Uganda diary: Motorbikes, mountains, and starving orphans

24 10 2010

Life’s most memorable moments are often those that abruptly and impolitely arrive in our lives without invitation or expectation. They sometimes invoke a sensation of the event occurring externally to your life – an out-of-body, surreal experience.

Such experiences range from the trivial, like when I was five and I rode my brand new BMX (first bike without stabilisers) straight into a barbed wire fence, to the more heart-crushing moments, such as family bereavement.

When writing a blog about somewhere like Uganda (or any other African country), it’s hard to avoid the clichés and chunks of information which the reader has already heard and already been told.

I’m telling you that now, because this blog post will probably sound like the generic Africa experience. Not the one where people bounce along bumpy tracks in a zebra-pattern Land Rover Defender on an epically amazingly incredibly culturally phenomenal search for the rare Grey Mountain Charging African Bazooka Rhino. No, my experience was akin to the sombre and heart-wrenching appeals on Children in Need and Comic Relief.

Early morning walk…

Before I explain what the above paragraphs are about, I’ll provide some context. We got up quite early (6:30am) on Sunday 22 August. An hour and some breakfast later, Vianney, Emma and I were on the back of a couple of bodas. We drove to the boda stage in Buhoma, and stopped. Some fuel-filling and boda swapping happened, and, for the first time in Uganda, I had a boda to myself.

Up until that point, I’d only ever shared a boda with Emma. So, the experience of not sandwiching my hand between my back and the rear bar of the bike was a welcome treat. Another luxury with only having two people, rather than three, on a motorbike is that my male bits had some room.

Eventually, we left the boda stage and a few minutes later turned up a wide path (it wasn’t a road). Our convoy of bodas went down steep hills, and up steeper ones. We did unintentional wheelies, lots of wheelspinning, and lots of bouncing over bumps. It was brilliant fun!

…up a mountain

Sadly, the amusing boda journey came to an end when we reached the bottom of a certain path. The purpose of the day was to walk up to a village up in the mountains, and discuss plans to construct a rainwater-retention water tank (the reasons will become clear shortly). We were joined by Milton and a couple of other blokes called Sam and Soul (think that was his name). One was the village chairman, and the other was someone else who did something important.

Milton had warned me and Emma that the walk would be tough. Emma’s dad used to do hill-running, so storming up hills is in Emma’s blood. I ran six miles for charity in March – I hoped this would stand me in good stead.

Just 100 metres into the walk and my aching leg muscles suggested I hadn’t done as much exercise as my rose-tinted glasses had led me to believe. But, thanks to a hefty breathing pattern – consuming most of Bwindi’s oxygen supply – and taking on lots of Uganda’s finest bottled water, I kept pace, and my legs were kind enough not to get any worse.

After 45 minutes of walking, and me doing my best to appear as a hardy – albeit pale – Brit, we stopped for a break in the soft (yet fairly warm) morning sun.

The view was like a child’s drawing, with all the mountains following a uniform triangular shape; like a series of overlapping pyramids, each covered in trees.

It was also at this point that I understood why the village needed a water tank. Their source of water (outside of rainy season) is the river which flows between the mountains, which is where we had walked from. Every day, villagers have to walk down the mountain before each lugging a jerry can back up.

Eventually we got going again. A small girl, probably about four or five, spotted us, and walked with us, then in front of us, then ran off. Here I was, at the age of twenty, sweating every drop of water I was consuming, my leg muscles a-burnin’, with a four year old comfortably whooping my arse up a mountain.

Mobiles on mountains

We made it to the village and were greeted by the locals, with each cheerfully grasping and shaking our hands. Apparently, we were right next to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). So we went for a walk to the border. When we got there, it turned out we weren’t at the border, but we could see it! Somebody pointed somewhere to where it was, and I nodded and said: “oh right” and smiled. But if I’m honest, I didn’t have a clue where it was. I could see trees and mountains, and that was it.

The Democratic Republic of Congo is over there. Dunno where, but it's somewhere over yonder.

Interestingly, and a sign that there is still an unfortunate residue from the two countries’ history together, only the women from the village go to the market across the border. Women shop, men fight – that’s why only women are allowed.

There was a rather bizarre moment as we looked out to the DRC. All those with a mobile phone got them out, and looked at them intently. I didn’t have a clue why, until Vianney pointed at ‘CELTEL DRC’ on his phone – the mobile network from the Congo. Yes, we’d walked up a mountain and here we were looking at network providers.

