It’s really difficult for me to describe without sounding cliché, but just take a moment to imagine all that you can about Africa…
And here’s what I saw:
At least 60 United Nations soldiers were arriving from Bangladesh. Although it complicated the poorly labeled visa lines, it was exciting for me to see UN Peacekeepers. There is a large UN base outside of Kampala and several smaller bases throughout Uganda. Also, MONUSCO-the United Nations Organization Stabilization Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo-is located in Aru.
As far as the visa lines were concerned, confusion led the majority of us shuffling from one line to the next and this wasn’t because we were hustling for the shortest queue, but for some reason the Customs officials kept closing and opening new stations.
After handing over € 30 as an entrance fee into Uganda and posing for a quick photo (Uganda takes a picture of everyone who enters the country) I went to retrieve my three very heavy pieces of luggage, loaded them up on a cart and pushed my way outside. As I stood there: confident, lost and completely enamored by the fact that I was finally in Africa, an older man came immediately forward and did his best to pronounce my name: “Hill, Kaite.” I must have stood out?
And here’s what I saw:
At least 60 United Nations soldiers were arriving from Bangladesh. Although it complicated the poorly labeled visa lines, it was exciting for me to see UN Peacekeepers. There is a large UN base outside of Kampala and several smaller bases throughout Uganda. Also, MONUSCO-the United Nations Organization Stabilization Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo-is located in Aru.
As far as the visa lines were concerned, confusion led the majority of us shuffling from one line to the next and this wasn’t because we were hustling for the shortest queue, but for some reason the Customs officials kept closing and opening new stations.
After handing over € 30 as an entrance fee into Uganda and posing for a quick photo (Uganda takes a picture of everyone who enters the country) I went to retrieve my three very heavy pieces of luggage, loaded them up on a cart and pushed my way outside. As I stood there: confident, lost and completely enamored by the fact that I was finally in Africa, an older man came immediately forward and did his best to pronounce my name: “Hill, Kaite.” I must have stood out?
I will always remember this taxi ride.
Leaving the airport, we cruised on nicely paved roads for about 10km. As the roads narrowed, we began to dodge what appeared to be one-way traffic, with us clearly driving in the wrong direction. As I unconsciously reached for my seatbelt only to find it unfastened and broken beside me, I began to realize that we were driving correctly and that the dodging of oncoming traffic was due to the design of the road itself, where only one vehicle can truly be accommodated. This continued for about 30minutes.
The roads became red dirt and potholes in Uganda are more like giant craters placed carefully on the roads with the purpose of causing the most damage and discomfort. As the car dips down into the pothole, I have to wonder: will we come back up?
As we drove along, there was non-stop honking to alert people that we were approaching; warning young men on bikes with crates full of fruit and women carrying bowls filled with fruits, vegetables, and water on top their heads while their babies were strapped tightly to their backs. Hundreds of shacks were set up selling everything from furniture pieces, colorful fabrics, chickens, and phone cards. Children sat idly alongside the road, watching the people and cars pass by. Uganda is a beautiful country; very green hills rose in the background and almost all over small fires burned (burned the trash, that is).
Arriving at the Canossian convent in Entebbe, I was shown to my room and given a few hours of rest before dinner. After traveling for almost 24 hours, I crashed despite the noise of hundreds of children playing games outside my window. The Canossians run both a school that sits opposite the convent and a clinic that is attached.
After dinner, I was given a tour of the clinic. There were several malarial patients who were under observation. However, the clinic lacks the capacity to care for more than a few overnight patients. The rooms were small, barely lit and filled with your typical flies, mosquitoes and what have you.
The observatory room had eight beds lined up against the wall without sheets and pillows. I was told that patients must provide their own bedding and food for when they come. The clinic has rather ancient, but operable equipment for an optician, but no longer has a certified optician. Italian dentists and opticians visit and provide services a couple times per year at the clinic.
The pharmacy, or rather walk-in closet, is filled with medication, antibiotics, and vaccines donated to the Canossians by organizations and other benefactors. They are placed on old and broken shelving in an order that I couldn’t figure out and labeled with masking tape. After my drive through Entebbe and seeing all that I did, I know the Sisters have done the best they could with the very little they have.
The roads became red dirt and potholes in Uganda are more like giant craters placed carefully on the roads with the purpose of causing the most damage and discomfort. As the car dips down into the pothole, I have to wonder: will we come back up?
As we drove along, there was non-stop honking to alert people that we were approaching; warning young men on bikes with crates full of fruit and women carrying bowls filled with fruits, vegetables, and water on top their heads while their babies were strapped tightly to their backs. Hundreds of shacks were set up selling everything from furniture pieces, colorful fabrics, chickens, and phone cards. Children sat idly alongside the road, watching the people and cars pass by. Uganda is a beautiful country; very green hills rose in the background and almost all over small fires burned (burned the trash, that is).
Arriving at the Canossian convent in Entebbe, I was shown to my room and given a few hours of rest before dinner. After traveling for almost 24 hours, I crashed despite the noise of hundreds of children playing games outside my window. The Canossians run both a school that sits opposite the convent and a clinic that is attached.
After dinner, I was given a tour of the clinic. There were several malarial patients who were under observation. However, the clinic lacks the capacity to care for more than a few overnight patients. The rooms were small, barely lit and filled with your typical flies, mosquitoes and what have you.
The observatory room had eight beds lined up against the wall without sheets and pillows. I was told that patients must provide their own bedding and food for when they come. The clinic has rather ancient, but operable equipment for an optician, but no longer has a certified optician. Italian dentists and opticians visit and provide services a couple times per year at the clinic.
The pharmacy, or rather walk-in closet, is filled with medication, antibiotics, and vaccines donated to the Canossians by organizations and other benefactors. They are placed on old and broken shelving in an order that I couldn’t figure out and labeled with masking tape. After my drive through Entebbe and seeing all that I did, I know the Sisters have done the best they could with the very little they have.
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