all of secondary by the following year. He said there were new dorms underway and new classroom space. This is another of the regional schools we hope to use with a number of our children. There are 12 there now, and I expect there will be 15 next year.

Another couple of stops to see one child in each school, and our day was over. Traffic coming into Kampala was, as always, terrible, but Vincent squeezed us through! We pulled into the parking lot at 6:30, another 12 hour day!

I invited Vincent to eat with us, but he said he had to go to church. David came in while we were waiting on our food. He had been sick, so he didn’t eat. We all ordered starches from the menu (there are no other choices). I slept a lot as we drove, but it was still a very tiring day!