Sleeping in Kampala

26 March 2005

One day I wandered all over the capital of Uganda for ten hours, starting around 11 am. I already had spent several afternoons in Kampala. But this was my first all-day and overnight excursion.

I was by myself, and my goal was just to see—and learn my way around—as much of the city as I could. My second goal was to try many different restaurants from many different cuisines. But I quit after getting sick at my fourth restaurant, fourth country, and third continent!

Late in the evening, still rather sick, I trudged around trying to locate my hostel. I considered just going back to my dorm an hour outside of town. But I was on an adventure, and I was staying on it!

A nice man helped me find my lodging by going almost an hour out of his way to ensure my safe arrival. I felt exhausted after hours of walking under the African sun and eating too much diverse food. But this was precisely where God graced me with humor to get through the night, although the events seemed so typical of Uganda.

I entered the gates of the hostel and met three guards lounging there—as in lounging! They were eating, talking, and leaning back in what vaguely looked like lawn chairs. One easily could have grabbed one of their guns before any of them could do anything. I also wondered why three were there, all apparently doing the same thing: nothing!

I greeted them and announced that I had reservations for the night. Three blank stares. I repeated with a patient, annoyed sigh, “I have experienced this before in this country!”

They dryly asked, “You want to stay here tonight?” I thought, “Shall I repeat myself again, or do random white people often show up with backpacks at the entrance to the ‘Backpacker’s Hostel,’ alone, tired, in the dark, at 9:30 at night?!” But I answered, “Yes.”

Again, silence. “So…can I go in?” “Yes.” “Um…where do I go?” It was not like a big, or small, “Office” sign stood right in front of me, or anywhere in sight for a hundred feet in any direction. One guard pointed toward my left, but silence reigned. So I sighed and went in, barely stumbling onto the correct path to the distant, unmarked office building.

To perfect the evening, I went in and gave my name, having made reservations that morning. But whoever I had talked with in the morning did not record my reservation! Yet after insisting that I would not leave at this hour or in my weakened condition, they provided me a better room at the same price.

I went in, lay down on my bed, and just thought, “Ah, Africa!”