PENETRATING THE IMPENETRABLE

Our breathing had become labored, and conversation had died out completely. The sounds of the forest; the chirping of the crickets, the rustling of the wind in the trees, and the crack of branches beneath our feet mingled with our panting to produce a curious sound. I was breathing hard but deep, trying to clamp down the panic that threatened to rise. I have always had a paranoia about slopes, picturing vivid images of myself rolling down and hurting every bone in my body. The ground beneath us was wet and treacherous, so that what seemed like a sure step could become a slippery slope…quite literally. It was the stuff my worst nightmares are made of.

“Is everyone okay?” the guide called out ahead. In the silence, his words echoed around us like he was behind, and not far ahead of us. We grunted our assent as if to say,

“What choice do we have?”

The look you give when the guide keeps moving and the end is nowhere in sight

It had not started out like this. We had spent a night at Lake Mburo National Park, at par with nature: the graceful impalas, the haughty bush bucks, the still water of the lake, the large peaceful hippopotamuses, the gorgeous loud birds, the grunting warthogs, and the clear blue sky.

The sky has never looked so blue

The clouds seemed to have a mind of their own

We had risen early and had a healthy katogo breakfast in Mbarara, surrounded by a mixture of the hesitant step to city life and the reluctant rural feel portrayed in the loud shouts in Runyankore about milk and cows, and the unassuming buildings. The afternoon and evening had been spent playing loud music and ludo outdoors, and was moved along by engaging conversation and raucous laughter. The air here was cleaner, and we took deep cleansing breaths and enjoyed the gentle breeze that had replaced the oppressive heat of Kampala. After a nourishing dinner of local buffet, we went to bed early to prepare for the early morning drive from Kabale town to the forest.

We were up at 4 am, giddy with excitement. After a quick breakfast of omelettes we made ourselves washed down with scalding tea to warm us up, we were on our way. The drive was beautiful, the roads winding and steep, the view of the hills of Kabale and Kisoro breathtaking. In the distance, Muhavura hid behind a thick mist, like a bride awaiting her unveiling. We stopped many times to stretch, take pictures, and really just marvel at the sights.

By 8:00 am, we were at Ruhiija, ready to track and find the gorillas in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest.

Shoe game strong

 The guide explained that the gorillas are unpredictable and our journey to find them may be a short, medium, or long walk.

Picturesque, but brutal

We packed some water and some snacks, and tied our shoelaces a little tighter. Nothing had prepared us for this nonetheless: the steep hill, the slow torturous descent, and the exhaustion. I held on to the walking stick they provided at the starting point and wiped my brow.

The descent eventually got gentler and became almost flat. After jumping over a little stream, we started the climb. Conversation resumed even with the panting, and we hoped that ours would be the short walk. As if the Universe had heard, we were soon shushed. We had reached the gorillas!

Taxi Chronicles 201

A few weeks ago, I had a pain in my neck – well not exactly in my neck, but at the back of my head on the left side. I didn’t see it coming on so it must have slithered in and in a very sly way that I attributed it to a bad night’s sleep and that it will slither away in the same manner that it slithered in. However, the pain intensified – literally pushing me to a diet of pain killers. Pause a minute. You see, I am a paranoid person and after a few days, I had worried myself half to death about the effects the pain killers would have on my kidneys. Checking out the pain at the clinic, I was assured that there was nothing to worry about and was given some liniment to massage it away with. The recommended massage didn’t ease the pain but rather, it did a good job of distributing the pain equally along my neck muscles, that I took to walking with a haughty head held high posture and coupled with a mood that was worse than that of a nauseous exhausted expecting mother – not that I would really know what the mood of nauseous exhausted and expecting mother is like seeing I have never been pregnant. One evening while still trying to recover from this strange inexplicable pain, I walked to the taxi stage. The pain had by now upped its game to the next level and took delight in transforming itself into a headache if I did not keep a steady head. The taxi stage was a little crowded, but after a quick rekey, conclusions were drawn that everybody looked civilised and no one would fall prey to the new Miss Angry and Haughty that I had become. But once the approaching taxi stopped, civilisation went out of the window and in came an Aleppo in Syria battlefield. It was a battle at the barely opened door. Miss Almost-Louboutin Heels turned into Queen of Elbows, using her elbows to barge everybody out of her way. Mr. Cool and Composed was now a single minded ogre, almost crushing someone’s foot beneath his at the taxi door. Meanwhile, my headache was in a world of its own and all intense. Ten minutes later, another taxi pulled up. I took a cautious step forward while scared that my neck and head may not survive the escapade if I tried being a fighter. This group was a bit more civilized - probably because the taxi was only half empty or am I supposed to say it was half full? Anyway, we were a group of five at the door when a tall weary gentleman stepped in front of me, almost pushing me over. Though spent, I held onto the taxi door and drew breath. Something in my expression must have struck him when he turned, because he suddenly paused and gave me leave to enter undisturbed to a comfortable seat by the window. Having had a stranger save my life, my faith in humanity and taxis was restored. This, of course only lasted until the conductor refused to give me my change. I guess some things don’t change. Back to taxis! More taxi chronicles to follow here.

The Versatile Blogger Award

As I told Benjy in this tweet, I was very surprised by his nomination. I have been one of those really lazy bloggers for....well, ever since I started blogging. I am also very honoured (although I am a tad late to the party). Here are seven random facts about myself (in no particular order):

No. 4

I have freakishly long fingers, and an embarrassing shoe size.

No.7

I used to write about love a lot, but the actual experience has often left me speehless about how to describe it

No. 2

I procrastinate. A lot.

No.5

I make excellent tea. I don't know what I do differently, but it's like my hands have magic.

No.1

I read too fast, but remember nearly everything (no, this does not translate to super natural grades)

No.3

I never forget a face, esecially if a name is assigned to it.

No.6

I throw away about 80% of the things I write before anyone has the chance to read them.

The Rules

1. Thank the person that nominated you and include a link to their blog.

2. Nominate at least 15 boggers of your choice. When considering a fellow blogger for The Versatile Blogger Award, keep in mind the quality of their writing, the uniqueness of their subject matter, and the level of love displayed on their virtual page.

3.Link the nominees and let them know about their nomination

And, the nominees are (drumroll please)

Beewol
Edna Ninsiima
The Sultan's Wife
Qatahar Rayond Mujuni
Papa Shabani
Nevender
Pearl

and

Esther Kalenzi

I coud not make 15, but I tried. If you have already taken part, just skip along. If not, over to you!