Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The town of Jinja began life as a fishing village but its unique place at the mouth of the
river made it a melting pot too. For much of Africa's history, the Nile was a great divider,
with different languages and cultures evolving along its eastern and western banks, the
water itself a barrier to their intermingling. Jinja, however, was special. Jinja was one of
those rare places where the river itself could be crossed, by a natural bridge of rocks at the
top of the Ripon Falls - and, because of this unique geography, Jinja naturally attracted
traders and migrants. Even the name Jinja is suggestive of a place where men from differ-
ent worlds could come and find one another; in the languages of the Buganda and Basoga
people, who lived on different sides of the river, it means the very same thing: the place of
rocks.
The fishing village became a town in 1907, when the British named it an administrative
centre, and Lake Victoria first began to be exploited for travel and industry. Now, it is
Uganda's second biggest town, with a population of almost 100,000. Boston and I arrived,
dirty and dishevelled, and were thankful of a return to civilisation. Perhaps we had been
spoiled by our week in Kampala, but from here the way north would feel increasingly rural
and remote. It was time to spoil ourselves one last time.
We met my old friend Pete Meredith at the 'Nile River Explorers', a tented campsite and
hangout for backpackers, ageing hippies and that most eccentric of breeds - the expatriate.
Amid the lush tropical gardens, where vervets screeched incessantly from the tall branches
and rock pythons slithered around the banks, long haired gap year types spoke of spiritual
enlightenment and kayakers told tales of the 'Nile Special', a particularly daunting rapid
just downstream. The river was beautiful and shrouded in mist. It was the weekend of the
Nile River Festival, an event which saw hundreds of paddlers from around the world des-
cend upon the white water north of Jinja.
'It's gonna be wild, bru.'
Pete Meredith's distinctive South African accent was tinged with excitement. We'd first
met some years before, when I had been roaming East Africa in search of adventure. In
fact, it was Pete who introduced me to Boston so, in many ways, the reunion was an integ-
ral part of my journey. It simply had to happen.
'I bet you've got some stories eh?' he smiled, but I knew better than to regale this man
with any. He'd been there and done it all and there was nothing I could tell him that he
didn't already know. This was a man who'd seen his best friend get eaten by a crocodile.
In spite of his laid-back style, this tall vegetarian rafting guide was as hard as nails. He'd
served in the South African Paratroopers and lived in the bush most of his life. Also for
most of his life he'd drunk like a fish and partied hard - until recently, when he'd met
Leila, a vegan yoga teacher, and together they'd travelled to India in search of enlighten-
ment. Nowadays, they lived in a shipping container in Jinja and spent their time on the
river. It was the Nile that brought Pete to Uganda; it was this river that provided the sole
