An s-shaped bend in the road, running through more than a kilometer. A deep valley on either side of the road. In the middle of the valley, a green bed of papyrus covers a river. The waters of the river are an eerie black, barely visible near the road bridge before disappearing under the thick papyrus under growth.

Just up the river, in a diary farm, huge black and white Freisians graze in the mid-afternoon sunshine. On the bridge itself, another herd of local cattle breeds pulls at the hard, dry grass. White egrets, scared away from the herd of Friesian cattle, rest on the green papyrus growth, making it a bright mosaic. A colony of weaverbirds, the weight of whose nests bend the papyrus reeds, sing a melodious ensemble.

Children, carrying locally improvised hooks, creep through the area of the river near the road. Some of them are carrying small baskets that they occasionally drop into the water. They are actually trying to trap fish. “This place is rich in mud, lung and catfish,” one of them said. Cheering and ululations erupt every time one of them pulls out a catch. Bigger catches are sold to passersby, while smaller ones rare taken home and eaten by the children’s families.

This river is three miles from Wobulenzi towards Nakaseke. It has got a memorable history, especially that of events in the 1981-88 war. Part of it is four centuries old. These children know it, thanks to their parents: “Father told us that there was a lot of fighting at this place,” one of the children said.
The number of combatants who perished at this place is not known, but occasionally, skulls that are plucked out of the river, accidentally by the young fishermen testify to this.

“I have seen three skulls ever since I begun fishing here,” one of the children said. “I have seen two skulls,” another said. They said that every time a skull is found in the waters, it is immediately dropped back. River Lumansi is part of a large belt of wetlands that cuts through the west and northern areas of Buganda. Geographically, the river originates from around busunju, off the better-known River Mayanja. It then runs through Kalasa, before crossing the Wobulenzi-Nakaseke road. It cuts through the rest of Luweero and connects to Nabisojo, a small lake in the north of the district near the Luwero-Masindi border.

For the best part of the war, this was the main line of defence for the Nakaseke sector of the NRA. At this river, heroes like the late Kaggwa showed their velour: “We had very few combatants at this spot, but we defended it for so many years, “Lt (Rtd) Patrick Kibuuka said. He attributed their success in defending this place to its terrain.
We used two general-purpose machine guns, a rocket propelled grenade and later an old 14mm artillery piece. We killed hundreds of soldiers here, because we used to see them approaching the river miles away,” he said. The valley was the natural killing zone.

The history of the war aside, legend has it that this was born of a woman many years ago! “We were told that the river was born by a one Namaganda, wife of a Walusimbi of the Ffumbe clan,” a resident told me. “Walusimbi at first refused to accept the tragedy that had befallen his family, but after being convinced by elders, he named the river Lumansi,” the resident said. Lumansi is a male name from the Ffumbe clan. Cases of women giving birth to rivers are legendary in Buganda.”Once in the papyrus, never say am lost, or else you will get lost. This is a sacred place,” one of the children said. Like its origin, tales of people who ever got lost in the papyrus are as old as legend. Eerie!”

One of the alleged victims of the disappearance is Ssekasamba. “Ssekasamba was a hunter, a very prudent hunger,” a resident, narrates, saying his grandfather, who in turn was in turn told by his grandfather, told him. Ssekasamba was told that a huge antelope had been seen in the papyrus the previous day. He vowed to go for it. “That was the last time Ssekasamba was seen,” the resident said, pausing, as if to add more weight and resonance to his tale. Ssekasamba disappeared in the papyrus he said. “Our grandfather told us that Ssekasamba was the best swimmer around. No river water could manage him. Nothing!”

William Lwanga, the LC1 chairman of the area, confirmed that he has heard of these tales, but has never confirmed any of them: “A lot is said about rivers. I don’t think Lumansi is any different from the others,” he said. He however confirmed that a few skulls have been pulled out of the waters by the children, but all of them have been put back.

