Mbale Hill, Part 1 of 2

Apparently the repaired hole above my bed was not actually repaired when I took the caulking gun to it several weeks ago, but in fact was made larger. Which, my dad would point out, is really a good thing because I shouldn’t waste the best part of the afternoon napping. A wet bed also tells me if it rained or not in case I didn’t notice the downpour when it happened. Above all, however, it provides me some decent blog starting material.

One of the greatest things about living in Mbale is the setting. Nearly all of the town’s 80 thousand inhabitants have at least a partial view of the giant mesa sitting just several kilometers to their east. Perpetually crowned with a daunting array of cumulonimbus clouds, the protrusion creates its own microclimate; keeping Mbale town cooled off despite the often overpowering equatorial sun and ensures that the thousands of people in the vicinity relying on agriculture to subsist and earn a living do not go disappointed. Glinting on the western face in the afternoon are several large waterfalls, volume-wise not that impressive but tall enough to give Multnomah Falls, the tallest waterfall in North America, a run for its money. Approaching the mesa, called Nkokonjeru, gently sloping feet give rise to sheer cliff faces that extend some 1,148 vertical meters above the town below before ending at an almost flat summit. Littered throughout the cliffs and covering any plot of land flat enough to allow soil to accumulate are some truly impressive examples of terrace cropping--maize, cassava, beans, and plantain. Though MAPLE has been here in Mbale town for several months now, it was not until today that its field officers rallied themselves to hike up the thing.

Nkokonjeru (a Lugisu name, I believe, that translates to “nightmare maker” in the local language) is actually a spur of the much larger Mount Elgon, which one semi-reliable source once told me was the fourth highest peak in Africa. And there it sat for three months, silently mocking me and my sedentary lifestyle. Brad, Luke and I finally decided one Sunday night that we couldn’t take it anymore; every day the hill sat there un-summited the less masculine we could claim to be, a reoccurring hit that I, for obvious reasons, could not afford to take.

I should have turned my alarm off, rolled over this morning and gone right back to bed. Actually, I should have probably abstained from drinking those most recent three hundred beers. I might have also studied more closely the surprised grins that crept across the faces of the locals to whom we announced our plan. If ignorance is bliss, you could safely say we were all on cloud nine that morning. We set out from the car shortly after eight, (unfortunately for us) before the sun had a chance to make us reconsider, when Nkokonjeru’s shadow extended far from its base and lapped at Mbale’s doorstep. This made the first leg of the ascent quite nice: with lots of breaks, ten minute vista look-arounds, and enthusiastic conversation while we followed the snaking road up the hillside towards the sole cranny in the cliff face. So enveloped in the hike were we that when a truck passed us by going in the same direction we simply motioned it on, even joking to ourselves afterward about jumping in the back already. Hah, we had no need or desire for such luxuries. The waterfalls, emboldened by the rainy season’s daily downpours, glistened at their crests but gradually fell dark as they descended into the hill’s shadow, and sprayed a light mist that obscured their bases further. Women gathered at the waters before the edge with their daily load of laundry paused to stare at the passing white boys while their barefoot children sprinted up and down the road wielding bicycle tires, sticks, bags of salt, and machetes. Upon reaching break in the cliff, the steep switchbacks abruptly transformed into loping undulations that gradually climbed to the mesa’s highest point. This was the second leg, and, because the change in terrain also marks the spot when you come out of the morning shadow and into the sapping heat, was intimidating enough for Luke to nickname it the “Widowmaker.” At the other end of this stretch, though mostly outside of our vision except for just a tiny spire extending above the horizon, was our ultimate destination: a giant cable TV tower where Brad promised we would have unsurpassed views of Eastern Uganda and a chance to watch Portland Trailblazer games at whim. Our pace quickened.

To be continued...