On Christmas Eve 1998 I arrived with my tour group on the banks of the Nile at Bujagali Falls, about five miles north of Jinja - Uganda’s largest commercial centre after the capital Kampala. This is the source of the White Nile, where Lake Victoria lets its waters spill forth. It’s the sheer volume of water cascading over these low-level rapids that makes them so exciting.
Our intention was to cook up something special on the open fire, however, a swarm of flies soon put paid to that idea. It was impossible to even see what was being cooked for as soon as something was put down it was entirely covered in them. Indeed, breathing even became a matter of choice rather than necessity.
So that meant retreating to bar. Which was good for the Dutch courage but possibly not for the stomach, as the next morning, Christmas Day, we were rafting the Nile. Cunningly, I chose to ride with the slightly worried group, rather than those on Pepsi-Max, which meant we gave slightly more consideration before heading into the rapids, but were still a little gung-ho.
You always hear of bad experiences travellers have in such situations, but happily those I was with were all fine. However, I did drag one swimmer from another group into our raft and his knee was shiny white – he’d banged it on a rock, done considerable damage, and would not be having a ‘Merry Christmas’.
We stopped off on a river island for the most exquisite lunch, already prepared for us, including the ripest and juiciest of fruits. They might not look as good as those in the supermarket but the taste is a hundred times better. A quick game of beach volleyball later and we were back in our rubber boats ready for bigger rapids.
And, as always, it’s the final one of the day that’s the big one. We hung back to watch the other rafters go first, plummeting down the two or three metre drop into some of the biggest white water anywhere. They all fell in. Now it was our turn and it had become clear why this was known as ‘The Bad Place’ – even so, we elected to take the hard route. Our steering guide misjudged the approach, and we got sucked into the rapid. The back half of the raft, where I was, went under the water and stayed there for an eternity, bucking and buffeting around. As I was just about to let go, increasingly desperate for breath, it suddenly lurched up and out, and we got flung back into our seats - the only group to make it through that day – and all rather ecstatic.
Once we’d got back to the campsite, where we had ‘put-in’, we were ready to bask in our great achievement - only to find the locals lining the banks for their traditional Christmas. Some were simply washing themselves with the water and making merry, but the young men, who could not swim by the way, were gallantly jumping into the White Nile clutching on to huge plastic jerry cans as floatation devices, before being swept down the first few rapids. These guys were brave. And they were also rather popular.
Author: James Innes Williams
Date: 19 December 2006
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