It was Independence Day. A holiday, and off from the office where I am supposed to be thinking all the time. My family and I decided to go to the countryside. Our destination was Southern Uganda, where wonderful scenic hills get together in a ‘lovely squeeze dance.’ Get it clearer- it is not Kigezi. Yes, you have guessed it- Rakai. Our jaunt started at the break of dawn. By 7:00am, our Pajero had already crossed the Equator and revved through the desert-like Lwera stretch and its speedometer was already indicating a 125km distance covered.

When we reached Masaka town, we teamed up with Francis Kayitalem, who knew the area of beautiful plateaux like the back of his hand. Kayitale, who works with a catholic NGO, was our guide and driver. We branched off to Bukoba Road and the journey into the unknown continued. Kayitale kept telling us where we had reached and how far we had gone. When we had reached Kyotera Township, we stopped to have breakfast at Motel Highway-a lovely double-storied building with a tiled roof. We then jumped back into our vehicle and set off.
I was thunderstruck when I saw a neat tarmac road I can only compare to Entebbe highway. It looked new with road signs and markings every-where. There was less traffic and you could easily drive at 200kph. This is where the real started. I kept on craning my neck to have a glimpse of the hills that make Rakai District a wonderful place. I kept telling Kayitale to stop so that I do not miss out on anything. “The Kooki hills are lovely and you haven’t seen anything yet,” he said.
Beautiful Area: A traveller on a canoe passes under the famous Bukoola bridge

I could easily spot the rugged chains of hills climbing the sky. I saw some kissing the sky. This is the place where Jesus Christ built tents with three of his apostles, I thought to myself. Infact I had already passed a sign post that read:ToBethlehem.”Kayitale had told us that we would see another village called Nazareth’ township.
As we moved on, the area looked dramatic and impressive. We branched off Bukoba Road to Kanabulemu Road, a well-leveled feeder road. We moved slowly because we did not want to miss the razor-sharp beautiful mountain ridges, the pride of Rakai.

I had expected to meet a poverty-stricken population, but I was surprised to find a developed society of Rakai. I did not see any grass thatched shacks. The houses were moderate and had modest iron sheets. There were even double-storied French gems, one of them belonging to Manuel Pinto, the former area MP. The scenic route to Kasensero, where thousands of the 1994 Rwanda genocide victims were buried, has tragic and beautiful memories. The most fascinating is River Bukoola, which is accessed by a strong green metallic bridge. The locals say the bridge is significant to them. It is said that in the 1990s, Kabaka Ronald Mutebi passed by and was so impressed by the green vegetation that he forgot some of his cultural norms.

Mutebi looked back to have a clear view of the scene from the back of his chauffeured limousine and few days later, the bridge curved in. “Traditionally, the Kabaka is not supposed to look behind. That is why the bridge curved in,” Kayitale said. Other locals said the bridge curved in because the area spirits were so happy that Buganda had finally got a king and therefore their Kamuswaga (kooki county king), would follow suit. They said that since the Kabaka had visited the district; the spirits of the rain blessed the area with waters that left the bridge destroyed.

Pinto, the former Kakuuto MP, found us admiring this natural creation and told us that river Bukuula connects to river Lwizui in Mbarara. “This bridge is a gift from DANIDA, an NGO,” he said. As our pajero waded through the stony stretches, we were ushered into the Tomi nine-mile stretch where small huts belonging to herdsmen graced the scenic expansive natural vegetation. At some point, we could see the flashing waters of; lake Victoria. Some herds of cattle were feasting on the grass. The breeze was wonderful.

The stony rugged glittering Simba hills were part of the stretch. Lovely palm trees added beauty to the extended area. Soon, our vehicle screeched to a halt. A large monument stone stared at us from one side of the road. “This is the mass grave where 2,827 victims of the Rwandan genocide are buried,” Kayitale said. As we moved closer, a fisherman stopped us and warned: “You will be haunted by the ghosts.” “He is lying. I have visited this site on a number of occasions,” kayitale urged. The fisherman then laughed hearty laugh before jumping onto his bicycle. He was overpowered.

