Our matatu ran out of gas today. This is the Toyota 14 passenger van converted to carry, with the act of God so common to the third world, up to 25 passengers. This particular matatu was taking us the three miles or so from our hostel into the Kampala, Uganda city center. Literally hundreds of these things run the streets of cities like Kampala. Not so common, however is the sight of two white guys pushing one into a gas station. We didn't immediately understand what was going on. The matatu stopped and everyone got out. When we saw they were pushing, we insisted we be allowed out to assist. Funny that everyone assumed we would be unable or unwilling to push.

That it ran out of gas I suppose isn't so surprising. Everybody's run a car out of gas at one time or another. What is interesting is that after running out of both gas and fumes, how much gas did the driver buy at the pump? Four liters. About a gallon. Shortly after we arrived at our destination, the next passengers were probably pushing the thing again.

"Only what you need for the immediate present."
But that's how it is around here. It's a pay-as-you-go world. From candy to cigarettes to cellular phone service, you buy only what you need for the immediate present. You can pre-pay for as little as two dollars worth of airtime minutes, and single candies and smokes are everywhere.

I used to think it was because people just can't afford to buy more than they simply must have to survive the next day. But this matatu driver had a wad of cash on him. He'd been collecting fares all day long. He just couldn't bring himself to part with more of it than he'd need to get us the next mile to downtown. I dunno. Maybe in an uncertain part of an uncertain world, people don't want to invest too much in a future they're not sure they'll be a part of.

"The usually quiet and kind Canadians were loud and obnoxious."
The trip from Kigali into Kampala was pleasant and faster than expected. On a bus with only four seats abreast and our first in-bus movie in Africa, it was almost a joy... especially after that two-day Dar es Salaam to Mwanza experience. We checked into the backpackers lodge and found ourselves firmly back on the tourist trail. Even the usually quiet and kind Canadians were loud and obnoxious.

Fruit Plugs Gas Cans on our Ugandan Pickup

Having gotten ourselves into the primate tracking thing with the Rwandan Gorillas, we decided to keep it up with the Chimpanzees in the northwest of Uganda. They're not nearly as habituated as the Gorillas, but they were very interesting to see... even when seen sitting in trees through binoculars. In fact, I kinda liked it that way since you knew they hadn't been trained to put on a show for the tourists. It all made me think about the thing about a roomfull of Chimpanzees, infinite time and the collected works of Shakespeare. The guy I was looking at seemed he might just come up with a few lines of King Leer.

"A nice man who spoke Swahili."
Getting to the Chimps, though, was more of an adventure than actually seeing them. Our matatu from Kampala dropped us in a small town about 30 miles from the park that's their home. A nice man who spoke Swahili and seemed to know everyone in town told us we could make the onward trip cheaply and quickly on the back of a small motorcycle. "Both of us on one bike," we asked, "with our big packs?"

"Of course," he said, "this is Africa."

Three people, two backpacks and zero helmets on a small Suzuki bike was a bit uncomfortable and scary but workable... at least for the first forty-five minutes of the hourlong trip. Then the drenching rain began. I'd never ridden a motorcycle of any kind before. Hurtling down a muddy African road in a downpour with no raingear probably wasn't the best way to start. I suppose we should have remembered it was the rainy season. We were soaked. Our packs were soaked. I developed a wrenching cough. But we finally arrived and were allowed to camp under a dry shelter.

"The night bus to Nairobi."
Kampala's an interesting place. Probably the most western-seeming city since Windhoek. After last night in the woods with the Chimps and tonight at the movies seeing Pirates of the Carribbean, we'll spend tomorrow checking out Kampala.

And about that movie. The marquee and our tickets said it began at seven o'clock. This apparently actually means ten minutes until seven. Movies being the only thing in Africa that begins before its appointed time.

The ticket taker took our tickets and pointed us into the only theater she was looking after. A movie was already playing. We walked back to her and asked if it had started early or if the previous showing was still going on. She said the previous showing was still going on.

"We found a movie already playing."
After waiting fifteen minutes, another guy said the movie was ready and we could enter. We did so and found a movie already playing. We exited again and asked, again, if it had already started or if the previous showing was still going on. "It started 20 minutes ago, we were told." What we had seen originally had been the seven o'clock showing, having started several minutes early.

A little angry we entered, sat down and tried to figure out what we'd missed. The lights promptly came on and the film stopped. They were rewinding the movie to start over at the beginning for us and the group of three Ugandans who'd been misinformed along with us. While it's astonishing that they rewound the movie, even more interesting is that the people who'd been there from the beginning didn't seem to think it at all odd that the movie stopped and re-started from the top. No one flinched.

Tomorrow should find us on the night bus to Nairobi. I've been told the luxury trip from here to the Kenyan capital is on a coach with only three seats across. A far cry from the five-across we've been dealing with and a sight unseen since the Argentina days. At only about $20 for the twelve hour trip, it's a splurge we may well decide is worth it.