Overnight in Entebbe

Arrival in Entebbe was smooth. Lines were long at immigration booths, but my time in front of the officer was short, and my bags were circling patiently in the claims area.

I was one of the lucky ones ushered to the "green" customs area, which meant I simply walked out to the waiting area where the driver to the Central Inn was standing. I am taking Paul Robinson's advice to heart to simply watch, listen, take in. Some of my observations? Smiles on faces. Drivers appear to know each other--they chat together, laugh, kindly greet their passengers. Arriving passengers greeted by loved ones. Hugs, kisses, embraces. Evening warmth.

Dark sky. No stars visible. Outside, electric lights less than in U.S. public places. Parking lot lit only by ambient light from airport terminal, a few scattered light poles around the premises, and passing headlights of vehicles. No interior lights in our transport vehicle-- a comfortable, modern mini-van. When the driver stops on my behalf to purchase a sim card, I rely on the pocket light that one of the other passengers has, to find my cash. The night dark. The roads lit only by vehicle headlights. For a period of time we are one a paved road. Speeding along. I'm fascinated by this drive in the dark. It is only 9:00 or 9:30 at night, but it feels like midnight. We come upon groups of pedestrians. They suddenly appear out of the dark as our headlights catch them.

As we get into town the road changes to packed earth. Red? We weave around neighborhoods. Pass houses. People out on the streets, visiting, heading home?

Arrive at Central Inn. A modest, clean, lodging. CNN plays on the TV. A young woman is called to the desk and checks each of us in. Two staff members carry my luggage up the steps to my room. I trip (ah...that American!) on the steps. I'm used to a taller rise. I want to take two steps at a time, but slow myself down.

My room is as the picture on the Central Inn website presents. Spacious and spare. Clean and comfortable in the sense of meeting needs. (Interesting subject to explore later: how do we define comfort? Certainly this room is not comfortable in the Westin 5-start sense of the word, or in terms of U.S. middle class expectations. But...for another time).

There is a white box on the night table. Hmmm...a box of chocolates, perhaps? Sweets? Facial tissues? No. "100 lubricated condoms. Made in Korea." I open the box, and sure enough, neat rows of condoms. I don't bother to confirm the count. Certainly every room has these? My mind and wondering can go off in wild pursuit. But I restrain myself and move to other, more important matters to me. Phone and internet.

I insert my new sim card and try to figure out how to dial, send an SMS to my family and to Paul Robinson. I'm not able to "make it work," and remind myself to slow down. I can ask for help. And I do. A young woman downstairs kindly responds to my request for help. She is patient and kind, shows me my new number, confirms how to dial Uganda and DRC phone numbers, smiles, and sends me on my way.

The bed is welcome after 2 long flights (in spite of my business class respite!).

Morning seems to have come suddenly--dark then quickly light. I have been sitting outside here most of the morning. Fascinated by the birds--so many different kinds. Paul, one of the inn's "attendants" and a student in hotel management, graciously answers my queries about the birds. Identifies the weaver bird--a green/yellow bird that builds a hanging nest. Paul points out some of the weaver birds' nests in the trees here on the property. When I don't see the one he quickly finds and points out to me, he is patient as I search for the unfamiliar that eludes me because my vision is limited by inexperience in this context.

He shows me the mango tree, and explains that the young fruit, now only 3-4" long, will grow to as large as his two hands.

Back to the birds...so many. I want to know their names. There is a black bird, a little larger and with a back darker than the American robin. But its breast a brilliant red. A shore bird with slender, sloped and pointed bill. A large black bird with white stripe across its shoulders and a call like a crow's call. A few pigeons show up in the mix.

Breakfast is simple and satisfying. The server asks me what I would like. Since there isn't a menu, I don't know my choices! So, I ask. "What do you have?"

"Eggs, toast, sausage," he replies. I ask for scarmbled eggs and toast.

The kitchen is just behind the serving area, and I can hear someone whisking eggs in a bowl. My immediate thought...another reminder that in the U.S. we are removed from our food that in "fine" restaurants we don't see or hear our food being prepared. Again...something to consider for another time. Back to observations here.

The server, another young man (all the staff appear young to me--in their twenties?) brings me grapefruit (?) juice, a couple of small wedges of watermelon, half a banana, and a slice of pineapple. The juice and fruit are welcome, as my mouth is dry, and I crave the large glasses of water and deep cups of coffee that are my familiar start to the day at home. He soon brings me a salad-size plate of toast topped with scrambled eggs. Sufficient and delicious.

I've been writing here on the front porch (have yet to see if I can take pictures). It will soon be time to head back to the airport and catch my plane to Beni.

So much for which to be joyful. So much for which to be thankful. So much beauty.