Off the beaten trail: North to Karamoja

Before I left for Karamoja, my friends and editors had dire warnings for me: “Be careful, it’s a war zone up there.” “They don’t wear clothes in Karamoja, you know. Are you ready?” “You’re going to Karamoja by yourself? Don’t you know how long that trip is?”

And so it was with much curiosity that I left the busy streets of Kampala on a 5am bus and set my face towards an area that was once forbidden to American citizens.

As we went further north, the food options at bus stops dwindled considerably. The chapattis disappeared, then the bananas left, followed by the gonja and maize. After Soroti, only long tubes of cassava remained, and vendors were replaced with people crowding around the bus windows begging for food or money and crying out for empty water bottles.

As the food options diminished, the landscape also changed dramatically, becoming flat and dry. Young boys walked with herds of cows on their way to protected kraals for the night. We were somewhere between Soroti and Moroto on a deserted stretch of road when the bus slowed down and stopped. The engine had overheated and everyone got off to wait for a replacement bus.

Now, I have studied what a semi-arid desert is. I have seen it on television and read about it in books. But I have never sat and waited in the short grasses, felt the ants crawl down my pants, gotten the dust in my eyes, or answered nature’s call in a semi-arid desert.


"Beauty Queen" reads the bus bumper as men crawl underneath to fix the engine.

After an hour and a half, a replacement bus can roaring down the road in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes to rescue us and take us to Kotido.

I arrived in Kotido in the late evening and the next morning we took a private car north to Kaabong town, then on to Lokwakoromai, a small Ik village. The Ik, also called the Teuso, live in small villages nestled in the mountains, their huts surrounded by a tall stick fence that is entered by one small opening. We went inside and saw short round huts to store food, women cooking on small fires, and young kids playing quietly. Everyone was extraordinarily friendly and curious about their visitors with cameras and notebooks.

When I took a picture of Komol Tubo, a woman grinding tobacco, and showed her the photo on my digital camera, her face broke into a wide grin and others gathered around, asking me to take their photos as well.

The next day in Kaabong town as I waited for a meeting to begin, I saw a small group of Karamojan in bright costumes dance down the street and proceed to the secondary school. All the sub-counties in Kaabong were gathering for a music, dance, and drama festival. Each sub-county had a representative group, most clad in colourful plaid skirts, beads bouncing on their waists and necks, whistles to direct the dance, and quick smiles.

This Karamoja “war zone” was not between raiders and soldiers but between dance troupes and drama performances. They slung beads over their shoulders instead of guns, and pounded the ground with gravity-defying jumps instead of marching steps. Their bullets were smiles and their arrows were dramatic songs as they competed in culture. The insecurity warnings I heard in Kampala felt light years away.

Back in Kotido, which now felt like a big town, I went with some friends to “sliding rock,” a giant rock slab that slanted sharply down into a pool of green-brown water. A deep but narrow path led straight down the rock, as smooth as glass after thousands of little and big bottoms slid down in glee. My friends and I put a cloth underneath us and sped down the hill, stopping just before the water as we laughed in delight. I have been sliding in snow many times, but sliding down this smooth rock was surprisingly fast and fun.

As the sun set over the low hills in the distance, two young boys climbed the rock, took off their shirts, and used them like a surfboard to cruise down the smooth rock slide. These guys kept their balance as they sped all the way to the bottom as I stared in amazement.

Instead of the insecurity, danger, and threats I expected in Karamoja, I found people working passionately for peace, people with quick laughs, beautiful clothes and beads, and people with a playful spirit despite the existing difficulties.