Border hoppin

I left Kigali around 5:45am on Sept 19th, on a Starways Express bus. It was a big bus, with seats that reclined and were comfortable. The bus had the air conditioning going, for which I was thankful. We traveled north towards Uganda for about three hours before we got to the border. I had no idea we were approaching the border, but people just began to get out of their seats and stand in the aisle of the bus. It was foggy, and because I had never traveled on that road before I was not expecting anything coming up. But when you see about 20 people start standing up and filing into the aisle (even though the bus was still moving), and they are holding their passport or another form of identification, logic would say “we must be getting close to the border.” 

We came to a stop and all of those people who had been standing in the aisle now began to file off the bus. All I saw was a small building that looked something like a concession stand at a high school football game, with a few small windows, and a roof that extended over the area we were all supposed to stand in line to be helped. We were asked (very nicely, I might add) to stand in one of three lines and to make sure we had our ‘exit paper’ completed. This is a small card that simply asks how long you plan to be abroad, where you’re headed, what your name/passport number/date of birth is, and a few other questions. You also have to fill a similar card out when you arrive in Rwanda, and it doesn’t take long. 

As we stood in one of the three ‘lines’ they began to mush together, something that I have seen before here in Rwanda. In the US we have an understanding of ‘personal space’ and what that means in different contexts, such as public, friends, and intimate. Well, here, not so much. I was reminded of this unnerving fact when the man behind me, who was rather well endowed around his mid-section, kept touching me. It was not in a disrespectful or intended manner, but his belly just kept touching my back. I would move a few centimeters away, and he’d move closer to the front of the line. Again, touching me. I tried a few times to make some sort of distance, but to no avail. By that time I was at the front, so I just ignored it for the duration and then jetted out of there as soon as the officer handed my passport back to me. 

I left the line (which had been replenished by a fresh bus load of border crossers) and realized that I didn’t see the bus that I had come on. Hmm... What now? There were a few buses in front of me, but definitely not mine. As I looked around and began to walk by the buses, I noticed a lady in front of me whom I recognized from the Starways bus. I began to follow her, as she seemed to know where she was going. (Mind you, this was my first time crossing the border on the ground). I think she realized I was following her, as she kept looking back with sort of an annoyed look but I really didn’t care. I was crossing the border on a foggy African morning, with no foreknowledge of what to expect, so annoying her was the LEAST of my worries! (God bless her for helping me!)

Something I didn’t expect is that we WALKED across the border. I later came to realize that our bus had driven to a staging area right across the border and then once we had all gone through Ugandan immigration, we would load back on it and be on our way. But like I said, I found that out LATER... On the walk I was challenged by a semi truck, a few bicycles, local vendors and the money changers. There were probably about 50 men out there in these green lab coat looking things, and as we got closer they began to run towards us saying “Sister, change? Good rate!” “Change?” “Francs to shillings, good rate...” And so on... It was crazy, but I made it. Thank the Lord!

Once across the border, I followed my ‘guide’ across a precariously pieced together bridge and up onto a side walk, to stand for another fifteen minutes in line. There was a building I came to realize we needed to go into, and another card to fill out. This was the entrance into Uganda card. Same sorts of questions. Once the line got to the front, two guards let a certain amount of people in at a time. (One actually had a stick in his hand to not allow more than they wanted to enter the building). Again, upon entering, we stood in ‘lines’ as we awaited our turn to talk with the teller there. This was another lesson in no personal space. (There are some things that just have to get sacrificed sometimes I guess). The teller asked me how long I’d be in Uganda, what I was doing there, and where I would be exactly. She asked if one month was enough, said “You pay $50,” and with a visa sticker completed and few big stamps coming down on the page of my passport, I was legal to enter Uganda. Back outside I went, pushing my way through the crowd in the small lobby. There were more vendors, and more people to get through, but I had previously scouted out my bus’ location, so I was able to get to it quickly. I boarded and sighed in relief. I made it! Or so I thought... 

A couple of ladies who were sitting in front of me on the other side of the bus asked me if I had a long, dark colored bag. When I said yes, they informed me that the border patrol needed to check my bag because it was locked. Yikes. Ok. I climbed down the stairs once again (the ones I had previously climbed in false victory) and explained to the officer in front of me that the bag in question was mine. “Yes. We need to check it. Unlock it. Its very heavy.” I unlocked the bag and then watched as the officer moved things around, checking for any illegal items. He stood back up, satisfied that I wasn’t smuggling anything dangerous and asked me for my passport. I tried to explain that the weight was due to the x-ray lead I was taking with me, but he didn’t seem to mind. He saw that I was from the US and asked me if I was a student. “No. I’m going to volunteer at a hospital in Gulu.” The guy that was helping him asked if I was American and when I said yes, loudly exclaimed “I love America!” I laughed in amusement to his excitement and the mood lightened. The other officer handed me back my passport and wished me a safe journey. I climbed back up the stairs, got to my seat and sat down. A smile began to form on my face as I just sat there in amazement. Wow...