Excited: Colleagues inspect Kibuuka river bank where bodies of genocide victims lay We passed through meandering curvy roads with thick green forests up to Kasensero landing site. I was surprised when I saw a DSTV satellite dish at Kasengero Club. The English premiership is popular her. People pay to watch great teams like Man United and the best team in England-Arsenal,” Kayitale says. The villagers stared and waved at us. After going through a sandy road that covered more than three miles, we reached Kibuuku, where bodies of Rwanda genocide victims used to float on the river in 1994. The place is back to normal.

The majority of the residents are involved in the coffee trade-the main economic activity in the area. “These sacks are shipped in from Tanzania’s,” Prince Banda, an elder said. A blue machine lies next to the riverbank. “It helps in the fight against the water weed,” Banda added. We left for Katoro hills. If I had gone with a sleeping bag, I would have stayed here for life. From the top of this hill, we saw river Kagera flowing from Tanzania. When it reaches here, it meanders like a relaxed cobra. We sloped down about half a kilometer to look at the majestic piece of creation.

“This is the source of the Nile. Speke and his group lied. River Nile starts from here,” Prince Joseph Mugenyi, an elder argued. He said the Nile passes through Lake Victoria to Jinja. I was stunned. This spot, if developed, could fetch multiple billions from tourists. “That’s the Kabaka’s Lukunyu palace,” mugenyi said, pointing at big buildings on the hill miles away. We continued with our journey to the Tanzanian boarder. This was my first time in the area. Our journey came to an end. As we sped back to Kampala, the ravine parts of Rakai were lingering in my mind. If anybody wants a place to spend a honeymoon, Rakai is the best, and of course with camping tents.

I have always had the impression that a motel is a roadside establishment where motorists drive any time and eat a meal at a fee. That impression was erased from my mind when we arrived at Soko Motel in Soroto at 2.00pm on a Wednesday.

The International fund for agricultural development (IFAD) Assistant Vice-President, Dr. Klemens van de sand, and the Minster of Agriculture, Food and Fisheries, Dr Kisamba Mugerwa, had since Tuesday morning been inspecting projects supported by IFAD. So I got an excuse to marathon over 1000km with them around Uganda in 57 hours.

It turned out to be a journey of self-discovery for me as we went through Mabira Forest to the source of the Nile in Jinja, then to Mbale via the Tirinyi swamps, and to Kumi, Apac, Masindi, and Hoima and finally back to Kampala through Kiboga.

Soko motel only had enough food for Kisamba, Dr.sand and two Soroti officials. We asked the chef to prepare us some food but our pleas fell on deaf ears.

In Soroti it is the children who chase the chicken for the chefs in eating joints. It is interesting to see how the children do their thing. They chase the chicken round and round in cycles, till they catch the birds. But for their labour, the children are only given chicken’s legs, intestines, and the head to eat.

By 2.00pm that Wednesday Soroti children were still having lessons, so they were still having lessons so they were not available to scramble for the chicken, and therefore no meal could be prepared for the other common guests.

Soko was just a small irritation in an otherwise successful adventure. Serere Research Station in Soroti was a great marvel, whose operations I previously had very little idea of. We visited the Ugandans women’s efforts to save orphans (UWESO projects in Kumi and were impressed by the village bank they have created.

We rushed to see sunflower farmers in Ongino, near Kumi town and we were impressed by the zeal with which they have adapted to the new cash crop.

I got a lifetime experience when we crossed from Apac to Masindi Port by ferry. I watched the skillfull ferry minders as they maneuvered their way through the fast waters of the Nile soon after the ferry left Kyoga
However, the dust on the Lwamata-kiboga-hoima road sometimes got out of hand but we conforted by the thought that soon we shall have a modern highway in place.

The source of the Nile was the most wonderful sight of nature I had ever seen-one of the wonders that made former British prime minister Winston church hill conclude that Uganda is indeed the pearl of Africa. The structures in the area, which included modern toilets, added to the areas natural beauty.

After the source of the Nile on Tuesday morning, we drove towards kumi. We booked accommodation in Mbale before proceeding to kumi in the belief that there would be no suitable places in kumi.
But we found green top hotel in kumi as comfortable and cheap. The drive back to mbale for that night was clearly a waste of some taxpayers’ (read donors) money.

