Parallel lives

Some 18 days in a row I wake up in the same spot, with the same view. 18 days in a row I sleep on a self-deflating mattress, riddled with holes. 18 days in a row I eat from the same menu, each morning and most of the nights. I am stuck! Sucked in without getting spat out. Two years ago I visited the very same camp site in Bujagali and that time I stayed 7 days instead of the planned 3. I only left cause I had booked a plane ticket in advance.. thankfully.

So I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew what I was setting myself up for. I have no excuse for what happened. But then again, who says I need an excuse?

The first night I met John & Amy, two of the most “true” people I’ve ever met. They were honest, open and enthusiastic. No sarcasm, no cynicism, no shield. Just themselves. Inspiring.

Local Jinja girl Happy joined the three of us for a night of hedonistic dancing in debauchery inducing nightclub Sombreros. She had her mind set on making me really happy, if you know what I mean (come on, you know what I mean).

I kayaked with instructor Matt, who each time I flipped over and swam commented sweet!. Kayaking didn’t go as planned at all though; the many boils really proved to be my nemesis. And I had this one day of training my roll; I succeeded 44 times in a row, then swam for 3 out of 5 tries. The next day I swam 3 out of the first 4 attempts. I gave up.

I met Zimbabwan Rastafarian David, jump master at the bungee jump John & Amy did. Somehow, almost magically, he managed to sneak the words Happy Dayz into every sentence he spoke. Wonderful guy who even invited us to his home for sharing some “good stuff”.

With Carlos and Arno, we shared the many new stories we had to tell, relived the stories of the past and celebrating our little reunion in the local night clubs, we created some new memories.

A German guy, who was riding his bike north from South Africa, told me enthusiastically that he could tell me all about every tarmac road in Tanzania. We didn’t become friends. But it may not have been conducive either, that he kept smooching his girlfriend while talking to me. Dude, don’t do that..

I had daily little chats with Ebro, who worked at the kayak school and always -seriously: always- had a broad smile on his face, showing a perfect set of bright white teeth. The guy always had a reply to whatever dumb thing I said. When I took a kayak to do some roll training I mentioned no swimming today. Oh, there will be swimming today he said. There will be joy, there will be success, there will be improvement. And there will be swimming he said laughing.

I got to meet Alicia, who after breaking down the protective walls of sarcasm, became one of my closest friends. The svelte girl with the huge backpack who definitely turned out to be a stranger who is a friend, although she may forever be a stranger. I loved her company, her short stories on interesting -sometimes completely futile- little facts, her word-of-the-day. I even accepted her stealing my French fries.

During the last couple of days I was introduced to Catherine, a cool chick; once a raft guide, now volunteering as a nurse in the local clinic. Despite all the despair she got to see every day, she kept her faith and remains convinced God has a plan for each.

I spent many nights watching these two funny, little raft guide buddies who, after a night of drinking, could speak in onomatopoeias only.

Sebastian would have said I “traveled through the people”. I was stationary, not going anywhere, stuck in this place; but the people I met took me to see some other worlds I had not traveled to before.

18 days I stayed in Bujagali camp site and for sure, all wasn’t great. The freaking overland buses kept waking me up in the early morning; the bars kept me awake the very few times I went to bed early; and waiting for the rear shock to be returned from Nairobi made me depressed at times. But always there was something or someone to pick me up.

My stay lasted too long, but that wasn’t bad actually. I even extended my stay after receiving the rear shock, by joining Alicia on a backpacking-style weekend trip to lakeside Munyonyo. It took forever to get there, but again it was the small things that made it all perfect. The crazy Kampala traffic; the men playing board games in the streets near the matatu station; hoofing it, getting “lost”, but still ending up in the right place; the hotel DJ totally occupied mixing his soon to be released new album; the classical music while having brunch in the hotel’s lush garden; the huge, hideous birds at the water’s edge.

During the last days in Bujagali, I was left with a lot of time to do some thinking. Certainly not a favorite pastime, but I couldn’t escape it. I got to think about those little things, those little -sometime even insignificant- decisions you yourself or others make that can simply change the course of your life. Maybe long lasting, maybe short lasting; lasting nevertheless.

In a parallel life, I would have mastered the art of rolling and kayaking.
I would have visited Amy in the Congo to see what awesome work she does there with Coperma.
I would have let Happy make me happy, if only for the few minutes that it would have lasted.
In a parallel life, I would have betrothed and married Alicia and probably spent a few happy years with her before she filed for divorce.

Yet, in this life, I still suck at kayaking and enthusiasm won’t make things better.
Yet, I will not get to visit Amy as Congolese visa applied for in Uganda are apparently not accepted at the border.
Yet, I did not have insane sex with Happy, ‘cause I came up with some lame excuse of two people not fitting in a 1-person tent.
Yet, in this life, Alicia is happily married to Jesse and we will remain soul mates inhabiting completely different, sometimes opposing, worlds.

However, in yet another parallel life I could now be at home or at work, killing time reading someone else’s blog, someone else’s stories of someone else’s adventures. So I guess this parallel life I’m living now isn’t that bad at all. It really isn’t bad at all..