Last night wasn't one of the best night's sleep for me; perhaps it was the knowledge it was my last night, maybe the heat... or maybe the animals howling, dogs barking, cats meowing and fighting and the bats chirping all night. Either way, when the rooster began crowing in the dark of the morning I wanted to beat it to a pulp.

I got up with the noise of Doug walking about; shortly afterwards we gathered in the courtyard downstairs and then left to find the bus. We passed by an empty yard, save for one bus, and continued to the main road where we could hear a bus repeatedly blasting its musical horns all across the town. They wanted too much for our bikes (David didn't want to make it harder for the next tourists by accepting) and they didn't seem particularly interested in us anyway, so we followed Nathan back to the yard where eventually a couple of more coaches showed up.

While we waited for our turn in the pecking order we had breakfast nearby; just mandazi and chai, though. Afterwards I finally had a chance to capture those huge Maribu storks (giant seagulls, really) on film, though they never let me get too close. One hit a wire flying over the people who work the busses, almost falling on them, which created a bit of a stir: some of the men shooing and some laughing.

To load our gear we took up our usual watch positions to prevent opportunity-grabs and began the stressful task of loading -- only this time we had to take our bikes apart (tires, pedals, etc.) to get them in the hold. We took up positions at the roomy front of the bus. Then we waited for it to fill. It took a while. but when it did, it was tight. Thus began a long, looooooong bus ride, with little room and the boy next to me using my shoulder as a pillow half the time. We had more than a few police check-points, too. By the end of the four hours I was hot, sore, restless and impatient. As we neared the station a young boy at the front of the bus—presumably the busdriver's son—projectile vomited across the front, only narrowly missing Nathan and his belongings.

Unloading, as usual, was a pain—the stress of trying to keep people from helping us (and making matters worse) was a good part of it. Finally we unloaded it all and assembled the bikes, swapping tools back and forth. I, as usual, had my share of problems. We left the usual crowd, many who wanted to take us somewhere, and regrouped on the street. Nathan, Maxine and I went to confirm our airline departures. We first climbed up to the British Airways office for me to confirm my departure—guards opened up the big gates for us. The building itself was super-modern and shiny-clean. I, meanwhile, was covered in dirt and sweat and my hands were black from my bike—so I washed up first in the bathroom, the net effect being that I got my shirt sopping wet. At the office (feeling grimy and out of place) they confirmed my flight and away we went.

To my annoyance that day Maxine, in traffic, was a coward. I shouted out, "Be bold!" on one occasion. We'd lose her behind often, and with the toll of the past night, long bus ride and no food I was feeling irritable and didn't want to talk to her or anybody else. We went to two offices to confirm her departure and then went to the rendezvous point, where we were to await the others who had split for an e-mail finding mission.

We waited for 45 minutes; I myself was partly worried, and partly upset because I would have had time to do some shopping. When they did show up they hardly paused and we were off to the restaurant. Within a minute Maxine was lost back in traffic. Despite feeling resentful of her traffic meekness, I was also annoyed that the others hadn't noticed, so I waited for her.

As we continued up the hill David finally had turned around to check on us while the others waited. When we "regrouped" we went downhill, passing several craftshops, and stopped at the Ethiopian restaurant at the bottom of the hill. Just happy to be at a destination my humour improved, even though I was still worried I wouldn't have a chance to get gifts.

While we waited for our food (I left the ordering to David) I went across the street to a small store and picked up some tea and a bag of coffee for my friend, John. Shortly before dinner a ... waiter? servant? ... came out with a jug and a dish and poured water for us so we could wash our hands, visiting us at our seats in turn. Shortly after, dinner came. A bunch of sauces and meat and vegetables and other interesting things on a layer of bread that resembled cold, undercooked pancake. I dipped and grabbed my meal, eating with my fingers. It wasn't long until I was full.

I left the table with Maxine to cycle up to the craft tables after changing $20.00 US with David. At the drum shop I attempted to bargain; the asking price was 25,000 UGS for a drum. Then Doug showed up, and he and Maxine were saying how cheap and nice it was, destroying my careful plans to lower the price. Finally I gave in, giving her close to 20,000 UGS in change. (Oh, I got my first coins today—just introduced this month, in fact... a good thing considering how ratty the small paper bills are.) Doug lent me a pink bag and some bungees and I strapped the drum to my rack.

We waited for a while before David, Christine and Nathan came up. We said goodbye to Nathan, each giving him a hug. I'll miss him. We grabbed the main road running to Entebbe; for the bit leading out of the city I made sure to nose-breathe, saving my throat from the exhaust and dust. It was past 5:00pm, and we still had a while to ride. Maxine eventually got left back, David with her. Christine, Doug and I kept together, pushing on through the setting orange sun light. Christine was having a particularly rough time on the way up. (For the first time we saw some bicycle racers training, and one runner.) Realizing it was the last chance I'd have, I waved away, greeted and smiled to everyone. As we neared Entebbe I didn't recognize much, but Doug did, so I followed. We pulled in to the hotel near sunset, Christine's and my face covered in dirt, save for where our helmets were. I splashed some water on my face in the hotel and inadvertently browned the towel with dirt when I dried it. Doug transfered my rack to his (I got the broken one) and I gave him my gloves: Happy birthday! As I showered (aaaahh!) David and Maxine arrived (mechanical problems for her) allowing me to access my clean clothes that were locked in his duffels. (I turned into "Fairly Respectable Man!")

Showered, changed and packed, I went outside for a soda; paid for a round with my leftover shillings. When David was ready I said my goodbyes. As we cycled off in the dark (my pack on David's bike) I called out, "I'll miss you," to a response of, "Awww." And, to be honest, that's the hardest part of leaving: I really DO miss their companionship and friendship.

David and I made our way down the main road to the airport, his headlamp leading the way through the dark. At the police checkpoint the guards stopped us, waving a scanner over our bikes. I was fine, but they wanted to see in the bag on David's bike—which was, of course, mine. I pulled out my camera for them to examine and they scrounged through the handlebar bag, looking at my "Canada" pens, about to take them until David objected. ("Gifts are offered, not taken." If he had also been hinting to me, I failed to notice.) Overall I suspect they were mostly curious—after all, their scanner didn't pick up our tools or the bikes themselves; the camera? Ha. But they were friendly, which was nice.

We went up to the terminal. Upon entering I went from cool to a full sweat, which lasted till boarding. I repacked my things (David asked to take some pens for the guards on his way back) and David fixed my bike for travel. We said our farewells, and then I was alone.

I checked my luggage through to Ottawa (thank God!); the bike was no problem, except for being required to deflate the tires (sigh). I went with my pack and drum through the departure gate and blew some shillings on sodas (1400 UGS!). The "Duty Free" shops were about twice as expensive as in town, so I skipped them. As I sipped my soda an American from Atlanta with a thick accent chatted with me; he was loud and overbearing, but well-meaning—fitting the American stereotype perfectly. The guy spent $220.00 US a night at the Sheraton—no airconditioning; meanwhile we were staying for an average of $5–10. Different worlds, but I felt so at peace I didn't mind listening to him.

Our plane was an hour late for take-off. As I boarded, shrubs and grass were burning in the darkness past the runway. I found my seat and talked to a nice woman beside me who had been leading tours in the National Parks.

I feel mellow. There's a sadness about leaving my new friends, but there's also a feeling of confidence in me I never had before. I learned so much on this trip. I told David it was the best thing I've ever done. Indeed it is.

I fought back tears on the plane.