"I need a bodyguard," I announce at the hotel reception desk. It's after midnight, and I want someone to walk with me the few blocks through one of Kampala's dodgier neighborhoods to the departure location of the bus to Juba. My guy works well since there's the usual assortment of annoying bus yard riffraff who try to be overly "helpful." I sit at the bus line's restaurant, which is full of activity in the middle of the night, with Ugandans, Kenyans, and Sudanese coming and going and mostly sleeping--kinda since the disco next door is pounding out non-stop African electronica.
I'm on Kampala Coach--supposedly one of the nicer buses that makes the 14-hour trek north to Juba. Right on the ticket, their mision [sic] statement declares: "to exceed customer expectations all the time and every time," and if that doesn't convince you, there's a vision statement too: "to improve unparallel [sic] service and to be the truely [sic] East African Company of choice and beyond."
At 2am, the bus arrives and it clearly is not the top of the fleet. Most seats seem to be broken, and there's nowhere for people's bags except the aisle. It's OK though; my seat is more comfortable and with more leg room than the flight(s) over. My fellow passengers are all polite, quiet, and look out for each other. I make friends with Martha, a Kenyan woman who is returning to Juba, after a three-month leave to attend her father's funeral, to resume work as a pharmacist. There are many Kenyans working in Juba because there are no jobs in Kenya.
For the first six hours to Gulu, the ride is smooth, although windy since the window seals are hanging down in strips on my side. The driver is safe and cautious.
Periodically, we stop for pee breaks, which range from regular "facilities," where you roll up your pant legs, take a deep breath, and don't look down with your glasses or keep a passport of anything important in a pocket, to just stopping by the side of the road. I dehydrate myself and avoid the situation.
From Gulu to the border and all the way to Juba, the dust kicks up, and aside from putting a bandanna over my mouth and nose to prevent dust sickness, there's nothing you can do about it, and it's just easier to accept that you're going to turn the same coppery red color of the soil.
Ugandan and Sudanese border formalities are straightforward and not too chaotic, and there's time to walk around Nimule, the border town.
It's another 3-4 hours to Juba, and this is by far the more interesting part of the trip. For the most part, nothing looks like it's changed from the time General Gordon was the governor of Sudan, or when Samuel Baker staged his Nile expeditions from Gondokoro in the 19th century. People still live in the traditional, circular huts with the thatched roofs. The only hints of the modern age are the hand pumps at the wells and perhaps some concrete work. That's about it. There are lots of exotic birds and butterflies, and I saw an unusual brown-colored baboon walking about. As far as you can see, it's nature in the raw, untouched, and how it's always been.
The road to Juba is hard-packed dirt, but this will soon change, as they're out there grading and improving, and then there will be even more overturned car/truck/bus carcasses on the roadside. Since this road to Uganda is one of South Sudan's major lifelines, I wonder how different some of this will look in five years
By 4:30pm, we cross over the White Nile and enter Juba, the capital of the soon-to-be newest country: South Sudan.
I'm on Kampala Coach--supposedly one of the nicer buses that makes the 14-hour trek north to Juba. Right on the ticket, their mision [sic] statement declares: "to exceed customer expectations all the time and every time," and if that doesn't convince you, there's a vision statement too: "to improve unparallel [sic] service and to be the truely [sic] East African Company of choice and beyond."
At 2am, the bus arrives and it clearly is not the top of the fleet. Most seats seem to be broken, and there's nowhere for people's bags except the aisle. It's OK though; my seat is more comfortable and with more leg room than the flight(s) over. My fellow passengers are all polite, quiet, and look out for each other. I make friends with Martha, a Kenyan woman who is returning to Juba, after a three-month leave to attend her father's funeral, to resume work as a pharmacist. There are many Kenyans working in Juba because there are no jobs in Kenya.
For the first six hours to Gulu, the ride is smooth, although windy since the window seals are hanging down in strips on my side. The driver is safe and cautious.
Periodically, we stop for pee breaks, which range from regular "facilities," where you roll up your pant legs, take a deep breath, and don't look down with your glasses or keep a passport of anything important in a pocket, to just stopping by the side of the road. I dehydrate myself and avoid the situation.
From Gulu to the border and all the way to Juba, the dust kicks up, and aside from putting a bandanna over my mouth and nose to prevent dust sickness, there's nothing you can do about it, and it's just easier to accept that you're going to turn the same coppery red color of the soil.
Ugandan and Sudanese border formalities are straightforward and not too chaotic, and there's time to walk around Nimule, the border town.
It's another 3-4 hours to Juba, and this is by far the more interesting part of the trip. For the most part, nothing looks like it's changed from the time General Gordon was the governor of Sudan, or when Samuel Baker staged his Nile expeditions from Gondokoro in the 19th century. People still live in the traditional, circular huts with the thatched roofs. The only hints of the modern age are the hand pumps at the wells and perhaps some concrete work. That's about it. There are lots of exotic birds and butterflies, and I saw an unusual brown-colored baboon walking about. As far as you can see, it's nature in the raw, untouched, and how it's always been.
The road to Juba is hard-packed dirt, but this will soon change, as they're out there grading and improving, and then there will be even more overturned car/truck/bus carcasses on the roadside. Since this road to Uganda is one of South Sudan's major lifelines, I wonder how different some of this will look in five years
By 4:30pm, we cross over the White Nile and enter Juba, the capital of the soon-to-be newest country: South Sudan.
Typical village on way to Juba from Nimule
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