The trick, however did not work in hoima, where after the dignitaries were comfortably settled in their pre-booked crown hotel rooms, the rest of us in their pre-booked crown hotel rooms, the rest of us in the drivers security operatives and journalists categories tried to look elsewhere for bedding.
Hoima simply could not offer 10 beds in any one establishment and we had to look all over the town, making re-tracing each other in the morning a nightmare.
Getting into Hoima from Masindi had other hazards too. Why would Sands car break down in the middle of the, where there is no mobile telephone network, at dusk, when it was the last the last vehicle in the entourage as others in front were bound not to notice?

Surely MTN should have extended its network to the swamp, where there is no telephone network to the swamp. Surely, there was need for a network here. This showed how badly needed phone services were. This reminded me of the little town of Dokolo, between Soroti and Apac, where We passed a shop selling telephone cards although there was no telephone network in the area.

Maybe the locals know a particular anthill you have to climb in order for MTN marketing man Eric van veen to hear you. There must be a similar trick with the Hoima swamp. Luckily, the vehicle restarted and we continued our way.
It was interesting to learn that in Hoima people go to bed early and sleep soundly for long hours courtesy of the existing peace .for when I run out of photographic films on Thursday morning, I could not buy any till 10.00am when somebody opened his studio to begin work.
But for all, the homa girls were truly an imposing sight.

Even in the evening on Wednesday, when we arrived in the area, the Banyoro ladies were still looking beautiful. They were hospitable too.
They looked drivers, security operatives, and journalists very well at night, and by dawn, while their male counterparts were still snoring; the girls were already up and about, making breakfast, which comprised of bananas and byenda (offals) for their guests.

DR.Sand decided to forego breakfast and started preparation for the day.
Hoima competes favorably with my hometown in Mbale, where every refueling station we stopped at had lots of bottled soft drinks displayed in fridges but we could not find any mineral water among them.
This is my country!

In spite of the fact that most people are on the road to modernization, there are those who are not bothered by modern trends and are still living in the Stone Age. An example is Ssalongo Ndawula Magobwe, who has lived alone in the caves of Golofa Island in the middle of the great waters of lake Victoria in the same manner early men used to live.

Ndawula typifies the original Stone Age men. You would imagine how he copes with this wildlife, but he kills off boredom by interacting with the wild animals, which are his only immediate neighbors. Sometimes he moves around the Island collecting fruits and gathering objects of interest to him and the gods, like strange stones, and picking medicinal herbs with the guidance of spirits. He also says that he was forbidden to cross the water to another Island or else he risks losing his powers or even death.

This is what Ndawula told me when I asked him why he decided to chose a lonely life: “It was not my own making to come here, but the will of the gods whom I could not have resisted.” Ssalongo Ndawula Magobwe, who is not far from youth at about 35years of age, is said to have lived on this mysterious Island since the age of 18years.

He is said to be possessed by the great by the great spirit called Magobwe, from which he derived his third name and which is believed to have the power to control all the activities on lake Victoria and surrounding areas.
Amazingly, Ndawula lives a very simple and virgin life and is not bothered by what is happening elsewhere in the world. He does not even possess a simple radio, nor anything to read, because his god forbids them. He is not married, nor does he have a child, but he has reincarnated his ancestors in the wild animals that he has lived with for all this time.

Surprisingly, he has plenty of food and drinks provided to him by the sailors and fishermen en route to Kenya and Uganda’s major fish landing sites.
For him, the burden of sweating for food as the Bible mentions is not applicable, because at least every vessel crossing his channel drops by and tosses him something as an appeasement to the spirits, for their safety and prosperity.
In short, his life is entirely left to those it may concern due to the strict regulations attached to his ancestral office.
But when he wants to feel the exposure of the outside world, he just climbs the rocks to the peak and from this point, with his whisk in his hands, he enjoys the panoramic view.
It is from this point also that he is able to see all the strangers and visitors approaching his fort and he is never caught unawares owing to the additional fact that his gods protect him jealously. He told me that nothing will ever happen on Lake Victoria without the knowledge of the gods. This reminded me of the quotation by Sophocies, the author of the book king Oedipus ” Only the ageless and endless gods know everything.”

