On the shores of Lake Victoria: Search caddy golfer mzungu
It's one of those places haloed by myths that always want to get. He had been close, few years ago, in the hills of Simiti, in the western reaches of Serengeti. Only fifty miles separated the luxurious shops Kirawira, where we spent the night, waters of the famous lake of Africa. It was hard to turn away, long as passing the house of an old friend. So this time, six years later, I wanted to say goodbye to Uganda on its shores. We were in Entebbe, a step Kampala, with only hours to go before we got on the plane back to Spain. The Lake Victoria we expected.
At ten in the morning we walk to the "guesthouse" by a paved road that goes, northward, to the Ugandan capital. Half an hour later we are in the Imperial Botanical Beach, a hotel that had its greatest moment of glory when he stayed in Bill Clinton during his visit to Uganda 1998. Twelve years later, the building is a faded cuttings of what was, a scarecrow decadent seems resigned to languish until another presidential visit justify a new investment. A sad metaphor of Africa often at odds with the maintenance of their investments, no matter how much you ascend the disbursement. Al Imperial Botanical Beach, ya ni imperial ni botánico, you just need the beach. Hotel has makings of ghost and its privileged terrace on the lake, discolored chairs, Javier and I decided to give us a pending conversation and a few beers.
The hotel is a faded cuttings of what was, a scarecrow decadent resigned to languish until another presidential visit justify a new investment
He had lived something similar years ago in Axum, the old capital of the Ethiopian Empire. In the hotel Rower, the best in town, everyone worked against time preparing the imminent visit of President Meles Zenawi. The rooms were a symphony of drills and hammers and garden were built in a hurry, even at night, a terrace for entertaining presidential court. I like to believe that it has abdicated Ramhai with the same noise that the Imperial Botanic.
Although not a customer is several meters around, an armed guard with a rifle patrolling the beach reluctantly. It's a leaden morning cormorants, distracted and herons fishing boats looking for tilapia. And beer. The Tuscker, Kenyan beer par excellence, are giving meaning to noon purposes and amendments. Victoria waters merge with the horizon, there are forged, and unmade, longings. To our right, a spring at the end of a bay, pokes Ugandan Marine Academy. A barbed wire fence in a grotesque reminder that someday here had something to protect. Call the waiter is an odyssey, so every time hovering in the distance he ordered another round just in case. The reward is to be here, must not forget, rushing the last hours of a great trip and about to face another, it in the jungle of everyday life, much riskier.
Victoria waters merge with the horizon, there are forged, and unmade, longings
Two hours later, said goodbye to the Imperial Botanic and Lake Victoria. Back at the hotel, we turn following the sign of a sign announcing an Italian restaurant 500 meters. We walked about two kilometers up to him. We left the last shillings on pizzas, crostinis, beers and a few glasses of South African wine. After, strangles sun desktop.
Emboldened by the provisioning, aim to cut through dirt roads until, in a field, we stumbled upon a plane. We are at the airport in Entebbe. We missed. Without stopping to walk, go through a lot of peasant huts. Out of nowhere comes a truck that music thunders. About twenty people dancing animatedly in the box. We are an easy target of jokes. Two mzungus lost in search of his hotel. "Enjoying the sun?”, ask a taxi driver on his motorcycle sarcastically offering their services. It is because the word, because the offers will happen. The situation is comical, but neither are for the work of returning to the hotel in a rickshaw. It is a matter of pride.
Emboldened by the provisioning, aim to cut through dirt roads until, in a field, we stumbled upon a plane
End, wriggling between slum, we went to the Strip, where we stop beside a monument to Ugandan soldiers opened five years ago by the president's wife Museveni. Now is peeling, slowly marinate abandonment. Someone has taken the commemorative plaque, sources have run out of water and the paint is cracked.
We approached a young man who is presented as Okech David. "I'm caddy", loose without preamble
It deals with a woman posing as Okech David. "I'm caddy", loose without preamble. "If you want to play a few holes on the golf club next door, I can make you a caddy ", proposed. He clarified that do not play golf. Insist on us su mail address. It took up pen to write it down. Nor surrenders. Start a leaf from his book which contains your email address. No matter you read nothing behind estén scored six phones sus jefe (“boss”, can be read), namely: Bill, Tab, Pierr, PK, Mark y Mike. With so many bosses can not make something work. We said goodbye and thanking him for his offer promising that, if one day we decided, He will be our "caddy". If someone wants to play golf in Uganda I think I still have your address somewhere.
Comments (2)
Javier Brandoli
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He did not remember the story of caddy. Impostor hotel perfceta fue a metaphor of post colonial Africa. Now, luckily, it seems that something is changing slowly.
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Lydia
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Very good story.
The photo of the beer is very suggestive.
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