Navigating Kampala: From Uncertainty at Fat Cat to Decisions on the Road Ahead

I spent the next few days in Kampala, staying at the well-known Fat Cat Backpackers. I couldn’t quite decide if the hostel was actually sh*tty or if I was just feeling Sh*tty . It wasn’t the first time I’d heard mixed reviews about the place-clean beds, hot showers, friendly staff, all the basics were there-but something felt off. To make matters worse, I got sick for the first time on this trip while staying there. I couldn’t tell if it was something from the hostel or a street vendor’s delicacy, but either way, I wasn’t feeling 100%. The noise and energy of the city, combined with the bureaucratic headaches of the embassy circuit, were wearing me down, making it impossible to get a decent night’s rest. i missed the sell of sage the. the wonder of the milkyway

The Iranian Visa Challenge

My main issue was getting an Iranian tourist visa. For British citizens, this is nearly impossible, but for Barbadians, it’s a bit more feasible. My usual trick of swapping between my two passports-one British, one Barbadian-wasn’t working this time because I was in Uganda on my British passport. Appointment after appointment led nowhere. The clock was ticking, and my options were dwindling. It was a frustrating experience, a stark reminder that even the best-laid travel plans can come undone by a single stamp-or the lack thereof.

City Logistics and Unexpected Observations

On the brighter side, Fat Cat Backpackers is the most centrally located hostel in Kampala, making it easier to navigate the city’s embassies and sort out essential logistics. I had two broken iPhones in desperate need of repair: one took an unplanned swim in Lake Malawi, and the other had a screen so shattered that using it felt like a hazardous endeavour. It’s not that I have a particular love for iPhones, but being in the Apple ecosystem with all my banking and communication set up that way made switching to android mid-travel a nightmare scenario.

I found myself at a mall on the west side of Kampala, hoping to fix at least one of my phones. The mall was a strange bubble, filled with wealthy, well-dressed, and noticeably overweight people-the most I’d seen in one place for months. It struck me because in rural Africa, you rarely encounter overweight people, but here, it seemed the mall was breeding them. There was an airport-style scanner at the entrance, armed guards inside, and once through, it felt like I could be anywhere – Johannesburg, Rio or New York. All the big brands were there. Even the fast food places that pride themselves on their distinct aroma was there selling cinnamon rolls . As I closed my eyes and inhaled, i would not have been remotely surprised I’d opened then in Westfield in White City, London. Incredible. but above all, there was even a cinema. I decided to buy a ticket to a random action movie to kill time and simply splurge while the guy at the phone shop tried to source the parts for my phone.

When the credits rolled, my phone was still in the same condition. The repairman hadn’t been able to recover the water-damaged phone, and it would take three days to get a new screen for the other one. I didn’t have three days to waste in Kampala, so I resorted to using more cellotape to hold the shattered screen together and resolved to be extra careful with it for the next few months.

Considering Future Travel Plans

Sitting in a café, I took stock of my situation and planned my next move. A visit to Somaliland was coming together smoothly, so in the meantime, I considered pushing west and south toward Rwanda, and possibly Burundi, before looping back around Lake Victoria and heading past Arusha in Tanzania. If I hadn’t already climbed Kilimanjaro, that route might have appealed more to me, but I had, and I wasn’t eager to revisit those altitudes ever again. The other option was to double back on myself, but with the DRC and South Sudan being no-go zones, the choices were bleak. I stared at my map, seeing weeks on buses stretching ahead of me, retracing my steps toward the Indian Ocean. And then there was the question of northern Kenya-whether I had the nerve to ignore the warnings about military groups and unrest before pushing in to Ethopia. None of these options filled me with joy. None at all.

I found myself at a crossroads, caught between a desire for adventure and a need for safety. The fatigue of constant movement and decision-making was beginning to wear on me. As I sat there, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, I realised that sometimes, the road of Adventure presents dilemmas with no easy answers. But that’s the nature of travel, isn’t it? For now, the only thing I could do was pick a direction and keep moving forward, knowing that the journey, with all its uncertainties and surprises, was far from over.