We were then taken through the village to a meeting area.

Along the way, we passed mud huts, and the children we dressed in mostly worn-out clothes, and too many had small abnormalities, such as growths on their faces, presumably a result of waterborne infections. We were also shown where, during the rainy season, the water is taken from. The picture is below.

Business

Everyone soon got down to business. There were two public meetings, with Milton translating, split up by having a look at the proposed water tank site. I also took on my new job of taking pictures of people, and then showing them their picture (it’s a lovely feeling being able to communicate with people without words).

After the second and final meeting, we said our goodbyes, shook lots of hands, eventually left, and started our journey back. Five minutes later, it came to a sudden heart-wrenching stop.

A sad reality

We approached a mud house with five children sat outside. Milton turned to me and said: “These children have malnutrition.” An impromptu mini-humanitarian aid effort followed.

I gave a bruised and squidgy banana from my bag and gave it to a small girl, who ate it immediately. In my bag were mine, Vianney’s and Emma’s lunches. We took no time in distributing them among the six or seven children (the food comprised bananas, some pineapple, some biscuits, hard-boiled eggs, sandwiches and small cartons of ‘Splash’ juice), and left a large bottle of mineral water with the grandmother.

While we were there, we discovered that the children were from the same family, and were orphans. They were living with their ageing grandmother. It is an unpleasant thing to think, but, with the grandmother looking so old and frail, how much longer will she be around for, and what will happen to those children? A possible answer is that the oldest child will become the head of the family.

No number of hours of charity appeals, be it by the Disasters Emergency Committee or the BBC’s Comic Relief, can have anywhere near the same effect as knowing what it is like to feed a starving orphaned boy a hard-boiled egg.

As unpleasant as it was, I hope I never forget it. Somehow, I don’t think I will.

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Uganda diary: An offer for a tea plantation

4 10 2010

In the UK, sometimes someone will offer to buy the next round at the pub, or maybe treat you to a cake from Greggs at lunchtime. Spontaneous mild forms of generosity are common in the UK – when we’re with friends, family or colleagues, us Brits are good at giving each other little treats. In Uganda, I was offered two hectares of a tea plantation.

Whether this was a genuine offer, I doubt I’ll ever know, but it was nice all the same.

A lazy day

Friday 20 August passed by without any real event. Emma and Vianney jumped on the back of a couple of bodas for the day, visiting friends’ families, but I opted to give my brain some time to adapt to the new surroundings and so I just stuck around my new neighbourhood.

Because of this absence of anything of real interest happening, I’ll bullet point my day:

  • Awoke and ate breakfast
  • Emma and Vianney left
  • Did some laundry
  • Went for a walk to find the internet cafe
  • Reached a sign which pointed right, and said “Internet cafe 200m”, so I turned right
  • Got lost
  • Six-year-old Ugandan boy gave me directions
  • Found internet ‘tent’
  • Did some emailing. Realised this was the first time I’d ever been on the internet while surrounded by mountains and rainforest
  • Returned to rest camp
  • Befriended some English people
  • Read Alain de Botton’s Status Anxiety
  • Chatted to Herbie and Rebecca again (Cool Swiss Couple), and Ryan, a South African also driving around Africa. Then sat with English friends until Emma and Vianney arrived back
  • Had spaghetti with Buhoma’s tomato/mixed herb sauce
  • Played ‘Peruvian’ card game and drank beer
  • Slept

Brew and biscuits, Uganda style

After a three-quarter-hour journey along winding, steep and bumpy dirt roads through some of Bwindi’s gentler mountains, at about 10:30am on Saturday 21 August, we arrived at a pleasant little bungalow overlooking a vast area of tea plantation.

The two boda bodas. Three up on one bike - extremely dangerous, but likewise very funny

We were here to meet Sam, the director of Kishegyeri Community HIV/AIDS Awareness School – an incredibly hospitable man, but with a quiet and thoughtful demeanour – who welcomed Emma, Vianney and I into his home.

We were welcomed with some biscuits and some real Ugandan tea. The biscuits were similar to shortbread. They were crumbly, so I did an excellent job in making more of a mess than Sam’s three or four-year-old nephew, Elvis.

The tea was like no other tea I’ve ever had before. It tasted like strong Ugandan water. To me, Ugandan water tastes a bit earthy, a bit like drinking water filtered through soil. Regardless, there’s never a bad time for a brew and some biscuits (NOTE: in Uganda, ‘biscuit’ is pronounced ‘bisskwit’).

