Boating on the Nile

The next morning we got up early and drove to Mzee’s house. He was getting ready so he invited us into the compound. In the compound was a bush that had peppers growing on it. They were so tiny that I was deceived into thinking they weren’t that spicy. (Particularly since Jerome told me that it was sour). So I popped it into my mouth. And instantly knew it was a bad idea. It was the spiciest pepper in the world. My mouth was on fire. I made the mistake of swallowing it because George told me it would be rude to spit it out, and the fire spread from my tongue to the back of my throat and all the way down to the deepest recesses of my stomach. My eyes started pouring tears (George, Jerome and Neesha’s did too, but for laughter rather than pain) and it was a good two hours before I could swallow without wanting to die. Not the best way to start off the day. Mzee got in the car with us, smart in his Army uniform, and we drove off to the park for the last (and 5th) time. Charles rode up on his motorcycle just as we got there, but apparently, though we were ready to go at seven thirty, they were not. All the soldiers based there (several who were women and had children strapped to their backs-yay feminism!) lined up, while the commander strode up and down the ranks, talking and talking and talking. The Sudanese penchant for longwindedness is legendary and did not fail us today. We just sat in some plastic chairs under a mango tree and enjoyed the spectacular view of the valley below us spreading out from the banks of the Nile and waited. An hour later a commander finally came up to us and took us to the same tent we went to last time where we chatted with about eight SPLA officers, paid them, and headed out. As we were leaving, three guides volunteered to go with us (in addition to mzee), and convinced us to take them by spotting an elephant eight billion miles again and trying to point it out to us. (Failure. Complete failure. We lack African eyes) So we all crowded into the car. Mzee and Jerome were in front, Neesha, George and I in back, and three extra soldiers delightedly crowded into the trunk, singing, joking, hitting on me and Neesha and having the time of their life. We went to the Nile landing base first and waited for a boat to take us out on the Nile, because there had been reports that the elephants were along the banks. Being incredibly stupid, we hadn’t brought extra money besides the 200 pounds we paid to get into the park, so between the four of us we had about 15 pounds and 200 Uganda shillings. The rate for a boat ride, per person, is typically 50 pounds. We were unsure if we would actually be able to get on the boat at all, but we waited anyway, for another hour. I chatted with Charles, which was fun. He had the best binoculars ever, and he let me scan the Nile banks looking for elephants (didn’t see any) and hippos (didn’t see any). Finally the owner of the boat came and we negotiated with him. He saw that we were white and couldn’t comprehend that we didn’t have money; it wasn’t until we each emptied our pockets directly into his hand that he looked at us, startled, and said “You’re poor!” and we were like “Yes. We Know” Mzee and Charles ultimately both chipped in so that we could actually go on the boat which was incredibly nice of them. Then, with our four guides and two boat men, we all piled into the boat. I felt bad, because there were a bunch of people waiting for a boat to Uganda and they may have had to wait for us to get back, but Jerome kept telling me to “value myself more” and stop worrying. (I personally think that’s kind of bullshit-their need for the boat was greater than ours, but I was overruled on that one).
