Gahinga lodge: uganda
post by allana
Gahinga Lodge, Virunga Volcanoes in background
We reached Gahinga lodge in Uganda after a painless border crossing (a few minutes to line up at emigration/ immigration, police checks and then finally walking over the road with passports in hand) so we had a Ugandan beer to celebrate and admired the amazing views. This lodge was rustic and simple, and we had the whole place to ourselves.
The lovely lodge manager Amron accompanied us on a walk around the countryside in order to show us his favourite lookout spot. Gahinga Lodge is set in intensely cultivated farmland at the base of the Virungas, with small family farm plots scattered as far as the eye can see across the landscape. The fertile soil supports beans, irish potatoes, wheat and a bit of corn.
The magnificent new view we had of the volcanoes was stunning. We set off on our walk, knowing we were going to cause a stir among the local kids, but not realising just how much.
The lovely lodge manager Amron accompanied us on a walk around the countryside in order to show us his favourite lookout spot. Gahinga Lodge is set in intensely cultivated farmland at the base of the Virungas, with small family farm plots scattered as far as the eye can see across the landscape. The fertile soil supports beans, irish potatoes, wheat and a bit of corn.
The magnificent new view we had of the volcanoes was stunning. We set off on our walk, knowing we were going to cause a stir among the local kids, but not realising just how much.
“MUZUNGOOOOO!!!!” Not 5 mins in and the excited warning cry of a little kid let everyone in the countryside know that Muzungos- white people- were around. Soon calls of “Hello-hello-hello-hello a-bye a-bye a-bye a-bye!!!” and “Muzungo! Muzungo!” could be heard all around us. The kids were smiling big white smiles and energetically waving so hard their little hands were a blur. We were walking along a grassy trail that weaved in and around local farm plots on the small hills and each little house seemed to have about 5 kids. “Hello-hello-hello-hello!!! Muzungo!!!!” It was like a Muzungo warning system as we walked up and down the hills, their cries carrying loud and clear across the landscape. “Hello Hello How are you Hello a-bye!” all in a sing-song I’ve-memorised-this-from-school-but-don’t-actually-know-what-I’m-saying kind of tune. It gets to the point where kids two hills away who can’t even see us yet hear the cries and start calling, so as we’re walking along it’s like the hills themselves are calling out to us from every direction.
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Scott and I are amused and laughing—I find the kids funny and adorable, but Amron appears slightly embarrassed. In Rwanda and Uganda there is very little begging, it is virtually non-existent as it is culturally unacceptable and locals will not tolerate any begging in the streets. Apart from one homeless woman shyly sneaking out her hand as we crossed a street in Kigali, and a few kids cheekily saying “Give me my money, give me chocolate!” we had not been hassled at all. So we were surprised on this walk when a few kids yelled out, “Eh Muzungo—give me my pants!”
Immediately Amron whipped around and sternly admonished the culprits; “Is this what they taught you in school- give me my pants?!? Who taught you to beg like that? You go to school and learn proper English!” |
The few guiltily slipped to the back of the crowd, but his stern words did little to subdue the rest of the excited bunch. The kids continued to run to meet us on the trail, their numbers ever growing. We’re smiling and waving and saying “Hello, how are you, I’m fine thanks” so many times our cheeks hurt. At this point there are about 25 excited children following us and they were very good at keeping an exact distance behind (about 5 meters), stopping every time we stop. This soon turned into a game of Freeze, where I’d walk along nonchalantly and then suddenly turn and shout “FREEZE!” Which would be met with squeals and screams of delight (or shock horror, I’m not sure) as the kids fell over themselves to run backwards, always keeping their wide eyes on this crazy muzungo woman.
Once I yelled freeze just as we passed a goat tied to a short stake in the middle of the road and I gave it such a fright that the poor thing ran round and round and round its tether until it nearly choked itself. The kids and Scott thought this was hilarious but I felt bad and stopped the game—there were too many goats tethered along the road to be safe! By now Amron had just about had enough and was keen for his two guests to be able to enjoy a peaceful walk. The kids had been shouting, “Tira foto! Tira foto!” which he explained was them asking for us to take their photo. He told me I’d better do it otherwise they would never leave us alone. So I got out the camera, took off the lens cap and half the kids just took off! For some reason finally acquiescing to their demands resulted in a flurried exodus. The remaining half dozen or so paused seriously for their photo to be taken, then rushed forward to have a look at the screen. |
True to Amrons word once the kids had their photo we were free to walk along in relative peace, with just distant cries coming from the hills. The farmed plots were so lush and the soil incredibly dark and rich, we imagined Aussie farmers would die of jealousy visiting this place. If you dropped a seed anywhere it would grow. In fact locals say that if you plant a walking stick it would grow leaves, and we don’t doubt it! The spread out farming community we were walking through seemed so healthy and serene, I was starting to think how lovely a childhood it would be to grow up here surrounded by so many friends. But Amron unintentionally broke the spell when he casually mentioned that in the dry season people (women and children) had to walk a full day to get water, and often kids would not wash for 6 days in order to conserve the precious resource. Due to the distances involved, kids were unable to go to school on water collecting days. And on the days they could go to school it still involved hours and hours of walking to get there. We realised that even if the lush farms, happy kids and peaceful countryside seemed idyllic to us, life here was harder than we naïve foreigners could even imagine.