‘When you come to Uganda next time, I will give you two hectares

Sam, Sam’s brother, Sam’s brother’s son Elvis, one of Sam’s children, and a nameless man (he had a name, but I didn’t find out what it was) who carried a machete took us for a wander through Sam’s tea plantation.

As we wandered through the tea plants, Sam turned to me and said: “When you come to Uganda next time, I will give you two hectares.” So, if I ever decide to make Adams Tea, I have potential land (I would suggest ‘Adams Family Tea‘ but I donn’t want people to automatically click their fingers when they read or hear about it). I’d want to grow some trees though. And also have some tourist lodges (but not taking up much room – tea takes priority). This would be because whenever I am in Uganda (I’d probably run the business from home for most of the year, because England is, after all, still my home), I would want there to be some fellow travellers around, just to make it a bit more homely. I’d also buy a Land Cruiser.

Eventually, Machete Man led us to Kishegyeri Community HIV/AIDS Awareness School (for reference, it’s in the Kanungu district, very close to the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park).

Since opening in 2007, the school has grown from 50 to 210 pupils, with the aim to raise this number to 400 by 2012. Many of the pupils are orphans who have lost both their parents to AIDS. These children either live with their parents, or the family is headed by the eldest child. Some of the children are HIV positive, and others are from pygmy families. The native pygmies lost their homes after they were evicted from the rainforest when it was designated a national park in 1991.

The children raise money for the school by making jewellery, and carving wooden gorillas, zebras and masks – Sam is the orchestrator of this, and sells it at a shop near to the Buhoma Rest Camp.

Carving a gorilla

Making beads

Paper bead jewellery

A lesson on reality

We were shown how the jewellery is made, and how the gorillas are carved, and then the inevitable singing and dancing followed. Emma and Vianney fully deserved the thanks. I did not. It’s a strange sensation to be sat watching about 20 children – each of them directly affected by HIV/AIDS – dancing for you, seeing in you hope and salvation (you’re white, you’re from Europe, you have money) from the cruel legacy that AIDS leaves behind once it has annihilated families. I was just there as a tourist and to take some jewellery home to sell on their behalf.

Nevertheless, putting the more sombre perspective aside, it was great fun to see so many of the children dancing, singing and clearly enjoying themselves. For one of the final songs, Sam made Emma get up and dance too. I declined. The reason I gave was that I was getting a video of it (which I was), but the real reason was that I’d have looked like an utter pillock. So I left the dancing and singing to those who knew what they were doing.

Three speeches followed. Two by a couple of older lasses (about 17/18), and one by the headboy. Each speech, or ‘message’, was about HIV/AIDS. It soon sunk in how lucky we are to live in a country, in a part of the world, where one of our biggest concerns is the cleanliness of the hospitals on our free national health service.

Saturday was a fun, but likewise humbling day; a day where I encountered, on a personal level, the reality that so many people in Uganda face. Sunday would be far worse.

Uganda diary: An offer for a tea plantation

In the UK, sometimes someone will offer to buy the next round at the pub, or maybe treat you to a cake from Greggs at lunchtime. Spontaneous mild forms of generosity are common in the UK – when we’re with friends, family or colleagues, us Brits are good at giving each other little treats. In Uganda, I was offered two hectares of a tea plantation.

Whether this was a genuine offer, I doubt I’ll ever know, but it was nice all the same.

A lazy day

Friday 20 August passed by without any real event. Emma and Vianney jumped on the back of a couple of bodas for the day, visiting friends’ families, but I opted to give my brain some time to adapt to the new surroundings and so I just stuck around my new neighbourhood.

Because of this absence of anything of real interest happening, I’ll bullet point my day:

Awoke and ate breakfast

Emma and Vianney left

Did some laundry

Went for a walk to find the internet cafe

Reached a sign which pointed right, and said “Internet cafe 200m”, so I turned right

Got lost

Six-year-old Ugandan boy gave me directions

Found internet ‘tent’

Did some emailing. Realised this was the first time I’d ever been on the internet while surrounded by mountains and rainforest

Returned to rest camp

Befriended some English people

Read Alain de Botton’s Status Anxiety

Chatted to Herbie and Rebecca again (Cool Swiss Couple), and Ryan, a South African also driving around Africa. Then sat with English friends until Emma and Vianney arrived back

Had spaghetti with Buhoma’s tomato/mixed herb sauce

Played ‘Peruvian’ card game and drank beer

Slept

Brew and biscuits, Uganda style

After a three-quarter-hour journey along winding, steep and bumpy dirt roads through some of Bwindi’s gentler mountains, at about 10:30am on Saturday 21 August, we arrived at a pleasant little bungalow overlooking a vast area of tea plantation.

