Grandfather

For two weeks, my father (83) was visiting us, sleeping on the dhow, of course.

While I was waiting for him on the airport, the dhow was blown on the shore by an exceptional thunderstorm featuring a short sharp gale with hailstones. When, around midnight, my father and I arrived at the scene, the bay was again flat like a mirror, but the dhow lay on one side on the shore. There was no apparent leakage, but also no way to see whether it was lying on stones. We decided to leave further research for the next morning and get to sleep. My father's bed fortunately was on the lower board, so he lay stable, but mine was on starboard, the high side. But I fell out of bed only once.

Photo: deck chairs slipped down at breakfast

With the help of 15 villagers the boat was pushed back in the lake. It had been lying on stones, some planks were seriously grazed, but no leaks and no urgent need of immediate repairs.

The next thing was a game of golf at Jinja Club (anno 1906 or thereabout), at the East shore of the source of the Nile. My father is a passionate golfer and a few years ago the Dutch Hilversum grounds man has given me, for free, a set of outdated clubs with which I harass the Jinja fairways every now and then. That proved my secret weapon: I am used to them, my father, playing with the same, underperformed. A few days later, however, he had borrowed decent clubs, played two pars on nine holes and I lost badly.

Photo: Rather than pictured in action, my father insisted to be taken frozen in a scholarly golf pose. Left background the dhow at its home mooring, Kingfisher Safaris Resort

Photo: right foreground: my father swimming, left background: the source of the Nile, right background 1: Jinja Club, tee of 8th hole, 2: rock where three weeks ago we spotted a hippo

My father boasts on an amateur sailing career (he was a banker) of 75 years, starting at his 8th, and joined crew in the jobs immediately.

Photo: banana leaf fixing the rolled sail to the gaff (folmali). After lifting, a sharp pull will make the sail fall down and open

Photo: hoisting is inside. Doi is at the winch, My father keeps the halyard, I am on deck to control the lifting

Once under sail, my father was, of course given the steering. Doi immediately phoned Philemon in Uganda: "Grandfather is a very good sailor!". Meanwhile grandfather snowed crew under with good advice inspired on his ample sailing experience, of which crew naturally took advantage with gratefulness.

Photo from canoe: no wind (click here for photo with wind)

Photo: concentrated sailing to catch the little wind we get.

After our three day sailing trip on Napoleon bay (panorama photo), we had a nice typical African intermezzo. I was summoned to Jinja Security Police to explain myself and my boat. Of course I went with my father, not carrying any papers, because with African government officials to always risk your papers are taken only to be returned for some decent money. I told even my father to leave his passport on the boat. But Security Police officer Odict turned out to be a jovial man, only got some questions (of course did not mention the source), and wanted to have some information to answer them. After hearing the dhow was for pleasure, no commerce, he turned out to be mainly concerned with why I had no children. He pleaded I should have them, calling in my father's help to stress his point. After some loud quasi amical laughter from all sides I promised to bring him copies of my passport, work permit, testimony of geographical address and license to operate the dhow. I carefully choose two minutes to five to hand them in. He was too high in rank still to be around, so as I hoped I did not have to talk to him again.
What next? I told my father we had done and seen everything, and joked that only some wild water rafting on the Nile was a remaining option. But to my surprise my father opted for the rafting trip, in a rubber boat down the Nile white waters rafting, grade five rapids, in the first 15 km of the Nile.

Photo: a picture like this I would like to have made but my camera had caught water already. However, the Nile River Explorer's web site picture used for this Photoshop paste does not exaggerate the ambiance.

The end: back over Kampala to Entebbe airport. After, in Kampala, having taken my motorcycle off my little truck for a city tour, I brought my father to his plane.