“When the gods get angry with people-especially when they insult each other and the lake-is when you here of all those fatal water accidents and the unproductivity of the lake,” Ndawula says. The strongest man is the one who stays alone, but Magobwe has portrayed his powers in various ways. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Ndawula looks after thousands of animals, including, goats, sheep, cows and wild animals like crocodiles, he doesn’t eat meat or take milk. Maybe this is the reason why his herds, mostly got from the extra duties of the ancestral office of traditional healing and by breeding, have multiplied greatly.

For him, he attends to the patients who seek his offices’ help free of charge, but when the gods demands for something, then it should be given as so desired. If it is an animal like a goat – as it is in most cases-or a bird, he simply sends them into the wilderness on his island. As for the wine, he keeps it in the holy shrine for himself, the visitors and the gods to make merry. Mysteriously, the story of how this gentleman got to this place remains a mystery to the fishermen and even to himself.

A legend i was told is that a long time ago, there lived a clan of people who never crossed water but always had enough to eat; never entertained visitors and spoke their own dialect. Later; they disappeared, while rumors went around that they went back to their gods, leaving behind nobody to look after their holy island. But Fred Kintu Mutebi, a commercial fisherman on the neighboring Hama Island, told me that Ndawula got lost from his family for six years and was discovered by fishermen in 1992, during his morning sun bathing routines on top of the rocks.

“The answer to how that man got there is not what anybody should deceive you that he knows better than his gods,” several fishermen on the lake told me. Surely, Ndawula himself does not know what happened to him and how he got to this Island. What he remembers is that he fell asleep some time back and during what he called a dream, he saw a man who tempted him to try a smoking pipe and from there he found himself in a caves of this island.

He also told me that later, his people told him that during that night in 1986, he made a lot of noise and disappeared through the roof and was lost since then. But after the rituals were done on him after 1992, he started performing the duties of a traditional healer from this island. I never bothered him much on this topic, owing to the fact that I was worried of the great and amazing stories of this place, and by the fact that throughout our discussion and the tour he never blinked an eye or tried to force a smile. He was steady and still like a statue.

When I asked him how he feels at night on this lonely island, this is what he told me: “I am not alone and I have enough company of all the kinds that you have.” He also told me that every time he tours this island, he gets new and great discoveries and sometimes he lands on ancient tools and implements that were once used by his ancestors: “I enjoy my kingdom,” he told me.
Golofa, a name that is derived from this great island’s rocks, which have piled themselves like a strayed building, has several apartments and caves that will continue to remain in my memory for some time.

Ndawula’s humble rock fortress. It is a bare rock that talks for itself as a good habitat for humanity and tourism, but again leaves a many question unanswered about the reason why it was abandoned and spared for one man. This rock that is surrounded by calm, dark blue waters and neighbors the busiest fishing island, Dolwe, as well as the islands of controversy on the border with Kenya, has over 20 beautiful apartments inside it on different floors.

Some of them are self-contained, while others are furnished with stone-molded furniture fashioned as seats, beds and dinning tables. Just at the entrance of one end of the rock is a large space covered with a stone. This can serve as a conference hall. It is also well ventilated and has similar provision inside. Deep inside the floors is what Ndawula refers to as a master bedroom. It is very large, spacious room with running water from some corner and deep but narrow ditch he uses as a toilet, with a burning bonfire in the centre of the chamber.

I tried to find out where the water flows from, but I failed to get the answer: “You can spend a day and even a week here with everything provided,” I am told.
At sunset, he told me to leave him and his island, saying that nobody is supposed to sleep on this island and the neighboring Shamulala Island, which he said was his grazing area. The reason why he advised me to leave was for the safety of my life. Talking about Ndawula and his island is a long tale of wonders, but this is what I am able to tell you for now and I beseech the lovers of tourism to open up their diaries and set time to visit there. There is more than enough to discover inside the greatest fresh water lake in Africa.