We were here to meet Sam, the director of Kishegyeri Community HIV/AIDS Awareness School – an incredibly hospitable man, but with a quiet and thoughtful demeanour – who welcomed Emma, Vianney and I into his home.

We were welcomed with some biscuits and some real Ugandan tea. The biscuits were similar to shortbread. They were crumbly, so I did an excellent job in making more of a mess than Sam’s three or four-year-old nephew, Elvis.

The tea was like no other tea I’ve ever had before. It tasted like strong Ugandan water. To me, Ugandan water tastes a bit earthy, a bit like drinking water filtered through soil. Regardless, there’s never a bad time for a brew and some biscuits (NOTE: in Uganda, ‘biscuit’ is pronounced ‘bisskwit’).

‘If you come to Uganda, I’ll give you two hectares’

Sam, Sam’s brother, Sam’s brother’s son Elvis, one of Sam’s children, and a nameless man (he had a name, but I didn’t find out what it was) who carried a machete took us for a wander through Sam’s tea plantation.

As we wandered through the tea plants, Sam turned to me and said: “When you come to Uganda next time, I will give you two hectares.” So, if I ever decide to make Adams Tea, I have potential land. I’d want to grow some trees though. And also have some tourist lodges (but not taking up much room – tea takes priority). This would be because whenever I am in Uganda (I’d probably run the business from home for most of the year, because England is, after all, still my home), I would want there to be some fellow travellers around, just to make it a bit more homely. I’d also buy a Land Cruiser.

Eventually, Machete Man led us to Kishegyeri Community HIV/AIDS Awareness School (for reference, it’s in the Kanungu district, very close to the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park).

Since opening in 2007, the school has grown from 50 to 210 pupils, with the aim to raise this number to 400 by 2012. Many of the pupils are orphans who have lost both their parents to AIDS. These children either live with their parents, or the family is headed by the eldest child. Some of the children are HIV positive, and others are from pygmy families. The native pygmies lost their homes after they were evicted from the rainforest when it was designated a national park in 1991.

The children raise money for the school by making jewellery, and carving wooden gorillas, zebras and masks – Sam is the orchestrator of this, and sells it at a shop near to the Buhoma Rest Camp.

We were shown how the jewellery is made, and how the gorillas are carved, and then the inevitable singing and dancing followed. Emma and Vianney fully deserved the thanks. I did not. It’s a strange sensation to be sat watching about 20 children – each of them directly affected by HIV/AIDS – dancing for you, seeing in you hope and salvation (you’re white, you’re from Europe, you have money) from the cruel legacy that AIDS leaves behind once it has annihilated families. I was just there as a tourist and to take some jewellery home to sell on their behalf.

Nevertheless, putting the more sombre perspective aside, it was great fun to see so many of the children dancing, singing and clearly enjoying themselves. For one of the fi

Uganda diary: An offer for a tea plantation

In the UK, sometimes someone will offer to buy the next round at the pub, or maybe treat you to a cake from Greggs at lunchtime. Spontaneous mild forms of generosity are common in the UK – when we’re with friends, family or colleagues, us Brits are good at giving each other little treats. In Uganda, I was offered two hectares of a tea plantation.

Whether this was a genuine offer, I doubt I’ll ever know, but it was nice all the same.

A lazy day

Friday 20 August passed by without any real event. Emma and Vianney jumped on the back of a couple of bodas for the day, visiting friends’ families, but I opted to give my brain some time to adapt to the new surroundings and so I just stuck around my new neighbourhood.

Because of this absence of anything of real interest happening, I’ll bullet point my day:

Awoke and ate breakfast

Emma and Vianney left

Did some laundry

Went for a walk to find the internet cafe

Reached a sign which pointed right, and said “Internet cafe 200m”, so I turned right

Got lost

Six-year-old Ugandan boy gave me directions

Found internet ‘tent’

Did some emailing. Realised this was the first time I’d ever been on the internet while surrounded by mountains and rainforest

Returned to rest camp

Befriended some English people

Read Alain de Botton’s Status Anxiety

Chatted to Herbie and Rebecca again (Cool Swiss Couple), and Ryan, a South African also driving around Africa. Then sat with English friends until Emma and Vianney arrived back

Had spaghetti with Buhoma’s tomato/mixed herb sauce

Played ‘Peruvian’ card game and drank beer

Slept

Brew and biscuits, Uganda style

After a three-quarter-hour journey along winding, steep and bumpy dirt roads through some of Bwindi’s gentler mountains, at about 10:30am on Saturday 21 August, we arrived at a pleasant little bungalow overlooking a vast area of tea plantation.

