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Arriving

One uber, two trains, two planes, three airports, one taxi and 22 hours later...

· Travel,Entebbe,Tips

Shrugging off the emotional rollercoaster the night before, I woke early Sunday morning, blasted a 30 minutes gym workout and made for Birmingham International Airport. I was beginning to feel the anxiety and anticipation dissolve. I hadn’t cleared my exhaustive lists, but I’d had a good night’s rest, which seemed (at first) to do the trick. After a swift breakfast at the airport, I planted a soppy, goodbye kiss on Henry, designed to last 5 weeks. I passed through security and made for my gate, via copious free samples of Duty-Free gin and whiskey... It’s 7pm somewhere in the world, right?

I looked around me at the queue of people, also boarding the Emirates A380 flight to Dubai. Some were Skyping their relatives and friends. Others were nervously shoving their excess carry-on luggage under jackets. In the midst of this movement and noise, I was trying my hardest to practice mindfulness. At this point, my stye was about as large and as hard as my eyeball itself. It took every part of my being to not focus on it, as I breathed in deep…

Exhale: Out goes the stress, worries, unfinished tasks.

 

Inhale: In comes peace, reflection, and OH-MY-GOD-YOU-CAN’T-OPEN-YOUR-EYE-AND-NOW-IT’S-LEAKING-FLUID-AND-YOU-KNOW-HOW-DUSTY-THOSE-UGANDAN-ROADS-ARE-YOU’RE-BOUND-TO-GET-IT-INFECTED-AND-HAVE-TO-COME-BACK-FOR-AN-OPERATION-TO-HAVE-IT-REMOVED-THIS-IS-THE-WORST-TIMING-YOU’RE-NEVER-GOING-TO-FINISH-YOUR-DATA-COLLECTION-AND-YOU’LL-HAVE-TO-MISS-YOUR-OWN-WEDDING-TO-MAKE-IT-HAPPEN.

Annnnd that was basically my internal monologue as I flew 7 hours, from Birmingham to Dubai. The flight was delightful, as it always is with Emirates. I'm not one to want for material things, but when it comes to long-haul flights, I am willing to pay whatever-it-takes to ensure my journey is swift and comfortable. Yet, despite the amazing flight companions (Taylor, a Brit who emigrated to Australia 10 years ago to my right and T.W., a sweet man in his 60s from Myanmar to my left), the delicious food, inflight entertainment and repeat servings of Emirates’ house red wine – I couldn’t quite relax.

I couldn't see much out of my right eye. And no amount of positive thinking could change the reflection I saw in the mirror, each time I visited the bathroom. The pain had spread from my eye, to a broad, dull, temporal headache. My mind, barely recovered from a stressful week, couldn't help but anxiously forecast the worst possible scenario. When I finally did get some sleep, I had vivid dreams of being locked in a dark room, trying to find a light switch. Eventually I was able to turn on the light, only to find myself staring at an eyeless man in a mirror, crying crimson tears.

“On behalf of the Emirates crew, I want to thank you for travelling with us today and welcome you to Dubai. We hope you enjoy your stay and have safe onward travels”.

Taylor had already unbuckled his seat, keen to disembark and catch his connecting flight to Perth. T.W. on the other hand, was busy mopping up a spillage on his seat. When he and I finally made eye contact, he smiled and informed me that while sleeping, I jolted, kicked my cup of red wine from its cup-holder up, into the air and onto his lap. I was mortified. But he assured me that it wouldn’t stain. “Cheap plane wine never does”, he said. I decided to believe him.

After 7 hours snoozing in Dubai's airport lounge – everyone needs to invest in a DragonPass which gives you up to 6 airport lounge passes each year – I boarded the second leg of my journey to Entebbe. I was determined to have quality sleep, so avoided any alcohol and drifted off to sleep with Emirates’ Chill-Out Playlist humming in my ears. No wine was spilt, but I did manage to kick my travel buddy in the thigh (several times, apparently). I had taken advantage of the vacant middle seat between us (if he wasn’t going to, then I was) and stretched my legs out. He told me it was fine, though I challenge the extent to which that was true, considering it was the first thing he uttered as I woke up from yet another vivid dream.

For someone who rarely remembers dreaming, I began to wonder whether tiredness, wine or Larium (my anti-malaria medication) were to blame for the intensity of my dreams...

