10 Days in Uganda 2007 Day 1 Sunday
We had never been anywhere quite so exotic before (if you don’t count Leytonstone at night). I had an image of shabby hotels and grinding poverty, muggings and the white slave trade. We probably wouldn’t get out alive. However, we had paid for the flight so we had to go. And Sally was so looking forward to seeing her sponsored children.
So we made our way by tube to Heathrow on Sunday afternoon. To lessen the incidence of deep vein thrombosis on long haul flights the airport authority makes you walk for about three miles from one end of the airport to the other to find the check-in desk, then the security post, then the departure gate. By then you are desperate to sit down for 9 hours or more. Our journey took us back outside the terminal around the outside of the buildings a few times then a few miles to Zone F. By this time, I was beginning to think that they had done away with the aeroplane and we were walking to Uganda.
We were standing in the check-in queue without moving for five minutes when Sally discovered that our “queue” was just a group of people hanging around (obviously an Al-Quaeda manoeuvre to disrupt check-in). The actual queue was much shorter. Our next problem was what to do with the mountain of sandwiches that I had spent all morning making in case we needed a snack at the airport. I remembered the pain when security removed my packet of mints when we went to America. I didn’t want the same thing happening to my ham and tomato sandwiches. We would have to eat them – pronto. Unfortunately, they were beginning to go a tad mushy. Georgina, as usual, flew to my aid. Stuffing a sandwich into her mouth we approached check-in.
Security was practically non-existent. Were they checking for bombs or not? I could have smuggled a tank onto the plane and they wouldn’t have noticed. For example, the girl x-raying our shoes was more interested in gossiping with her colleague. “What are you doing at the weekend?” Glances at the shoes. “Going out with Lionel”. Another glance at the shoes. “Not Lionel who…” Shoes. “Yes, that Lionel.” Shoes. “Do you know what happened when he went out with Wendy….” Shoes. “No, what…?” By this time I was moving out of earshot as I hopped about trying to replace my shoes which, by the way, could easily have contained a tonne of Semtex. I never discovered what had happened when…….never mind.
Our guide book said that the most fatalities in Uganda were not caused lawlessness, banditry or political insurgency but by malaria and traffic accidents. Don’t get into the car if your driver’s drunk, it warned. The driver we had booked was a Muslim, so hopefully he abstained. So that left malaria. We carried a mobile pharmacy full of pills and potions in our hand luggage. Those mosquito blighters wouldn’t stand a chance while we were awake. But what about when we slept? Sally had her own mosquito net. Georgina and I would be sitting targets for every mosquito within a five mile radius. We were mosquito fodder. We scoured the shops and, do you know, not one of them sold a mosquito net. We could have bought support tights and every brand of whisky known to man (and some unknown), but could we buy a mosquito net? We boarded the plane with a growing sense of apprehension. Georgina finished off the last sandwich and a squashed banana.