Boda Bodas

For those of you that don't know, I'll explain what "boda bodas" means in a minute.
Let us first set the stage for what was one of the most exhilarating and adrenalline-pumping days that I have had in a while. This will be a long post, so make sure you've got a little time for reading about our little adventure.
So we left off with needing to collect the girls' passports before we could make an appointment with the embassy.
Warning: the following story WILL have disgusting images and might scare the families of those involved. Don't worry, we're alive to tell the tale ;)

The passport office, well, it sucks.
Everywhere you go in Uganda, you pass through security checks. They check your purse, you get the metal detector wand thingie waved over you, and pass through rought iron gates with barbed wire and armed guards.
This place is no exception, as it is like a military compound.
The buildings are single-story metal and stucco.
They are placed like a maze to create paddocks, surrounding dirt floor courtyards with benches covered by a large canvas tent for shade- if you are lucky enough to find a seat under it.
Hundreds of people are scrambling to get passports, and some have waited up to six months for one.
It's hot, every one is tired, and social graces are thrown out the window.
Up untill now, we have been dealing with the passport office through phone calls and having Rashid talk with one of the employees. We were told to come this time because they would be ready.
The first visit to the passport office was a brief one as we were told they currently aren't available, they were taken to the controller's office because they couldn't find our reciept. Not to worry though, he would settle it, and we could return tomorrow. Okay, fine.
On our way out, Flavia needed to use the bathroom, so I found the public restroom there.
She came out of the stall with a look on her face that I had not seen before. She simply shook her head. I came in to see what was the matter, and saw that they were pit latrines. (A hole in the ground that you squat over).

Now people, God tells us to protect what we place before our eyes for a reason. Sometimes images get burned into your head that you just cannot get out.

There was crap, everywhere. I looked down to see that my child had attempted to squat over the pit, and as her shoes slid in the fecal matter, the cuff of her pants grazed the floor. She was still leaving poo-tracks as she walked out. Whilst trying not to vomit and panic, I made her walk over to a grassy area and wipe her shoes and asked if she could hold it instead. Thank the Lord we brought medical gloves with us! We went home without appetites that day.

We returned the next day as told, this time with extra toilet paper and hand sanitizer in my purse. I made the girls go to the bathroom before we even left, twice. By the time we got there, most of the seats under the shade were taken. Scot and I took turns sitting. We were told that the passports would be ready at 11 am. By 1:30, I was started to get a little upset and feared that my children would need to use the bathroom any minute now. (A really nice man showed us one hidden in the back that the employees use that was actually clean.)
I couldn't sit still any more, so I got up to stand- then lost my seat permanently. Another 3 hours, and a notable sun burn later, we collect the passports. Oops, Aisha's name is wrong.
He told us that he would reprint it. So we waited- for another hour and a half.  By 6 pm we were the only people left, and our guy just disappeared. Rashid called him and we went to the controller's office. We were told that we couldn't get it tonight, and that we could come back tomorrow at 9 am and it would be ready.

We knew we were under a time crunch. The embassy is only open Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until 11 am. Today is Friday.  Experience taught us that the passport would not be ready at 9 am, and we knew that if we didn't get to the embassy today to verify paperwork and make an appointment, we would be set back another week.
9 am comes and goes. 9:30. 10:00. 10:30... 10:55- the corrected passport was placed in our hand.
Now I  already told you that the embassy closed at 11. But God decided otherwise today.
Scot called the embassy and begged them to stay open saying that we just got th passport and we would get there as soon as possible. They said if we can get there in less than 15 minutes, they would wait.

"Challenge accepted!!"

Kampala has the worst street traffic I have ever seen. There are no stop lights, no street signs, no real traffic laws except to keep it movin', and yet somehow it works. Boda bodas are motorcycle taxis. Being smaller, and having no fear to weave through and around buses, cars, pedestrians and opposing traffic, even on sidewalks if need be, they can get you where you need to be faster than any other mode of transportation. We discussed the potential danger, and talked with the girls (who were ALL for it by the way) and agreed that we would do it. We told the boda drivers to be extra careful, drive slower than usual, and that we would pay them well if they delivered us safely.
Flavia rode with me and had the biggest grin on her face the entire time because this was her first ride on a motorcycle.  With my hair flapping in the wind, and a death-grip on the driver,  I kept my eyes closed and prayed, and next thing you knew, "We are here madam."

::A-thank-you-Jeeesus!::

Again we get through the obligatory security check and run to the embassy office. We were seen within 5 minutes, and the most wonderfully sweet and patient woman helped us to correct and organize our paperwork and gave us our interview appointment for Monday at 3 pm. (I hear they keep their appointments there.)

So, we're back on schedule.
NO MORE BODAS, and if all goes well, we may be booking a flight home next week.
Sorry if I scared you Mom, and Daddy, you know I always think of you when I'm on a bike.

Love ya'll...hope to see you soon!