On holidays in Uganda
I’m just back from two fabulous weeks of holiday in Uganda with my parents.
We rented a Toyota Rav4, which was swiftly nicknamed Basil (after Basil Fawlty) owing to his numerous mechanical issues: a flat tyre before we had even left the house, leaking power steering fluid that needed to be topped up every second day, a broken back door lock, which we only discovered when our luggage spilled out onto the road.
But the worst concern was the ominous burning smell that appeared on the third day, which hinted strongly of problems with the clutch.
Game Parks
Leaving from Nairobi, we made it across the Kenyan border and nursed Basil over 1,500km taking in the scenery and stopping at the game parks to see the elephants, chimp and gorillas. 
Uganda is stunning and surprisingly diverse for such a small country. It has massive tourism potential, but we barely met anyone along the way.
Tourism is a tough business to hold onto, particularly with the global financial crisis and the horrific bombings during the World Cup in Kampala.
'Mzungu'
The people are just so friendly and welcoming. The map often didn’t correspond to the roads and people went out of their way to help us out with directions or Basil problems. Everywhere we went we would be met with groups of children shouting “Mzungu!! (white person) How are you?!”
Occasionally, but particularly around the tourist spots, a child would descend on us and shout “Mzungu! Give me money!” We never did.
Unless you hand out a small fortune, the money is not going to make any meaningful difference on their lives. It’ll give them a good day for sure, with cold sodas and some sweets. Maybe if it’s enough they’ll be able to afford some new clothes and a meal.
The problem is, it also creates a real risk that the children will stop attending school, because – and I think we can all agree on this - getting money for nothing is so much more fun than sitting in maths class.
There is a lot of need in Uganda, but if you want to give, please give to their local schools, community groups or NGOs working in the area.
Dust
We were on our way to Kabale to visit the North Rukiga Area Development Programme (ADP) when the clutch gave up the ghost completely.
The car no longer went forward in first gear; instead it began to roll backwards down the mountain.
Basil and I had to be towed the final stretch through the thick dusty roads. Within minutes, my skin was plastered in thick red-dust and I looked like I’d totally overdone it with the fake tan.
My new skin tone even confused the children, who instead of shouting Mzungu, were now waving and shouting Mhindi (Indian), as they caught a glimpse of me through the dust clouds.
It took two showers to get all the dust out of my hair and three days to get Basil fixed before he could be brought safely back to Kenya.
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