Au'revoir Uganda

Lured by the the thought of our first proper night out since a few beers with the sex-crazed Belgian in Ethiopia, we headed back to Kampala to meet up with Chris Pritchard, a mate from home who's living there.

Before we could hit the town however it was time to replenish our wardrobes and we headed off to Kampala's famous Owino market, hoping the stall holders here would be more shrewd business people than the Addis Abbaba market and would realise that the way to sell was not to tell their patrons to F off'!. Apart from the fact that we were walking on a foot wide muddy path (it had been raining - AGAIN!) between cramped stalls, it was like a trip out to Oxford Street, with the obligatory pushing and shoving but rather more shouts of 'Mzungu' and 'sister'.

We realised wondering round that this is where all those donated clothes in charity shops end up, including random and inappropriate items like ski suits (we did actually see one guy wearing some sallapettes in Rwanda). Coast, Warehouse, New Look . . . It was all we could do not to go crazy as we had got so board of our choice of two tops each day. Chris entered man-hell as the owner of the vest-top stall where I was trying something on cried out to him, "Brother, make a comment on the sister!".

Before hitting the town on our last night in Kampala we had time to visit the carpenter (Francis) that owned a shop at our backpackers. We sat down on his workbench and he showed us his carved pictures, all of the war with the LRA (Lords Resistance Army) in the north of the country. They were just incredible and depicted typical outrageous acts that are taking place in yet another region that the world is choosing to ignore, even though you can't get a candidate more qualified to come under the umbrella of the 'war on terror'. Terror indeed. The LRA frequently kidnaps children in this area, using them either as child soldiers, wives, or trading them with the Sudanese in exchange for arms. None of these incredible carvings were for sale, Francis just wanted to share with us the horror of what is going on. What he really wants to do is teach carpentry to traumatised children in the north, as well as touring with his pictures as part of sensitisation campaigns. Quite an inspirational man.

Trying to get back into the party spirit we headed off to the Just Kicking bar to settle down to the FA cup final. Apart from the fact that beer was 60p it almost felt like we were at home as we sat surrounded by Liverpool and West Ham fans, all steadily getting drunk. Supporting Liverpool, it was a great start to the evening and we headed off with Chris (Pritchard - friend from home) to a barbecue party an NGO was holding. Free food - a backpacker's dream. Our only concern was a repeat of one of our earlier nights out in Kampala where Chris got scatter-gunned with some sizeable shit from the many Marabou storks that plague the shitty. Sorry, that's city.

The evening ended with a trip to Al's bar, a bit of an ex-pat haunt where we were hoping to have a good boogie. To be honest it was a bit of a depressing end to the evening and we didn't stay long. The bar was full of very young looking prostitutes being serenaded (if you can call it that, just 'bought would be more appropriate) ex-pats. It was strange as I am an advocate of legalising prostitution but it was so depressing to see these young girls doing their trade. Yet another occassion where my principals and my feelings were in conflict. We headed home earlier than planned, but sad to say goodbye to Chris P.

Slightly hungover we boarded our coach back to Nairobi, looking forward to monging out in front of the onboard films (perfect hangover screenings - Mrs Doubtfire and Flight of the Phoenix). Chris was squeezed in next to Queen Latifah, fairly squashed but comforted by the fact that if the coach were to crash he would not be going anywhere.

The journey was a breeze, despite our dehydration. I was sat next to a very interesting lady who used to be a teacher and now works for the Ministry of Education. She was discussing the problems with educating girls in Kenya and was saying how many girls miss a full 12 days of school each month because they are worried about the humiliation of bleeding in class. Most can not afford  sanitary products.

We arrived at 2am back in Nairobi and hopped into a cab. As we set off, the boot of the taxi popped open, exposing our rucksacks to all. We asked the driver if the bags would be ok and he said, fine, as long as we didn't stop or slow down. Welcome back to Nairobi!