We were here to meet Sam, the director of Kishegyeri Community HIV/AIDS Awareness School – an incredibly hospitable man, but with a quiet and thoughtful demeanour – who welcomed Emma, Vianney and I into his home.

We were welcomed with some biscuits and some real Ugandan tea. The biscuits were similar to shortbread. They were crumbly, so I did an excellent job in making more of a mess than Sam’s three or four-year-old nephew, Elvis.

The tea was like no other tea I’ve ever had before. It tasted like strong Ugandan water. To me, Ugandan water tastes a bit earthy, a bit like drinking water filtered through soil. Regardless, there’s never a bad time for a brew and some biscuits (NOTE: in Uganda, ‘biscuit’ is pronounced ‘bisskwit’).

‘If you come to Uganda, I’ll give you two hectares’

Sam, Sam’s brother, Sam’s brother’s son Elvis, one of Sam’s children, and a nameless man (he had a name, but I didn’t find out what it was) who carried a machete took us for a wander through Sam’s tea plantation.

As we wandered through the tea plants, Sam turned to me and said: “When you come to Uganda next time, I will give you two hectares.” So, if I ever decide to make Adams Tea, I have potential land. I’d want to grow some trees though. And also have some tourist lodges (but not taking up much room – tea takes priority). This would be because whenever I am in Uganda (I’d probably run the business from home for most of the year, because England is, after all, still my home), I would want there to be some fellow travellers around, just to make it a bit more homely. I’d also buy a Land Cruiser.

Eventually, Machete Man led us to Kishegyeri Community HIV/AIDS Awareness School (for reference, it’s in the Kanungu district, very close to the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park).

Since opening in 2007, the school has grown from 50 to 210 pupils, with the aim to raise this number to 400 by 2012. Many of the pupils are orphans who have lost both their parents to AIDS. These children either live with their parents, or the family is headed by the eldest child. Some of the children are HIV positive, and others are from pygmy families. The native pygmies lost their homes after they were evicted from the rainforest when it was designated a national park in 1991.

The children raise money for the school by making jewellery, and carving wooden gorillas, zebras and masks – Sam is the orchestrator of this, and sells it at a shop near to the Buhoma Rest Camp.

We were shown how the jewellery is made, and how the gorillas are carved, and then the inevitable singing and dancing followed. Emma and Vianney fully deserved the thanks. I did not. It’s a strange sensation to be sat watching about 20 children – each of them directly affected by HIV/AIDS – dancing for you, seeing in you hope and salvation (you’re white, you’re from Europe, you have money) from the cruel legacy that AIDS leaves behind once it has annihilated families. I was just there as a tourist and to take some jewellery home to sell on their behalf.

Nevertheless, putting the more sombre perspective aside, it was great fun to see so many of the children dancing, singing and clearly enjoying themselves. For one of the final songs, Sam made Emma get up and dance too. I declined. The reason I gave was that I was getting a video of it (which I was), but the real reason was that I’d have looked like an utter pillock. So I left the dancing and singing to those who knew what they were doing.

Three speeches followed. Two by a couple of older lasses (about 17/18), and one by the headboy. Each speech, or ‘message’, was about HIV/AIDS. It soon sunk in how lucky we are to live in a country, in a part of the world, where one of our biggest concerns is the cleanliness of the hospitals on our free national health service.

Saturday was a fun, but likewise humbling day; a day where I encountered, on a personal level, the reality that so many people in Uganda face. Sunday would be far worse.

nal songs, Sam made Emma get up and dance too. I declined. The reason I gave was that I was getting a video of it (which I was), but the real reason was that I’d have looked like an utter pillock. So I left the dancing and singing to those who knew what they were doing.

Three speeches followed. Two by a couple of older lasses (about 17/18), and one by the headboy. Each speech, or ‘message’, was about HIV/AIDS. It soon sunk in how lucky we are to live in a country, in a part of the world, where one of our biggest concerns is the cleanliness of the hospitals on our free national health service.

