Masaka
It’s the things that I don’t plan for that amaze me the most. It was cold, dark and rainy. We – Yiyi and I – were riding on the back of a boda boda we’d jumped onto in Masaka town, heading down the road to Kyotera. Our pilot slowed down, turned off the paved road and onto a dirt path that wound around a seemingly uninhabited hill. At this point, I remembered all the warnings I was given about wandering off into unfamiliar towns and about how we might end up on an altar in some bush on a hill in the countryside. We saw a dim light in the distance and I could feel the bike slowing down. I expected an ambush, complete with men in animal skin costumes, playing little drums, shaking gourd rattles and chanting in a strange language. Instead, and much to my relief, the light, I noticed, was a sign for Masaka Backpackers – not a group of men waiting to attack us. We would live to see another day! It seems that there is more than one backpacker service in Masaka – and this was the ...