Leaving Gulu

As our tail lights flickered down the bumpy road to Kampala, Gulu reached out from the grave to give us one more fit. A flat tire. 

We were about 90 minutes outside of Gulu when I heard a POP...WHOOOOOOSH. Damn it. I was sitting in the back right corner of the van, directly above the tire. I knew it immediately. Our group remained remarkably calm. Alex, Steve and Amelia wandered over to a nearby church service going on outside; Kristi sat down near some children and interacted using sounds she can make with her hands; and I stayed in the shade, pretending to watch how to change a tire. 

I was paying attention to the conversation around the tire, but obviously couldn't understand what our driver and some locals (who walked over to help) were talking about. Despite the barrier, I could clearly tell that it wasn't positive. Turned out that our spare was also flat. Sweet. So we flagged down a boda boda (motorbike) and our driver carried the spare on his lap to the nearest town with an air pump. 

He returned about 40 minutes later with a freshly filled tire and we were set to go. No harm done, but an hour delay. Since we were supposed to leave at noon and didn't actually leave until 2:30 (remember, it's Gulu), we are now a comfortable 3 hours behind schedule. 

My host mom, Berna, didn't get the message. So she drove into town at 5:15pm, around our original expected arrival. She was 4 hours early. She went back home about 6:30pm and returned about 7:45pm, still over an hour early. I apologized profusely and told her that we were assured our hosts had been reached, but Gulu's wrath was felt very clearly down in Kampala. 

The trip wasn't a total loss. As I mentioned, Alex, Amelia and Steve enjoyed the church service; Kristi brought out her guitar and started playing for a small audience; we dodged another bullet when Frederick decided NOT to ride with us and take a bus instead (saving us from cramming 9 people in 8 seats); and we got to see a few more baboons on the way back. 

Gulu struck again, but it was a minor scrape. You can't escape Africa without at least one blown tire, right? I'm pretty sure that's a proverb. 

I'll try to post a recap and thoughtful summary of our time in Gulu. It was a wonderfully unique cultural experience, but certainly frustrating throughout.