3:20 pm. After playing a game of pool at the local Health Club & Bar (fitting, right?), it all started with Lauren saying "we should go to the zoo, it's 'only' 30 minutes away". We hoped a Boda to Qualty Cuts for eclairs, which had all been eaten. We procured a private taxi, and after 5 mintues of price arguing, negotiated the price down to 50,000 USH or approx $25 USD. The driver got lost not once, not twice, but three times. We thought it was odd we had to go through a police search to go to the zoo. Turns out it was because we were at the airport instead. We eventually did make it to the zoo and saw the standard zoo animals behind very sketchy fencing. Anyone of them could have killed us, except for Jack the Otter (named by Jef) and maybe the two giraffes. There were a plethora of dead baby chicks inside the viper cage and crocodile exhibit? Ruth rode a camel, which spit on Jef, and made the following noise: "yaaahhooooowwwwwwywahahahhhhhhhh".
6:20 pm. The real fun starts. As we walked up to find a taxi, we found a mutatu driver who said he would take us to Kampala for 2,000 USH, which we were excited about, seeing as we had just paid 25 times that amount not 2 hours before. Side note, you get what you pay for. There we were, joined by more riders every 5 minutes or less. Our 12 passenger van, had no less than 16 passengers in it at any given point. The should be 45-minute drive is a lot longer when you have to stop every 50 meters. We averaged 4 people on our seat built for 2 for most of the ride. And we stop again.
7:20 pm. This time rather than continuing as we expected, we hear "Mzungu (white person) you switch vans and ride there. They will take you to Kabalagala". They lied. Here we were, 4 Mzungus stuck in the back of a van with a stench that will remain unspoken. We look to our left and unbeknownst to us, there sat our hero, Sam the Kenyan. We ended up in Taxi Park.
Side note #2: Direct quote from Georgia, "Don't go to taxi park, especially at night". We were not only there at night. We were the only white people in a sea of Ugandans and a lone Kenyan who, taking pity on us ignorant Americans, lead us to the promised land (Taxi Stop) located about 1/2 mile away by forcing our way through tens of thousands of people.
8:00 pm. Thousands of Ugandans were in our section of Taxi Park, all fighting (literally) for approximately 4 taxi's at any one time. Pure Madness. No sporting event or New York City Street even comes close to the action in Taxi Park at night.
We realize what a predicament we are in. We can't walk home as traffic is too heavy, and we happen to be on the outskirts of downtown near a dangerous slum. Excellent.
8:15 pm. We are still standing amongst this rocky sea of people anxious to be home. It was then that Jef realizes we are the center of attention.
8:20 pm. Kyle and Lauren are thrown (literally) into the front seat of the mutatu while Ruth and Jef stay back with our new 9,998 closest friends. At the last minute, as the door is closing, Lauren throws the second phone to Jef in a last ditch "hope you don't die" gesture.
8:25 pm. Traffic is stopped. 20 people in this 12 person van. The mutatu is turned off. The stench worsens. 20 minutes later, traffic slowly resumes and they make their way (past two wrecks) to get dinner. After, they both jumped on a singular boda (with dinner in hand). As a quick review, a boda is a motor bike, has a driver, and is really made for one person. They are home safe and sound by 9:30 pm.
8:31 pm. Back at the Taxi Park, Jef and Ruth are still waiting. The crowd has lessened and we were sure a taxi was coming soon, so Samuel was thanked and he went home. Two Mzungus, still in the taxi park. At night. Ruth says "what are we gonna do"? Jef is busy watching the mutatu employee filming them. Then, said employee gets on the phone and tells the person on the other end that two Americans (describing our clothing) are about to get off at Kabalagala. We knew at this point we had been targeted. This is where it's useful to speak Swahili. Jef leans over to Ruth and explains what's going on. While doing so, he overhears a Ugandan, speaking in Swahili on the phone. She is describing how funny it is to watch Americans attempt to get on a mutatu. She later went on to say "they're in the wrong part of town".
8:50 pm. A taxi shows up. Jef slings Ruth into the front row and follows suit beside her. We drive approximately 150 meters and we hit yet another traffic jam. Probably the same one as earlier, just expanded, to the power of rediculous. They wait, in a hot mutatu, for 45 minutes. Ruth looks at Jef and says, "so....?????". Jef jumps out, grab's Ruth's hand and gives the driver half of the expected payment, since they had only gone 150 meters of the 5 mile drive. An argument ensued. In a desperate attempt to get home, they folded and paid full price. Which, might we add, was only 50 cents. Yeah, Jef's a jerk.
9:35 pm. Jef and Ruth are now walking (briskly) dodging masses of people, boda's and glances from thieves. Being on the edge of the slum, and their sanity, they both cross a street, nearly get hit by a bicycle and safely make it past the aforementioned wrecks.
9:40 pm. They patiently wait for a boda, then realize the African way of doing things is to push your way to the front of the line, which they eventually did. 3 people, 1 boda. Do the math. A terrifyingly brisk 15 minute ride got the two safely to the edge of Kampalagala where then then proceeded to walk 1/2 mile, uphill, in the pitch dark, back home.
10:25 pm. Ruth and Jef arrive to their now cold supper which Lauren and Kyle had gotten for them 30 minutes before. It may have been their best dinner yet.