The boat was a faded blue, and really long. It looked like a canoe, with slats across the length of the boat and a curved front and back, but it had a motor attached to it to “scare hippos” and I’m assuming travel faster, so we puttered away from the bank. And went boating on the Nile! I cant get over that one. It was so cool. The water was the perfect temperature for swimming but common sense held us back, and islands of plants floated downstream, brushing against the side of our boats. After about ten minutes of beautiful scenery and some narration in broken English from George, our boatman, (not to be confused with George, my cousin, who I don’t think knows what to do with a boat, but could probably figure it out), we turned off down a side path. We got 5 minutes down that, and three hippos popped out of the water fifty ft away from us. We scrambled to get pictures, while the hippos eyed us disdainfully (they are very pink, with very big nostrils, and look exactly like all the cute cartoon hippos except that as we all know, they are killing machines filled with rage). They didn’t appear too happy that we were near them, but George reassured us that the motor scares them away and that we were fine. Two seconds later, the motor died. The hippos eyed us even more disdainfully, and submerged under the water. There was a mad dash to grab the two oars, and after a couple minutes of frantic rowing, we got far enough away from the hippos to feel somewhat safer (although we were also, coincidentally, stuck in a huge pile of plant, so we were, in essence, sitting ducks for a hippo attack) We landed very near by and scrambled out of the boat (dignified I am not, and I fell into the mud, but Jerome quasi-caught me). Then we hiked up into the brush to find the elephants. I probably shouldn’t have been wearing flip flops for this, however I hadn’t entirely realized that hiking was part of the package and I wasn’t about to miss seeing elephants because of ridiculous footwear. The brush was spiky and muddy, and there was absolutely nothing that could be described as a path but we just barreled on through. Luckily we didn’t encounter any snakes, though things kept rustling in the bushes nearby which was unsettling to say the least. After ten minutes of walking, the guides silenced us and pointed. On the ridge just over from where we were, three elephants were grazing. They were incredible, huge, brownish and camoflagued in the trees. Their tusks were huge, and glinted in the sun. We snapped a bunch of pictures, and they pointed out some more on the next ridge over. We were ecstatically taking photos when the guides started hustling us away. It turns out the elephants knew we were there and had surrounded us. SO. On one side of us was a circle of potentially upset elephants, and on the other side was hippo infested water. We made a quick choice and hustled ourselves back to the boat. We saw five more elephants on the way, and I stepped in about every thorn bush in Africa and lost my shoe momentarily in a muck puddle and finally scrambled back into the boat before other people got there to laugh at me. Then I pulled the thorns out of my shoes and watched the hippos which were still in the same spot and still making it clear they would prefer if we left. We obliged. As we motored back to the landing, we were going on and on about how cool the elephants were, when all of a sudden I saw something brown flap in the reeds. Rounding a corner, we found ourselves face to face with an elephant, maybe 50 ft away, washing itself in the water. Next to it was something that looked like a discarded tusk floating in the water-which, if that’s what it was, was thousands of dollars just floating on the Nile. The elephant snorted at us and turned and gave us its backside which it wiggled at us insultingly, but we didn’t care. We just took pictures like fiends and couldn’t believe our luck.
When we got back to the landing, we got back in the car and headed back to the park. We were all pretty tired and thirsty at this point, but we hadn’t seen Fula Falls yet. We stopped in and showed our pictures to Charles (he insisted) and then I convinced him that we really had to get going, and we headed off, still with three extra guards, to Fula Falls. We drove most of the way there. There was an SPLA training camp around that area and we saw tons of guys walking towards the river as we drove past. Most of them had the characteristic facial scarring endemic in the area, which I think is gorgeous. I wish white skin didn’t scar so purple, because the designs make the skin look like a subtle canvas, and its beautiful.
We got to a huge hill that there was no way in hell we were taking the Pajero down, and got out to walk. I led the way (why, I have no idea, since it was clear I didn’t know where I was going) but there was a path this way so I just followed it. We finally got to a couple of tiny huts with fishing nets hanging from the branches of trees, and Fula Falls in the background. It was breathtaking.
