Lake Mburo: where hippo nightmares come true

My plan over the holidays was to take a bus to Rwanda. Then I met an American with an SUV. We hit the road on 22 December, headed southwest from Kampala. After two hours we crossed the equator, marked by a 7 ft tall wooden circle and a series of "science experiments" to demonstrate that water does indeed spiral down in the opposite direction once you cross the line.

Shortly thereafter I took my first turn behind the wheel. Potholes, pedestrians, pedalers, peddlers and fucking gigantic buses triggered a flashback to my glory days with Mario Kart and Rock 'n Roll Racing.

Some Ankole cows heard that the iPhone was on sale at the community well:

If the Vikings had been able to make helmets out of horns like that then Leif Ericsson would be on the $1 bill.

By the grace of Krishna we made it to our first stop, Lake Mburo National Park, without harming man nor beast. The warthogs and impala showed more consideration for our vehicle than the cows. We set up camp by the lake.


I cooked pasta in the campfire and prayed to Mohammad that the hippos would keep their fat asses off our tent when they came onshore for nocturnal grazing.

At dawn the next morning we went for a stroll with a machine-gun toting park ranger, Jeffrey. The gun was for African Buffalo (also called Cape Buffalo) - all of the lions were killed by the cattle owners. The buffalo also have horns that would make a Viking moist.


Jeffrey explained that the best thing to do if you encounter a buffalo and you aren't carrying a machine-gun is to lie down and play dead. The buffalo will lick the living shit out of you with her rough tongue, but she won't be able to get her horns into you and fling you to the side like dirty underwear.