Dec 6-8
Our transfer from Goma to Kabale was anything but direct. On the way back to Goma, we learned that the DRC-Uganda border crossing at Bunagana was closed, so we would be paying yet another round of $60 in visa fees in order to go from Goma to Gisenyi. We made quick work of the Gisenyi border crossing, endured the seizure of several “contraband” plastic shopping bags and our emergency supply of “just in case” Ziplocs, and then we headed for the bus station to get a transfer straight to Musanze that evening, where we caught a much-needed night’s rest before heading for the Kisoro border crossing the following morning. Thank heavens that our Rwanda entries were easy because every other border entry has seemed unnecessarily difficult… The source of trouble this time were two unstamped visas from the Ugandan High Commission in Ottawa. I’m not sure why two white Westerners with no connections to Uganda would want to forge visas so that they could get into the country, but that’s apparently who our border guard thought she was looking at. There was a long wait while she asked several questions about how we got our visas and tried to decide what to do with us. Fearing the possibility of corruption, I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to have to pay a bribe in order to get her to accecpt our visas. Instead, when she asked questions about where we got the visas, my ever-faulty memory decided to work for a change and I actually remembered the address of the High Commission in Ottawa. She checked the address on her phone and that seemed to be enough to convince her that my story was legit. Off we went without a backward glance, lest she change her mind.
As it turns out, getting from the border to Kabale was no easy task. We snagged a ride in a car with a guy who was “going to Kisoro anyway” (I suspect he appears at the border every day with the same story, but that’s alright ), and then planned to get one of the many mini-buses or shared taxis that depart daily from Kisoro in the direction of Kabale, just like our Lonely Planet says. You’d think we’d have learned by now…. There aren’t any minibuses that go from Kisoro to Kabale. So we rejected the offers to drive us for the low low price of $60 and found someone willing to drive us for $12, thinking we’d done well by asking a “travel agent.” Ahhhhhh, if only we knew what fun was in store for us! One standard-sized car, two hours, EIGHT passengers. We’d officially been introduced to matutus, the local version of a taxi. To be fair, I still would’ve paid the $12 instead of the $60, partly because I’m frugal and partly because the gradual transition from being bored, to annoyed, to finding the situation completely hilarious was worth every penny.
We got dropped off at Engagi Backpackers in Kabale, where we met Monday and Vincent, who are kind of hilarious; Vincent is more of a cartoon character than a human, and excitedly greets you every. single. time he sees you. No joke. They warned us that it was the weekend (it was Sunday), so the club nearby would be a little loud that night; we’d heard the same thing in Rwanda and tolerated the thumping bass until closing time around 2, so we felt prepared for what was to come. They weren’t joking. Ugandans LOVE their clubs. At 4am, I turned to Rich and suggested we go join them (which I still think, to this day, would have been the most interesting option). 5am came and went and still the party raged on. I finally fell asleep some time after 5:30, desperately wishing we hadn’t ordered breakfast to be ready for 8:30.
Raging dance parties aside, I instantly liked Kabale. The people are friendly and curious, there’s a small selection of street food and bakeries, and there’s an interesting division of trade along the Main Street as it moved from large-scale commercial at one end to mothers sitting over braziers and selling roasted maize at the other end. My camera was a big draw, and I laughed as a number of people asked me to take their photos during our walks around town. I’m not sure what they then expect me to do with them, but we did catch the word “website” in the exuberant chatter that followed one little portrait session, so perhaps they think they’re going to be famous in some far off land… So here they are :P : 
We spent two days wandering the streets, celebrating the fact that the hostel had a computer so I could transfer everything off of my very full memory cards, and hanging out at Engagi when the oppressive heat that descends every day from about 10-3 would eventually drive us in search of shade. On our first day’s wandering, we passed several “pork joints” (as indicated by their signs), one of which had an alley down the side where an adorable little boy tottered along wearing someone else’s rubber boots – they went most of the way up his thighs. His little brother, who sat in the dirt alongside him, caught sight of me and burst into tears almost immediately, doing wonders for my self-confidence. ;) With the only two real backpacker spots in town being next door to one another and this alley being off the beaten path in a town that’s off the beaten path, my guess is that he doesn’t see white faces very often (or at least that’s what I told myself).
On our search for lunch on day 2, we decided to pay one of the local “pork joints” a visit so that we could buy some brochettes, only to discover one major problem once we got there: they aren’t exactly pork…. A man sat in front of a table preparing a massive platter of skewers, threading an impressive selection of offal onto the metal spikes. Tripe, intestine, liver, and kidney were all instantly recognisable, and there were a few bonus prizes, the identity of each being something that I was happy to leave a mystery. We decided we’d pass. The buffet offerings at a local spot ended up rewarding us with some beef, some awesome fried tilapia, some exceptionally salty-bitter greens mixed with beans and very chewy maize kernels (I ate the beans and skipped the rest), and we got our first taste of matooke, which we later learned is mashed plantain, that they serve in very large quantities.
One of the funniest moments from our time in Kabale happened on our way back from lunch. We popped out of an alley and, when I looked to my left, I saw a ragged fort with one child playing outside and a fair bit of chatter coming from inside. I looked at the kid outside the fort and put my finger to my lips as I hustled towards the entrance. He watched with a smile as I crouched down, took hold of the tatty piece of fabric and pulled it back yelling, “BOO!” Eight loud shrieks answered me back and we all dissolved in a pile of giggles before I ran away. 
We managed to sort out a van rental from the hostel, so booked a flashy 8 passenger van for a week. We met Alex, a 47 year old Jewish-Russian-Canadian who’d been travelling independently for 4 months, and invited him to come along on our road trip so that we could defray the cost of the rental and fuel. We set a time to meet in the morning, and our next little adventure was set to begin.
Up next: Southwestern circuit through Fort Portal and Queen Elizabeth National Park
Grateful for: friendly guesthouse employees; a hostel with a computer