It is less of a falls than just a huge sequence of rapids which would be amazing to raft down. We hiked down and around and up to this small jetty of land sticking out over the falls and took pictures (I had put on real shoes for this one, and it was amazing how much easier to walk it was-go figure). It made me even more thirsty to be standing there and all I wanted was to dive in but I restrained myself. The pictures are spectacular though. Then we hiked back up. At this point we were all seriously dehydrated. George and Neesha started back to the car so they could walk more slowly, and I waited a bit with Jerome who was trying to get dried fish, I think. But then I walked off too and he finally abandoned the pursuit of dried fish and followed. The guides came after. We got in the car and sat there, panting and coated in sweat and so thirsty we felt like raisins. Mzee, because he is a saint, gave us his bottle of Rwenzori water, and we split it between the three of us which at least buoyed us up for the ride back. We had to drive back to the park AGAIN to report to Charles on the trip AGAIN but I made it really quick while Neesha sat in the car, and then we dropped off Mzee and one of the extra guides in the market and drove back to Nimule. By this time it was about one. So much for leaving for Torit early. We had some lunch and then packed up the car and drove back to Mzee. We gave him money to replace what he had lent us, and a little extra as a thank you, and I bought some chapatti and Rolexs which are chapatti and egg wrapped together and is the poor man’s protein breakfast. It is delicious though. Then we were off. We got to Pageri ok, and stopped for a break, only to discover that our tire was punctured by a rusty nail. An hour later, after having a couple of beers, patching the tire and filling it up with air (five pounds per tire for air! Air!) we headed towards Torit again. We had aquired a passenger (a police officer, the only police officer in Sudan who didn’t carry his gun on him-I mean really) and we took the Magwi road this time and prayed it wouldn’t wreck our car. We had luck and weather on our side (no rain for two days) so the road itself wasn’t so bad, but had it just rained I could easily see how it would break a car in two. It was bumpy. It was almost worse than the road to Lafon. To make matters worse, we were setting out so late that the Tsetse flies were out with a vengeance and swarmed our car. They are huge, and their bite feels worse than a horsefly bite (so I’m told) so we periodically had to roll up the windows and go on a killing spree. The police man was really good at it-he caught a tsetse fly in his bare hands, karate kid style, but George and I weren’t so good and Neesha was too busy laughing at the spectacle of us all thwacking things with rolled up newspaper to really be helpful. George was entrusted with “protecting Jerome” so that Jerome wouldn’t get sleeping sickness, and he did a pretty good job. The car would get hotter than an oven with the windows open so we then had to roll them down and start the whole process over again. We stopped in Magwi which was more rural than I thought it would be considering that its suppose to be one of the big towns in Eastern Equatoria. It was a really pretty drive, and much more isolated than the Juba road, so we were seeing real villages with people wandering around cooking dinner, finishing up washing, and chatting with their neighbors. It was domestic and comforting.
To drag us away from thoughts of things domestic and comforting, Jerome told us all about “night dancers”, people who were bewitched after dark and go and dig up corpses and eat them, which got us started on a whole discussion of sorcery and witchcraft again. The policeman, who didn’t speak much English, emphatically agreed with Jerome that they existed and we talked about it for a while, thoroughly freaking Neesha out, until we reached the check point. It was really late at this point and the soldiers didn’t speak English well, if at all. I got by in some very bad Arabic, but we left the talking up to the police officer, who was fluent. And then, just to illustrate the extent of corruption in this country, we were blatantly asked for a bribe, in front of the police officer. With the police officer translating actually. It wasn’t a high bribe (a couple of beers for the soldiers-like they need more alcohol) but it was the principal of the thing. Its like they aren’t even trying to pretend that they aren’t corrupt. The police officer was not shocked and didn’t reprimand them but he doesn’t even carry his gun so I wasn’t really surprised. We dropped him off at the police barracks and went back to the compound. It was nine so there wasn’t any dinner. I wasn’t particularly hungry and neither was Neesha but Jerome and George were starving, so while George and Neesha caught up on a weeks worth of emails, Jerome and I headed downtown to get some food.
I’ll admit. We dawdled a bit. But I really miss running errands so I convinced him to just drive around a bit. We stopped at the Kenyatti Club (where we might have a big dinner with Rex this week-I hope I hope I hope) and asked if they had chips but they didn’t. So we headed over to the Lobalua Hills bar (our favorite) and ordered chips from one of the street vendors outside. Jerome reported that she had liver, which he was excited about, and I was not, and both of us forgot Neesha was practically vegetarian. So while we waited for the chips to be ready, we had a beer at the bar. Shiva, my waitress friend, waited on us, so I got to visit with her which was really nice. Jerome treated me to skewered goat meat (delicious-Apollo is a genius) and we hung out and watched music videos until the chips were ready. Then we bought some chapatti, got in the car, and went back to the compound, where of course, no one really ate the food except Jerome. The chips turned out to be a bit of a surprise: not only did they have liver in them, but also spaghetti, tomatoes, onions, and top up (sweet and sour ketchup). The combination of all of the ingredients tasted like meatloaf to me (even the liver, which I ate. Ha!)