I made a mental note to monitor my dream patterns, grabbed my rucksack and made for the plane door. Walking along the aisle, I could already feel a heavy humid breeze slide in from the open door, soak my skin and grip through my hair. I could already taste the distinct Ugandan sweetness in the air. Comforting fragrances of ripe banana and earthy soil filled my nostrils. And as I breathed in deep, I knew everything was going to be okay. I knew that I was where I was meant to be. And that I was home.

Clutching the Ugandan-Entry Health Declaration form I had completed on-board the flight, I joined a slow-moving queue of people passing by a body-heat detection camera, beneath a sign: “SYMPTOMS OF EBOLA: CHECK YOURSELF” (or something along those lines). I began to notice the queue divide into two, only one passing by the body-heat detection camera. I was herded by chance into the camera-less queue. I watched as people ahead handed their health forms to a smiling, young Ugandan woman.

They barely stopped to give her a moment to read them, let alone pull anyone aside for ticking the “I have bled from my nose and mouth in the last week” box. I stifled a laugh, purely because I pitied the tokenism of the role she was having to play. As I approached, I paused for long enough to allow her to scan my immaculate form (no Ebola here), but kept haste, so she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of my gammy eye. I left the airport and hopped into a taxi that would take me to the Guinea Fowl guest house run by our friend Lizzie.

As we pulled up the drive, I daydreamed about a woman, somewhere in Entebbe airport, buried under a mountain of pointless paper forms, still smiling as people walk on by.

Three things, when travelling to Uganda (from the UK) ⬇️:

  • A visa

In Entebbe airport, there are two visa queues to choose from as a Brit entering Uganda. One for those who completed an online visa application and one for those paying $50 to buy one at the border. The price is effectively the same. But the queue-lengths are generally different. Perhaps because of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office advice or maybe due to en-masse conscientiousness, the E-visa queue is always longer. I have previously bought a visa in person, with no issues. But as I was feeling particularly neurotic, I decided to concede to the online process – just in case. I lined up behind 5 people, while locking onto a middle-aged man, who was walking towards the on-the-day visa purchase queue. I grumbled as he shuffled behind 2 other people and glided from behind the red line on the floor, through to the other side of the border, in moments. Whichever you go for, you will need a visa to enter Uganda. So, either come armed with a printed copy of your visa form or $50.

  • Anti-malarials (and the rest)

Henry and I have many close friends in Uganda – both Ugandan and British born. None of them take anti-malaria tablets. Getting malaria for those living long-term in Uganda is like getting the flu. It comes. It sucks. It goes. With the right treatment and rest, the illness clears up in a few days. For non-Ugandan nationals, or short-term travellers, it is essential to take the necessary anti-malaria precautions. Sure, some regions are more at risk than others. And yes, treated mosquito nets are a solid form of prevention. But you don’t want your short trip to be ruined by a week in bed and potentially more weeks regaining full health. Without natural immunity, you are at a greater risk. Given the purpose of my visit and my upcoming wedding, I took extra precautions this trip. I paid £70 for Meningitis ACWY and agreed to the 25-year Hepatitis A vaccine and Typhoid booster. Yellow fever is a must. I have never taken the Rabies vaccination. It’s 3x £80 shots for the full-course. As long as you take precautions i.e. don’t go petting stray rabid domestic dogs, you’ll be fine. But of course, discuss and consider this with your health professional.

  • Patience.

Entering Uganda was dreamy this time round. To avoid my luggage being lost between connections, I opted for Emirates over Turkish Airlines. Each year, I hear of at least 2-3 cases of Turkish Airlines passengers stranded without deodorant or underwear for a few days. The price difference was minimal, relative to the peace of mind it offered. I also opted for a longer connection, just to make doubly-sure there was enough time to make the transfer of luggage across to the next plane. My luggage arrived, the visa queue was relatively short by comparison to other years I have travelled and my driver (Jjembe) was waiting for me outside on time. It doesn’t always work out this way. Henry has lost luggage and we’ve had to spend hours trying to fill in forms to reclaim it. We’ve spent almost 2 hours trying to get through border control, only to wait in another line to scan our luggage before exiting the airport (looking for drones which are a banned item in Uganda). Patience is so needed in times like that, when the heat makes you sticky and thirsty, and you’re tired of standing in a line that doesn’t seem to be moving. I always feel rested and at peace in Uganda, because things do move so slowly. And the downside is that things will still move slowly, even in times you need them to move fast. Just remember – TIA (This. Is. Africa).