Saturday was a fun, but likewise humbling day; a day where I encountered, on a personal level, the reality that so many people in Uganda face. Sunday would be far worse.





Uganda diary: Preface II, smelly trainers

10 08 2010

On Friday 30 July, 2010, I went for a run. Not my normal type of run. Not a one mile run where I’ve got a stitch after ten enthusiastic strides. No, this was a run of sufficient distance that I could call it a run, and deem it to be classed as exercise. It was a 3.1 mile run (I checked on Google Maps).

I was very happy about this run. I was so happy that I tweeted about it:

I went for a run yesterday evening. Just wanted everyone to know. And so that if anyone Googles when I’ve been for a run, they’ll know. 11:01 PM Jul 31st via web *

My run took me along lots of local lanes, and I saw cows, sheep, goats and birds. It was lovely. I also ran through a field.

The grass was very long – taller than my knees. I have long legs, so this meant it was long grass.

Normally this would just lead to a plethora of midge bites. This is not the case when it’s raining though.

Before I entered the field my trainers were dry (that’s what Gore-Tex does for ye). When I left the field, my feet were soaked. But I was enjoying my run, and I carried on. If anything, the water was keeping my feet nice and cool. Lovely.

Then I got home, took off my trainers in the kitchen and continued with my evening (probably on Facebook).

The trainers stayed next to the door for two days before I picked them up again.

Everyone knows of the French cheese that is identifiable because it smells like smelly trainers. Well, my trainers smelt like the French cheese that smells like smelly trainers (there’s no need to compliment me on my descriptive skills).

This was problematic. I need the trainers to go to Uganda. They’re the only trainers I have which I can comfortably walk long distances in. More importantly, they’re likely to be my footwear of choice when flying from England to Uganda.

The problem

I could see my future – getting on the plane from Manchester to London, and detecting a slight, mildly pungent whiff emanating from my feet. Paranoia would set in; I’d think: “do I smell? Can other people smell my feet? Are they talking about me? Do they know that the smell of that cheese that smells like smelly trainers is actually coming from my trainers?”

And then I’d land at Heathrow, rush to the duty-free shop, buy some strong aftershave, dash to the toilet, and enthusiastically douse my trainers in Hugo Boss’s finest. Then I’d board my flight, the chance to further neutralise the odour now gone.

Eight and a half hour flight. Two hours in, my feet are getting warm, so I slip my trainers off. But this simple action, carried out simply for my own comfort, would result in a powerful infusion of smells. The Hugo Boss, normally quite pleasant when applied modestly, gives people migraines with its strength. The smelly trainer smell, on its own enough to induce vomit, combines with the Hugo Boss and causes people’s mouths to be overwhelmed with ulcers, boils and cold sores, their bare skin blistering as soon as it is touched by the potent eau de toilette/trainer vapour.

The solution

The solution involved hot water, a bucket, some washing liquid, and a lot of time to soak (I forgot about them for a few hours). Rather than explain in narrative form, I shall write it as if back at school in chemistry, and write a method. This way, should you ever get your trainers wet a fortnight (I let the trainers stagnate for over a week before taking any action) before you go to Uganda, you’ll know where to find an answer.

  1. Fill large bucket with hot water from tap. Add washing liquid (same you use to wash clothes).
  2. Stir in washing liquid.
  3. Take soles out of trainers.
  4. Place trainers and soles in bucket.
  5. Top up bucket with more hot water to ensure trainers are covered as much as possible.
  6. Leave for two hours (at this stage, I just forgot).
  7. Rinse trainers and soles under hot water.
  8. Re-fill bucket, and add trainers and soles again (you don’t want there to be bubbles from any remaining soap next time your feet get sweaty).
  9. As soon as you remember that your trainers are outside in a bucket, take them out of the bucket.
  10. Squeeze the trainers.
  11. Place on washing line or on window sill to drain.
  12. Put in tumble dryer on low heat for about 90 minutes.
  13. Return every 20 minutes to close tumble dryer door (my trainers kept flying into the door with such ferocity that the door was forced open).
  14. Once dry – or almost dry – remove trainers and leave them wherever you normally leave them.

What next?

If you’re expecting me to give you answer for “What next?” regarding the trainers, well, have you tried wearing them?

However, I’m talking about “What next?” with regards to going to Uganda. Well, I’m glad you asked.

I’m going to have a haircut.

*You can Google it here.